I Hate My Job

I miss this blog. I spend so much time over on Frankly, Fatso that I forget Aimless is here whenever I have something on my mind besides my weight and where it's going. While that is most definitely an important topic (ask anyone who's ever struggled with their weight), there are bigger things in life to worry about.

Like what the hell to do with it.

Lately I've been hating my job. And it's not the job's fault. It's respectable, I make good money, it's sorta important work (maybe, sometimes). I only have to work 8 hours a day, not a minute more. I never work nights or weekends. The rules about when you show up are pretty lax, so long as you do show up and then stay for 8 hours. All in all it's a decent job. A good job. A job so many, many, many people would love to call their own, especially these days.

But I hate it. I feel bad about that given the job market in so many countries, but I do. There is so much more that I want to do in life and I could punch myself in the face every time I look around my cubicle and realize that every decision that lead me here was one that I made on my own. Sure, there were outside influences. Parents who want better for you, a social norm that says you should go to college directly after high school, friends who say "oh, you'd be perfect at this," student loans that require repayment. All of it pushed me towards my choices, but at the time I was happy to make them. I've always been a decisive person, never one to hem and haw over a choice I had to make, however big. And that's probably why I've landed where I have- in a career I literally hate with a job I don't appreciate.

So what's to be done about it? So much, if I can stand it. But for starters:

• I would sell all of my stupid, unnecessary belongings that I've gathered through the years and hoard the cash. Really, who spends $300 on a purse and when did I become that person?
• I would start living on a tight budget instead of spending like I'm made of money. 
• I would pay off my student loans. Somehow. Mega Millions? Fingers crossed.
• I would throw all of my unspent money after student loan payments into a savings account labeled "Experience the World" and I would watch it grow while I endured my fantastic-but-not-for-me job for another year or so. 
• Once the savings account got big enough, I would start planning for my trip around the world. 
• I would quit my job. I would kiss cubicles (all of them, everywhere) goodbye and I would vow to never work in an office again unless it was in my own home and I wanted to be there. 
• I would take a trip around the world. 
• I would write while I was tripping and I would start making money off of it, too. 
• I would travel for as long as I felt like and once I was tired of hostel beds and foreign currency, I would return to the US of A. Or perhaps my new favorite country? You never know.
• I would buy land. With my writing money. (Cause I'm going to be, like, really popular.) And on it I would cultivate a small, sustainable farm. (First I'll have to look up what really constitutes a sustainable farm.)
• Or perhaps I'd throw the farm idea out the window because on my trip I discovered what it is I really want to do in life. I suspect it might involve writing, as my fingers do so enjoy sharing words with the world.
• And perhaps I'll go to school and dive into something I want to learn.
• And then maybe this uneasy feeling of What the hell am I DOING? will go away. Because I will know what I'm doing and I will have chosen it out of enjoyment rather than necessity/influence/fear.

That list sounds so fantastic to me right now. So freeing. The first few items look daunting and impossible, but the rest? I can do that. I want to do that. Can I do that? According to multiple sources including Dr. Seuss and my very own mother, I can do anything. 

Or maybe I'm just experiencing a midlife crisis in my late twenties? Perhaps.

But I still hate my job. 

Feliz Cumpleanos, HermanISIMO!

My older brother has a birthday today. You know what that means...A blog post. But I can't really say all that much because my brother is a bit of an enigma and would probably like to keep it that way. Well, okay, he'd like to be an enigma. He's always changing up his alias so no one knows his real name (except everyone does). In high school he went by Dino (because he ran with T-rex arms, I think?). In college he decided to go by his middle name (and consequently that's what his family on the West Coast calls him...it's odd to hear, I'll admit). Later he went by Spots (like the ones all over his barely there head of hair...or, perhaps, an homage to our mother's maiden name?) And now Facebook knows him as Rex. Again, I can only assume this is because of his freakish running style, but I don't know for certain. It's not been confirmed. Don't quote me on it.

Anyway, the point of this post is not to make fun of my mother's eldest child for his elusive ways. Okay, maybe it is a little. But the main point is to celebrate his life. Because today, dear friends and random readers, my big brother turns 30 years old. Old being the operative word. And, though he abandoned me, his first best friend in LIFE, soon after high school to pursue a higher education and then army guy stuff and then, like, a girl and babies, I have to admit that it makes me a bit sad to be away from him during this most exciting milestone in his life. He's been living on the West Coast for, uh, a long time now (math is hard on Monday nights, SUE ME) and I miss him all of the time. He also has a wife and two children plus like a billion more to take care of in prison (no, not like that) so I know he's busy and probably won't even read this (and if he does it won't be until March), but I had to keep up the tradition and write a little something. 

So here it is. The little something. Happy birthday, brother. Miss you like a girl misses her big brother when he moves all the way to the California forever and ever unless maybe the guilt gets to him so he packs everyone up and moves them all to the East Coast. 

Did that work? Is the guilt eating you alive? No? Damn it. 

Alright, see you in December (that's when I plan to visit, by the way...get excited). And now, the obligatory pictures of me with the special birthday person...

Here we are bonding at a bar.

And here we are dancing at your wedding. Which did not occur on January 1st...or in 2005 (I don't think so, anyway). So I'm not sure where the camera got that idea. But it'll have to do because I only have two pictures of us together. You can blame yourself for that one. I didn't move to the West Coast. 

(What about now? Are you wracked with self-condemnation yet? Gah. I'll keep working on it.)

Okay, happy birthday, love you, bye!