Tuesday, July 15, 2008


I've been out of my element and I've spent the last two days in bed, partly sweating out the fever, and partly counting the number of hours before I head back to work.

I hate that tomorrow I have to return to work. The hundreds of emails I've received for my two days of absenteeism isn't exactly a motivator.

I hate my job. It blurs the line between work and life, and I am very particular about them being two mutually exclusive activities. I find it psychologically tiring to mix and match them for a salary that isn't worthwhile.

I pick being happy and poor over rich and miserable in a nanosecond.

Last Thursday, I was on night duty. Night duty means watching emails come in and updating advertisements that come in at an ungodly hour. Little did I know that emails carried such significance that it couldn't wait the very few hours that marked the next day. I came in on Friday morning and got a warning for not updating the information on an article which wasn't mine to begin with.

Would someone die if I hadn't updated the article as and when the information came in? Was the information vital to all our livelihoods? Was I losing millions of dollars for the company because I hadn't update it that night and chose to wait till the morning I came in?

Bloody fucking pathetic. And fuck being ambitious, career-minded and pinning hopes on a promotion. Hell, I'm insecure but I don't need a fucking performance appraisal to tell me I'm worthy of existence.

Ambitions. Careers. Do we really know what it means? They're just society's instilled ideas of what you should want in life. Who the hell wants to be a bloody accountant, secretary or some customer care officer? No one.

So, what does your job title say? We compromise so many hopes and dreams for the sake of being responsible and adult. I'm willing to accept it all for the assurance that work and life remain two mutually exclusive events.

Is that too much to ask for?

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