Every day, seven takes of the same old scene
Seems we’re bound by the laws of the same routine
– The Pussycat Dolls, I Hate This Part –
I don’t remember the last time I felt like this. It was probably some time in 2007, when I was in a job I loved but that couldn’t get me the H1 to stay on in the U.S., and when I was thinking that it would be better to come back even though it was to a place I had been desperate to escape years ago. Whenever it was, it wasn’t pleasant, and it still isn’t. It is not a pleasant feeling to close your eyes and watch your life play before you and realize what a joke it is.
Yes, my life is one great big joke.
I have a good job that I love, but I work with people I can’t stand and wouldn’t trust any further than I can throw them. I do public relations, a job that seems to require some amount of shoe-shining — in this country, at least — but which I’m too cynical for and reminds me of why I didn’t want to come back to work in this country in the first place. My ability to shut people and unnecessary drama out enables me to do my job as best as I can, but this ability has also shut myself in and away from the rapport that I’m required to build in order to move up. My complete disregard for politics and distaste for the ass-kissing I see happening everyday hold me back from wanting to move up, hence giving me no interest in building said rapport.
And oh, men: the ever-present irony. There was you, who were too busy loving yourself, who never loved me, never could, never wanted to and never tried. There was you, who were too busy loving someone else at the same time. There was you, who loved what you wanted me to be and tried to beat it out of me when I failed to meet your expectations. And there was you, who could only love me from afar — literally.
The ironies keep snowballing, don’t they just?
But all this is probably my own fault. I sit back, miserable with the environment in which I work, but happy with what I do, so I keep doing it. I sit back, too afraid to push for what I want — even though I’ve been taught to time and time again — because I don’t want to end up pushing it away, and ultimately I end up being shut out myself.
The joke’s on me.
OK whiny time’s over.