Monday blues

Every morning, I say o God, give me strength. I know that I’m very blessed. I have a job that pays all my bills. I find my freshly-laundered bras and panties in my drawers (thanks, mon petit mari). I don’t have an annoyingly gossipy MIL. I’m a house-owner. I have eliminated hypocritical people from my ‘friends list’ during my 20s. Basically, I’m left with the good stuff.

 

Except one thing. I dread going to work.

 

The Words are very wise. We’ll never be happy if we don’t count our blessings. In some ways, I’m still surviving because I do that.

 

It’s easy to forget that once I’m sitting at my workspace. Like a friend describing work stress, it could envelope your whole body. You don’t feel sick, but you just don’t feel well. You feel as if bad energies are encircling you.

 

Am I being trapped? Not exactly. But sort of. I’m not in a battle to climb the management ladder ; I’m not interested. I’m fine in my position but it comes with a price. I can’t do my work in tranquility. I can’t sit quietly. I have to pretend that I’m overworked. I have to shout to be made known my presence. I have to beg for my bonus and pay raise. I have to come up with the best possible small talks. The thing is, if you behave like an adult, your career would be doomed. It’s a circus here.  

 

Let me describe how the job is. It’s like taking medicine or locking your car. One pill each time, three times a day. Press once on the remote control to lock the car. You must have once in a while asked yourself a stupid question. Just five minutes after walking away from your car, you asked yourself “have I locked the car?”. Or “have I taken my medicine during lunch time?”. The action becomes so routine and automatic, it’s being incorporated into your reflex. You stop thinking about doing it. Basically, you stop thinking. Does it bother you if you stop thinking to do your job? Oh, yes.

 

It’s Monday again. Déjà vu.