I felt the urge four Wednesdays ago at exactly 2.30 in the afternoon, while sitting at the blinking computer screen. The glare was hurting my eyes due to the ever darkening afternoon. It had been getting darker much earlier lately.
The network was down so I was banging my mouse on the desk, as if that would magically fix it. I don’t know why I cared. When the system was working I would look for any kind of distraction to take me away from my work. Something was simmering inside of me. It had been building for weeks. A vitriolic rage, and it felt ready to combust. At first, the feeling was overwhelming. But as I let the emotion filter into my imagination, it became irresistibly satisfying.
Channelling my rage, I imagined standing up on my desk, kicking my computer monitor at the wall, pointing at the managing supervisors and screaming at the top of my lungs:
I MOTHER-F#£%ING QUIT!
As my supervisors sat, wide-mouthed and stunned into silence, I leapt off my desk and into a musical number with sixty-odd lawyers following me in unison, singing and dancing with perfect, jazzy choreography as we back-flipped down the halls, shimmied onto Chancery Lane, and pranced into a world of newfound freedom.
I’m not really even into musicals. But clearly I watch too much television.
After eight or so months of relative bliss, I have had a particularly shitty month, culminating into the suffocating feeling of “what in the almighty F#£% am I doing here?”
My blogs. Writing. London. Life!
I was ready to quit it all. I know, it’s oh so melodramatic, isn’t it? The usual pity party shit. I know, I know, but sometimes, despite how good we have it, we can still feel like life is letting us down. But now I’m back, ready to bitch my way through my melancholy like a good twenty-something. In case you hadn’t noticed, I have been internet silent for a few weeks. Sorry about that. Unless you didn’t notice, in which case, screw you!
Sorry. I’m only human.
I’ve suffered a crisis of confidence and a pit of despair. It happens to the best of us. I just never expected it to happen during my Super-Fun-Happy-Time-Euro-London-Gap-Year-Extravaganza.
It all started with the weather. As I outlined in my last post, Ms. Frost and I are not getting along. Usually, I am attracted to bitchy women, however The Northern Winter lacks any kind of subtlety or wit. She hasn’t even officially graced London with her presence and yet she has been chucking tantrums across this city like a naughty child. When she first rocked up, I found her persistent frostiness to be both confronting and draining. I am yet to see her good side.
The second kick in the nuts came from work. And when I say kick, I actually mean a long, painful, persistent tugging. A gradual wearing down of my sanity. It was no secret that I hated my job. I hinted at it in my previous posts here and here. However, these posts don’t fully encapsulate the full and complete hatred that I had for that job. My hate manifested in physical form, skin crawling with rage, blood boiling venom. I’ve run out of anger metaphors, but you get the gist.
Objectively described, I had a good job. I was hired as a lawyer and I was paid a decent amount of money. And yet, it was still the worst job I ever had in my life. That includes my two-year stint working the Sunday shift as a petrol station attendant. And allllll the crazies like to visit the local petrol station on a Sunday.
So why so bad? In a nutshell, despite being constantly reminded that I was being hired as a professional to conduct a professional review, I was treated like a child. The job involved the review of complex financial documents with minimal training, with no access to the internet or direct assistance from managing associates. Chatting with colleagues was regularly shunned. And I was reprimanded for “overuse of my mobile phone”. Was my work product slow, inefficient, inaccurate, or down right shitty? I was assured not. In fact, I was told I was working faster and more accurately than most. But I should stop looking at my phone so much.
Sure, okay, it’s not like I am a child worker in a coal mine. I get it. But I felt like I was working in a well air-conditioned turn-of-the-century work-house. Ironically, my manager regular tried to allay our growing discontent by assuring us that he wasn’t trying to run a boot camp: we just needed to try and, you know, not have any form of distraction or enjoyment in an otherwise excruciatingly boring job. And worst of all, everything was communicated by EMAIL, because my boss was too much of a pussy to have a confrontation. The British. They can’t handle a stern word.
I could write a ten thousand word thesis on the managerial incompetence that I experienced in this job (not to mention the shocking lack of occupational safety and health protocols), but I won’t. Partly because it is already turning out to be a seriously boring read. But mainly because I eventually found peace with the shitty job situation, deciding to ignore all idle threats and do what the fuck I wanted, because at the end of the day I knew I was doing a good job.
I found peace. And then I caught the mother of all sicknesses.
Aches. Pains. Fever. Headaches. I was floored for one and a half weeks with the flu. It was run down, and most likely by the two things that were causing me anguish in the first place. At my lowest, feverish point, I envisaged shutting my blogs down, with short and simple sayonara to the World Wide Web. It all seemed too much to handle. Then I got slightly better. Then my flu became bronchitis. Then I went to Ireland for a weekend trip. Then my bronchitis got worse. Then I rested. And NOW I am finally better.
I finally returned to full time work and I was ready to put in some solid hours to earn some cash (I don’t get sick days). Thanksgiving came by and some of the Americans in the office showed their affection by buying treats for everyone to eat. And our bosses thanked us that day by firing us.
What a month.
So now I am unemployed and my only regret is that I never got a chance to quit with a massive FUCK YOU to the assholes I worked for. I apologise for the unfunny downer of a post. I needed to vent. I’m sure you have all had your moments, yes? Well I assure you I am happy again, at peace, and ready to focus on my writing for a while. That’s until money becomes an issue. Then you might find me whinging here again.