Current mood:	distressed
Current music:	Holiday--Bee Gees

what is it good for?
Working a regular job is a very odd thing to do. It is touted as the "normal" thing, and yet it is completely inhumane. Not like torture or genocide, but inhumane nonetheless. We lock ourselves in a panopticon, subjecting ourselves to a bizarre regiment of lockstep hours of activity and "production." I can't see the point, other than to get by, to pay rent, to be housed rather than homeless. I feel as though I am being robbed. Lunchtime comes, and I bolt out of there. I get on the train or go for a walk. But it is only an hour, not nearly long enough. I guess that's why people make friends at work, so that their worklife is their socialife. But I don't want a new bunch of "workfriends," I want time to spend with my friends who are too scattered.

My friend Amber in London was pleased that I got a job "because I could visit more," which was completely missing the point. It's true that I haven't popped over the pond more often because of money concerns, but now that I have a job it's not an option, because I DON'T HAVE THE TIME.

I can't go to yoga because I CAN'T GET THERE ON TIME.

And so I am doomed to what Mr. Wilms calls "businessman's butt" or "secretary's spread."

Today it snowed and it took me 2 1/2 hours to get home--4 trains and a mile long walk in now-ruined suede sneakers.

And then I get home and can't bear to do anything other than try not to despair about doing it all again next week.

I guess the reason this is all so bleak is because I am doing something I am good at, rather than something that I want to do. It means that I am doing something that feels like it has no value. I am a good worker, very fast and efficient. I get things done, and done well. Everyone is always very pleased. But after a momentary satisfaction I feel empty.

I believe, somehow, that we all have gifts, and that the world would work well if each of us used our gifts. I'm not sure what mine is, but right now I'm certainly wasting it.