More Complaining

So I'm sitting in my cubicle, waiting for the urge to work to hit me so that I can actually get something productive done today. I've been here an hour and no urges yet. Not a single one. I'm aware that this is irresponsible of me. It reflects poorly on my maturity and work ethic. I'm also aware that everybody else here today is doing the same thing.

In an average week, I get perhaps four or five productive hours on the good days and two or three hours on the bad days. This may sound like an ideal situation to some, but the constant tedium of having to fill those excess hours with SOMEthing is almost as draining as if I actually did what I'm being paid for. So why not just work the whole time? The answer is simple: I am in a situation in which it is to my disadvantage to work as efficiently as I can. I will produce more headache for myself and my coworkers if I were to burn through my work in a matter of a few weeks rather than a few months. Frankly, I could work myself right out of a job that way. Its a limited scope project, and once its done, its done. Besides, I'm already twice as productive as many of my coworkers; it would not be wise to stand out more than that.

So, despite having only about fifteen to twenty useful hours in my work week, I'm required to be here for forty in order to get my full paycheck. That's modern capitalism for you. Apologists say that our capitalistic economy encourages hard work and rewards those who go the extra mile. I say that, all too often, it breeds apathy and mediocrity. As a member of the work force who sells his time and labor to the highest bidder because I am without any means of production of my own, I'm merely one small part in a large machine whose purpose I cannot understand from my limited perspective. I'm not sure what happens to my project before or after me. I'll never see or interact with the customers who use what I create. I have no personal investment in the product. I get paid the same rate per hour whether I complete 10 categories or none. Something is wrong here, with the entire system or just with me; either way I'm getting out of corporate America, taking the road less traveled, and never looking back. If that means I must be poor the rest of my life, then I'll just have to deal with that.

A friend of mine remarked the other day that she doesn't like water because she resents the fact that we have to drink it to survive. We teased her, of course, but I think I understand what she means. I feel the same way about money. I resent the fact that you can't do anything without money. I resent the fact that we live our entire lives as slaves to little green pieces of paper. We sacrifice so much our time, so many of our relationships with other people, so many of our dreams and hopes and aspirations, all for what? For paper, which only has value because we all say it does. It seems absurd. But complaining about it isn't going to change it. I need money for my move to South Carolina; I need it to pay rent and to buy a car. So here I am. Seven hours left to go.

And speaking of a messed up system and buying a car, what is the deal with car dealerships? Buying anything besides cars (computers, expensive sets of clothing, or even a house) does not involve a blatant and complicated game of cat and mouse in which seller and buyer are in constant competition to cheat each other and gain an upper-hand in international politics-style diplomatic negotiation. Why on earth does getting a car have to be so freakin' complicated? I was going to try to get a car last week, but I put the whole thing on hold because it was seriously stressing me out. I can't deal with salesmen. Let's face it: there's a lot of things I just can't deal with. I'll be twenty-five in a few days and I'm still mostly incapable of handling just about anything. You'd laugh at me if I told you all the things that freak me out and bother me. Better not to ask.

But if you'll excuse me, I have an hour of doodling to do, followed by a strenuous hour of failing horribly at online crossword puzzles. How depressingly pathetic.