All That Money Wants
I don't like my job anymore.
Not that I ever really did--the work is what I like to refer to as being of the "sheltered workshop" variety. In other words, if you fed a monkey enough bananas, you could teach him/her to do my job. I get bored easily and need a lot of mental stimulation, and let's face it, insurance defense ain't cutting it for me. Not to mention so much of law practice is feast or famine--I'll go weeks with little or nothing to do, then get hit by a seemingly endless tidal wave of horseshit.
There are many things I love about this firm--my paycheck, for one. I make really damn good money for what I do. I also pay next to nothing for health and dental insurance. I get 3 weeks off a year (paid) and there's much flexibility in terms of when or if I show up and/or leave for the day. I don't have to pay for coffee or Diet Pepsi or microwave popcorn. I like most of the people I work with. I have a 401K and get a kick-ass Christmas bonus every year.
But the arrogance of some associates leaves me reeling. The lack of organization in a firm that's starting to experience growing pains--and the politics associated with such--is draining. We have a conference table that converts to a pool table, but we don't have a damned document management system and only certain people are allowed to have access to certain software because we "can't afford" to buy licenses for more than 10 people. Our servers are antiquated and crash routinely, and our only IT personnel consists of an independent contractor who shows up once a week for 2 hours, max.
Not to mention one of the 2 attorneys I work for just quit. This sort of leaves me in limbo, which I don't care for one bit. I've been told they don't really know what the plan is--whether they're going to hire another associate, or just give me more "other" responsibilities (such as my work with the firm website, etc.). I don't really care one way or the other (though I favor the latter option), I just want to know. There's no chance of my being let go--that's not my concern. My concern is having my job change to something I like even less than my current position.
I guess I should just shut up and enjoy the fact I even have a fucking job, right? All the same, I visualized life after college would be...somewhat different than this.
But that's what happens when you're an underachiever.
I've only been here for an hour and a half today. I spent most of yesterday and last night obsessing over where the fuck my period could be. Got up at 6 am to take Test #2 and lo and behold, it too was negative. Praise Jesus, Hallelujah. My luck, I'm probably in early menopause--worrying about being knocked up when the reality is, there's nothing left to get knocked up with. Talk about irony...
Ben mentioned last night that maybe I should consider going on the pill. I'm not exactly thrilled about this for several reasons. My only experience to date with hormonal birth control involved Lunelle--remember Lunelle? The once-a-month shot that was just like the pill, only in an injectable form that you only had to remember, well, monthly? I started taking that in November of 2001, right after my son was born. I remember my periods essentially stopped--which was kind of nice, but kind of sucked given I'd freak out every month thinking I might be pregnant again. I also remember feeling like I had chronic PMS--just bitchy as hell and emotionally unstable and generally psychotic. Granted, much of that could be attributed to postpartum depression (fuck you, Tom Cruise) and the fact I was living with my ex, who rarely spoke to me after our son was born and generally treated me like shit. But I can't help but wonder if jacking with my body chemistry had something to do with it. I eventually gave up Lunelle in August of 2002--about a month before it was pulled off the market (something about a high failure rate--nice). And immediately I started to feel more like myself. Again, that could be because the PPD was resolving, but I can't be sure.
And let's not forget the important shit--I'm old, dammit. I'll be 33 in October, and I smoke. Yes, I want to quit, but quitting is hard, and I don't want "blood clots and stroke" to be my incentive. And it's not like age is the main factor in that equation. I knew a girl in high school who had a stroke at the ripe ol' age of 18 because of the pill and smoking. Good to know.
There's just something about screwing around with one's chemical makeup that freaks me out. I won't hesitate to shove any number of pills down my gullet for one ailment or another--better living through chemistry, after all--but not stuff that starts altering hormones and shit. I took Effexor for about a year a while back to help me get through anxiety and depression (side effects of living with my ex), and I eventually weaned myself from it because yes, it did help me gain enough clarity to leave my bad situation, but it also had some nasty side effects.
Maybe I should just have confidence in the pharmaceuticals industry. 30+ years of non-pregnant women can't be wrong, right?
I need to pull myself up by the bootstraps and yank my ass out of this funk I've been slipping into. I have to get my shit together so I can move--and I hate moving. That's also bringing me down. As much as I want to live with Ben, I'd love it even more if a group of mover elves appeared one afternoon and did all the packing and moving for me.
So much to think about when one is a grown up. Fuck this, I want to be 5 again.
Maybe not.
