There’s something deeply depressing about realizing that you’re not very good at your job. I mean, I’m good enough not to get fired, but that’s it. It’s not a hard job, it’s just that I can’t concentrate. I stay up late at night reading, posting this entry, doing anything to try to forget that tomorrow I have to go back to work. I get four or five hours of sleep, and then I can’t focus the next day, and the cycle continues.
What sucks is that 95% of the earth’s inhabitants would kill to have my job. They’re struggling for survival and I’m depressed. It’s obscene. Sometimes I think I will be happier if I accept that I will never be happy. Actually, I feel a little better after typing that sentence. There are so many things I want to do before my brain turns to mush and my body falls apart, and yet the only thing I must do is work 8 hours. And it seems like that is the only thing that ever gets done. Half-assed, but still, I’m there.
What if I’m that guy that’s terrible at every job he gets? I don’t want to be that guy.
I have five hours before my alarm goes off. Another day of mediocrity awaits.