Stale Soggy Cornflakes Anyone?
Being at a boring job is like slowly consuming a bowl of stale soggy cornflakes drowned in room temperature over the hours of 9-5, Mon - Fri. Frankly, I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy - unless he/she had a thing for stale soggy things. OR was actually starving. Yes, actually starving, rather than a pretend half-arsed kind of starving. Consuming the gruesome gruel of a boring wok (or work) for too long will eventually transform your reality into a real life uninspiring culinary experience. Like if Gordan Ramsay made a show based on cooking dishes with the contents of a garbage bin - and that show turned out to be a documentary of your working life.
Sound awful?
But back to the hand at point. I mean the point at hand. What are you going to do about the boring soggy corn-flaky thing that you naively call an occupation? You gonna keep eating that shit until you one day collapse in a public toilet from a stress related heart attack? Or are you going to jump the already sinking SHIP, and plunge deep into the exciting waters of a chaos, job-less, sense of insecurity, all in the pursuit of something more meaningful. Or does the fear of becoming a) homeless and then b) being spat on by other homeless people scare you into the paralysis of indecision?
By the way don’t just quit your job. You need a plan which is coming in a post real soon (promise!)
Well man/woman/monkey dog, life is short, and according to Wikipedia, biologically based organisms die. Exactly when, not specified, but AT SOME POINT the grim reaper is gonna cash in on that cheque with your name on it. And when that happens, you want to be able to give the reaper the finger, then hand over the cheque wearing a smile of satisfaction, safe in the knowledge that you led a life in the pursuit of something meaningful.
After all, this is your life, not the dress rehearsal, but the actual show, in all its ticking away finitude. Every day at that job is just another crossing off of missed opportunities, another descent into nothing of particular relevance, another grey uneventful blur against the background of an unfolding cosmos of possibilities.
So what the hell are you doing?
Listen to your soul. It’s practically begging you to find an alternative set of circumstances. Your body no longer wishes to be dragged back for more of the same unfulfilled monotony. The voices of your ancestors are whispering to you louder each day with “We struggled to carry our DNA through the ages, just so you could just sit on your ass in boredom? You can do better than this. You are worth so much more you modern day damn fool.”
I hope you can see that you are not helping anyone by staying there.
You’ve a duty to find out what you really love, and to make the necessary sacrifices to get closer to it. Otherwise how do you expect to justify your life when you are old, grey and awaiting a hip replacement? There is no failure, you’ve already failed by choosing to stay where you are for so long. So from here on, the only way is up my friend. The lush plains of life and adventure are open to you, if you choose to take a chance on yourself. You need only knock on the door of future possibilities and someone or something will eventually answer, maybe it will be a gorilla in a bikini or a bearded wizard with a fancy bow tie, but dammit you need to knock and find out what’s beyond that door. Press that button and ride that emergency elevator out of that hellish subterranean alien layer.
Or you can do nothing. That’s always an easy epitaph to carve out.
Here lies no one of significance.
Hated Job.
Did nothing about it.
RIP
For now, just clear the table for another round of stale soggy cornflakes. But unfortunately, as you have been waiting, the sogginess has only continued to permeate deeper, and Gordon Ramsey is ready to lift the lid of that trash can and start creating dessert.
Hmm, food for thought indeed.
(pause to cringe for a few moments at surprisingly fitting cliche)