There is nothing more depressing than being 27 and stuck in a job that doesn’t excite you creatively none what so ever. Well I guess I’m exaggerating. Sure there are more depressing things in life like cancer, famine, war and Keira Knightley’s acting skills.
I spend 8,5 hours from Mon-Fri sitting here looking out of the window praying for a better job. I'm waiting for the day the perfect job is brought to me on a silver platter. Surely, I'm talented enough to get that kind of service? I know I should be working harder on finding a new job. But you see the problem is that I don’t know what I would like to do when I grow up.
The prospect of getting another PA role to provide support to some overweight middle-aged guy who is completely devoid of personality just depresses me. I’d rather stay where I am till I get the perfect opportunity. I know, I know this is not how life works but I’m way too lazy and old to change my ways. Now that’s a scientific fact.
So I spend my days doing research on Google, finding answers to all important questions like: What face shape do I have? How many calories in a large glass of wine? How do they get the fortune inside the cookie? Or send pictures of cute bulldog puppies to my boyfriend, who comes back with equally as lame emails.
If our ancient forefathers had had all this free time in their hands they would have invented the wheel much earlier and teleportation and hoverboards would be part of our daily lives by now.
There are days when I think, “fuck this”, I’m going to leave this stupid job and join a hippie commune somewhere in Thailand. Who cares about the perfect career and CV? Who cares about having loads of money? Who cares about all these superficial things that are suppose to make me happy? But then five minutes later I get distracted by an amazing dress on asos.com and all my fuck yous go out of the window.
So I crawl back to my cave of self-pity, bow to the Gods of online shopping and continue with being unsatisfied.
Normal service is resumed.