Sturm Und Drang, And Me

I despise the soul-crushing dungeon that is my workplace, and I am fed up with the mediocre bad guys who fumble their way through management.

And yet I do not leave.

I tell myself lies to justify my job. I say I'm happy with what I do, even if I don't like who I'm doing it for. I say things are bound to improve. These are the tiny doses of delusion I feed myself when I am tempted to run out the door, or when I'm called upon to be a good company soldier.

But there's poison in this Kool-Aid, and I know it, and yet I don't move on. I am lazy. That is the only explanation that makes any sense. I am lazy and I would have left ages ago, if only I had a scrap of self-respect.

So, do I have any right to complain about the way things are at work? Probably not. People should hold themselves accountable for their decisions — and their indecisions. If you refuse to move on the beach when you see the tide come in, then you shouldn't complain when you find yourself sitting in two feet of water.

My point? I'm not sure I have one. I'm just tossing around a few thoughts that have been rumbling around in my head. Perhaps, when they're all written down, I'll discover a hidden message — like a pattern in the dried tea leaves — that will lead me away from my faults and toward happiness.