five days off of work
video stills of an ant working exceedingly hard to drag a dead fly across the grass
as expected, I can hear myself think again.
the words are coming faster. no, racing, but not in a malignant way.
two years ago, my inner self said only misery awaited me at this job.
it took me two years to realize that it meant THIS job.
not every job, but this very specific one.
the one with the Taylor Swift posters in Zoom backgrounds.
the one with coworkers who mistake pumpkin spice for personality.
the one with the Disney adults who proudly proclaim they spend every weekend at the Happiest Place on Earth.
“use a gif to describe how your week is going” the Slack channel dings. I cannot find an image to articulate the dissonance of an ongoing genocide.
I want to tell you that my coworkers are not so unlike me. they have just mistaken the insulation for pink cotton candy and it is killing them. but I have been breathing in their little shards of glass and the tiny cuts are deepening.
I ask ChatGPT how long will it take me to save enough money to quit. it calls it my freedom plan. I’m sorry for talking to ChatGPT (this is a lie). I have many misgivings, of course, of course. But everything is an experiment.
I kept thinking the money would save me. the money would make it make sense. foolish, I know. I am looking for a fucking feeling, not numbers on a screen. ChatGPT says who cares if I have savings but no soul in the bank.
Last Saturday, I watched a documentary about women sailing across the Atlantic. Money played not a single role on that boat for 30 days. not a tool, nor a skill or a home. They could not coax the wind with it or stop ocean swells.
I feel like myself again. The color is coming back into my life, I tell a friend.
This is not about purpose. It is about resonance. I am pining for resonance.
My parents ask me about another job. I say I do not want another job and feel delusional. maybe delusion is what it takes. quiet, gleeful delusion.
But I want to work, yes. God, I want to work. I am desperate for grit. I want to live each day as if it were one tiny lifetime, having left it all on the table. I am thinking of Nietzsche’s eternal recurrence. if a demon came down & said you could only ever live your life like you did last week for all of eternity, what would you change? What becomes obviously wrong or right about how you spent your time? From this view the misalignment is deafening.
I remember my previous boss asking are you okay? the first time I told her I had a therapy appointment. I could’ve asked her the same. what with working 14+ hour days. she was employee number four at this company and when the founders cashed out with millions they did not blink. she did not pass go. she did not collect $200. Last I heard she is working at Amazon now.
Another coworker recently complained that we now have too much PTO. She is a Gen Zer with two young kids. I wonder about my coworkers with small families who do everything to avoid their small families.
But I am not unlike them. I peddle in avoidance too.
She likes the job because it keeps her small
She likes the job because it keeps her small
She likes the job because it keeps her small
Another message that came through me, but that I did not think or even know.
I heard someone on a podcast say that their goal in life is to become more edible. evidence of aliveness. I bristle at the idea of an animal spitting out my body in disgust. Where is the UMAMI they will ask. I am far off course. Sedentary seat cushion. I am foie gras. Forcing and forcing without satiation.
The culture offers me more convenience. a consolation prize.
My job is not bad, I tell myself. This is when I know I am too pre-occupied with being good. Cosplaying as a good person means I stay at a job I hate because someone else would kill for it.
I just want to jump, free fall. my friend told me that eagles free fall as part of their mating ritual. it is a form of building deep trust. Please look this up. It is a death spiral. no, a freedom spiral. Commitment and responsibility in real time.
My boss spends every vacation at Disney.
One time I asked her what the appeal was. She mentioned childhood nostalgia and impeccable service, then excitedly proclaimed that there are not even bees at Disney world. This is a bad sign.
But I see that we are not dissimilar.
This job is my insulation, my Disney world. so long as I stay inside the invisible cubicle walls, I need not risk too much exposure. I can remain imperceptibly small. I can avoid the discomfort of being disliked because I am already not being seen.
I think these are all ways to escape mortality. not fear of death exactly, but the vulnerability required to truly live.
most of this came out in a feverish stream of consciousness during my week off of work. I was afraid to share it, but it feels like a mile marker. Here is where I said those things and then let them go.
Thank you for reading.