Reflections on Work and Life

Published by The Freshmaker in the blog The Freshmaker's blog. Views: 134

I am at work. I am sitting at the desk they've given me since my promotion. It finally feels like I have a real job. A few months ago, I never would have seen myself in this position. Authority, responsibility, and a hell of a benefit plan. All that American Dream ****. I was terrified that I wouldn't be able to handle the responsibility, but I'm surprised at how easily I've taken it all on. Only my third week, and I have no problem running the whole shebang on my own.

I wonder how other people see me. The guy that I'm replacing was 6'4". Someone asks to see the manager, and I come out. All 5'0" and 90lbs of me, and I feel like they must be thinking, "Who the hell is this kid?" But then they listen to me, ask for my advice, bring me their complaints without any questions. So I suppose that I must be doing something right.

It's funny how this is the type of thing I've been wanting for so long. Yet, I wake up on Monday morning and I can't help thinking...is this it? Is this how my life is going to be for the next thirty years or so before I retire? I mean, I love my job and the people I work with. But I can't help thinking that there must be something more. I'm just not sure how to get at it. I don't want to live this same monotonous life until I've been so desensitized by it that I don't care any more.

My boyfriend and I, we annoy each other. It's basically our entire relationship. Who can be the most annoying before the other person gets seriously angry. I can't put my finger on what appeals to me about this, but there's something in me that enjoys it.

My right hip feels like its been removed and replaced with a Fiery Knot of Horrible Pain. No idea why. Must have slept on it funny.

I want to start baking bread. What else says home/love like that yeasty smell of rising dough, and a fresh loaf of crusty bread right out of the oven? It reminds me of being a little kid and playing on the kitchen floor while my mom baked and handed me extra bits of dough to mold into mermaids and dragons and trolls. It reminds me of the artisan bakery at the Ferry Plaza market in San Francisco, where I sat last summer with a fresh baguette and a basket of cherries to watch the morning traffic on The Embarcadero. I want that in my home.

It scares me that I spend so much time reading books and so little time living out my own stories.
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