I happened to go back and reread this blog post. I realize most of my readers already know, via various sources that I am no longer a Mobo. I am tenant, temporarily resigned to a couch in the middle of no-fuck-where.
Aside from cruising for spelling errors and typos, of which, there are many. I shall endeavor to not continue with errors. My hands yearn to be free of your bourgeois rules of spelling! Occupy my hands! Grammar is the tool of the one-percent!
Enough frivolity, my kids. Recently I have had a spat of bad luck Job-wise. Those who know me might ask me to edit the recently out of it.
Jobs and I do not get along.
Let's be honest. Jobs seem to have a problem. Jobs are demanding, tedious,a bore at parties, and until recently, not really good with the ladies. Jobs are dirty, smell of various substances, and are prone to become injurious.
Few people are besties with a job.
I myself wonder often if I am just not cut out for a job. If by some perfect storm of genetics, upbringing, and ill luck that leaves me less-than-qualified for most jobs. I
I self-indulgently like to think that the Peter Principle has something to do with it, that I am so inept at the lower level jobs because I am meant to do a higher job. Perhaps that is true.
My current job, which is my...40th? since I started working at 14, has got me a little down, kiddos. I seem happier and more productive when I am unemployed. regardless, I have spent so much time under and un-employed that the one thing a job gets you (money) holds little appeal to me.
Somewhere, I imagine, when I close my eyes, there is a culture that exists wherein work is not nonsense jobs, but actual, worthwhile work. Perhaps a tribe that has yet to discover exploitative capitalism*
I will be writing more on the subject of shit jobs and the shit that comes with them, but I have to go to bed.
.
*Exploitative, not enlightened...
No comments:
Post a Comment