Job-Prince

Apparently, I am picky as all get out.

Also, apparently, I spend my life critiquing other peoples’ behavior.

I know, shocker. You knew that.

These and many other realizations came to me in a shimmering blaze of glory the other night as I sat awake for several hours, contemplating my life and whether I was ever going to find a job that I actually like.

Even though (get this) I LIKE my current job.

Some people think that a prince or princess is out there, waiting for them, and that no matter how they live their lives, eventually they will be found by the perfect person and will instantly fall madly and deeply in love.

It’s always been my contention that these are either 1) the people that start producing children they regret in their mid-teens or 2) future divorcees.

I am very unimpressed with these people.

Unfortunately for me, I just discovered that I am one of those people.

(photo by server pics)

Not in male-female relationships. Thankfully, I grew up with the notion that my love is what I make of it, not what I wish it to be. If I want a good man, I figure out what that is, and then I do everything in my power to attract one.

(It worked, by the way.)

The thing is that that whole mindset never really sunk in when I started working. For my entire life (it’s been such a long one) I’ve drifted from job to job in a listless haze, always imagining that my Prince Charming Job is out there, somewhere, searching for me. And some day he shall find me and I and my Job shall ride off into the sunset as silver birds flit about us, twittering in sweet harmony.

Yeah.

You may crack a grin, but this (ridiculous as it sounds) is about accurate. I didn’t realize it until now, this week, well over a decade after I punched in my very first time card.

My poor boss(es). Here they are, just trying to make a buck, delighted that they’ve found a good, solid worker, and I’m in a perpetual state of discontent because this is just a “filler job” until the “real thing” comes along.

(photo by Mr BrussUillis)

The list of similarities between wishful thinking in relationships (which I have never suffered from) and wishful thinking in jobs (which I have always suffered from) just goes on and on. But this is good for a start. Just wanted to share with you, some of my not-so-fabulous moments.

James Joyce calls it an epiphany, but it feels more like a baseball bat to the side of the head.

As soon as I stop reeling from the shock of being wrong, I’ll be focusing on overcoming this lifetime of magical thinking. Sure to be pathetic and painful. CAN’T WAIT.

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8 thoughts on “Job-Prince”

  1. One day my wife told me that when I die of a coronary they will send flowers from work and the next day someone will be sitting in my chair going through my files. Only she and the kids will be at the funeral crying for me. That stuck with me the last 20+ years, through some really sucky jobs. Now I have a better job, but it still never hugged me or kissed me or brought me tea when I was sick. I still think about that funeral sometimes.

  2. wow! very interesting insights here (love the pic)! been catching up on your blog, sorry to hear about the rock incident, and psycho kitty’s behaviour is most intriguing! 🙂

  3. I’m sure it doesn’t feel like it right now, but I think you are so, so lucky to have found this out now instead of when you’re forty. Ish.
    Let’s say “just short of 50.”

    Baseball bat, indeed. Or is it genetic? Part of the “find your god-given mission in life and save the world” hard-wiring certain bloodlines seem prone to…

    And then there’s Guilt-induced Career Magicthink. Living up to the moral responsibility of “highest and best use” rather than mere contentment, or, like, justifying a very expensive education.

    eeeeeeek.

  4. Wow what a post! Sorry it’s so painful for you (being wrong is just awful) but I got a lot out of it.
    Don’t mean to be seem creepy – you don’t know me – I found your blog from One Minute Writer and have been reading it for a few months. I like your outlook on life and the way you write.

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