I have just about had it with my job.  I guess my complaints aren’t really that different from the ones that everyone else has about their job: I’m underappreciated, underpaid, and I am continually put in positions where I end up having to sacrifice doing the things that I really love.  In my case, that would be writing.

Right now, I find myself thinking about how liberating it would be to just walk in tomorrow and say “I quit.”  Or even better, just not walk in at all and let them all figure it out on their own.  Of course, it would also be pretty scary and it would definitely not be all that easy to find something else to allow me to support myself.

Because, as much as I love writing, it doesn’t pay the bills or keep me fed.  And, unfortunately, if I’m starving, I can’t write.  And if my electricity gets turned off because I can’t pay the electric bill, than I can’t use a computer or a typewriter to write.  And if I can’t afford to buy paper and pens, then I can’t write it out longhand.

Sad to say but the older I get, the more it seems like writing is the ideal vocation for those born wealthy.

Or those married to spouses who are willing to shoulder the entire financial burden on their own.

Or those living with extremely understanding (and compliant) relatives.

I don’t want to list all the petty details of my work situation here because, again, I know that they’re probably no different from the crap that everyone else has to deal with.  Plus, quite frankly, I have to admit that there’s a lot of people out there who are in worse career situations than I am. 

But still, I never feel more trapped and claustrophobic than when I’m at work.

Something in my life is going to have to change before I totally burn myself out on not only my job but my writing and my life in general as well.

Something must change.

As human beings, we were not meant for this.