Not that I ever really did--the work is what I like to refer to as being of the "sheltered workshop" variety. In other words, if you fed a monkey enough bananas, you could teach him/her to do my job. I get bored easily and need a lot of mental stimulation, and let's face it, insurance defense ain't cutting it for me. Not to mention so much of law practice is feast or famine--I'll go weeks with little or nothing to do, then get hit by a seemingly endless tidal wave of horseshit.
There are many things I love about this firm--my paycheck, for one. I make really damn good money for what I do. I also pay next to nothing for health and dental insurance. I get 3 weeks off a year (paid) and there's much flexibility in terms of when or if I show up and/or leave for the day. I don't have to pay for coffee or Diet Pepsi or microwave popcorn. I like most of the people I work with. I have a 401K and get a kick-ass Christmas bonus every year.
But the arrogance of some associates leaves me reeling. The lack of organization in a firm that's starting to experience growing pains--and the politics associated with such--is draining. We have a conference table that converts to a pool table, but we don't have a damned document management system and only certain people are allowed to have access to certain software because we "can't afford" to buy licenses for more than 10 people. Our servers are antiquated and crash routinely, and our only IT personnel consists of an independent contractor who shows up once a week for 2 hours, max.
Not to mention one of the 2 attorneys I work for just quit. This sort of leaves me in limbo, which I don't care for one bit. I've been told they don't really know what the plan is--whether they're going to hire another associate, or just give me more "other" responsibilities (such as my work with the firm website, etc.). I don't really care one way or the other (though I favor the latter option), I just want to know. There's no chance of my being let go--that's not my concern. My concern is having my job change to something I like even less than my current position.
I guess I should just shut up and enjoy the fact I even have a fucking job, right? All the same, I visualized life after college would be...somewhat different than this.
But that's what happens when you're an underachiever.
I've only been here for an hour and a half today. I spent most of yesterday and last night obsessing over where the fuck my period could be. Got up at 6 am to take Test #2 and lo and behold, it too was negative. Praise Jesus, Hallelujah. My luck, I'm probably in early menopause--worrying about being knocked up when the reality is, there's nothing left to get knocked up with. Talk about irony...
Ben mentioned last night that maybe I should consider going on the pill. I'm not exactly thrilled about this for several reasons. My only experience to date with hormonal birth control involved Lunelle--remember Lunelle? The once-a-month shot that was just like the pill, only in an injectable form that you only had to remember, well, monthly? I started taking that in November of 2001, right after my son was born. I remember my periods essentially stopped--which was kind of nice, but kind of sucked given I'd freak out every month thinking I might be pregnant again. I also remember feeling like I had chronic PMS--just bitchy as hell and emotionally unstable and generally psychotic. Granted, much of that could be attributed to postpartum depression (fuck you, Tom Cruise) and the fact I was living with my ex, who rarely spoke to me after our son was born and generally treated me like shit. But I can't help but wonder if jacking with my body chemistry had something to do with it. I eventually gave up Lunelle in August of 2002--about a month before it was pulled off the market (something about a high failure rate--nice). And immediately I started to feel more like myself. Again, that could be because the PPD was resolving, but I can't be sure.
And let's not forget the important shit--I'm old, dammit. I'll be 33 in October, and I smoke. Yes, I want to quit, but quitting is hard, and I don't want "blood clots and stroke" to be my incentive. And it's not like age is the main factor in that equation. I knew a girl in high school who had a stroke at the ripe ol' age of 18 because of the pill and smoking. Good to know.
There's just something about screwing around with one's chemical makeup that freaks me out. I won't hesitate to shove any number of pills down my gullet for one ailment or another--better living through chemistry, after all--but not stuff that starts altering hormones and shit. I took Effexor for about a year a while back to help me get through anxiety and depression (side effects of living with my ex), and I eventually weaned myself from it because yes, it did help me gain enough clarity to leave my bad situation, but it also had some nasty side effects.
Maybe I should just have confidence in the pharmaceuticals industry. 30+ years of non-pregnant women can't be wrong, right?
I need to pull myself up by the bootstraps and yank my ass out of this funk I've been slipping into. I have to get my shit together so I can move--and I hate moving. That's also bringing me down. As much as I want to live with Ben, I'd love it even more if a group of mover elves appeared one afternoon and did all the packing and moving for me.
So much to think about when one is a grown up. Fuck this, I want to be 5 again.
Maybe not.
posted by Mitzi Green at 11:44 AM
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