I've realized what my - problem - is so to speak with work. It's not that I'm bored (though I am). It's not that I don't feel like I'm really needed (which I do). It's not even that what I'm doing doesn't challenge me at all (cuz it doesn't). The problem, my dear friends, is that I. Don't. Care.
Really, I don't give a flying freak. It's been building up slowly but surely - I noticed a bit of it right before Xmas, but now, it's crystal clear. My level of caring about this job is right around my level of caring about the pretty pictures on the dark side of the moon - zilch. Hell, I might care about the pictures more.
I have to stay for a year. That's the agreement I made in order to move here. And I love Memphis - I do. This job was certainly the right move there. But, I feel like - I sat here this morning and could feel tears welling up. It's - and really, I've got a shiteload of nerve whinging over the fact that I don't care about my job (I would actually rather hate my job than not care about - at least the hate would be a prod) considering it's a pretty damn cushy job, and this job is furthering the rate of our debt payoff, but shite. I - I don't think that I'm going to be able to stay here much longer. I - *thinks* it's just not - right - healthy? maybe would be a better word. I just - I'm just - *sigh*
I don't know. I don't know what I want, but I know it ain't here - surrounded by *waves hand frentically* all this. This is so not where I am supposed to be.
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