Progeny of Monotony

A big subject of contention in my life is my job. I work 60 hours a week, for less than minimum wage. I deal with clueless customers who are often surprised by my perfect greeting, as I am often complimented, sometimes chastised, on my well-rehearsed voice. Sometimes I think we lose call volume because I sound like an answering machine. Hah! It shall be no more, tonight was a successful night of Trixbox PBX goodness, our entire system is on the first run using the IVR answering. I digress.

My job sucks. I earn $5/hr, working what is supposed to be 60 hours a week, but is slowly dwindling downward. The stress of paying rent, utilities, and heaven forbid taxes on such a budget is indomitable: I can't imagine adding insurance and gas to this, when I get a car up and running. The love of my life chastises me for it, and I can't tell her enough how much I really do hate it. I do not have a working car, and I do not yet have insurance to provide the DMV with proof that I do have insurance, so I don't have a license. There are fast food places within walking distance, surely. Ideally, if I had a car, I could be an on-call Engineer and earn maybe an extra hundred bucks a week. Sure, I earn $33/hr as a consultant, but when business is the equivalent of dysentery on a hot summer day, I earn jack for nothing. Of course, in this scenario, it is difficult to find the finances to afford a car to begin with.

It's hard in these circumstances to even consider such things as school, a degree, or better living conditions. It's devastating to me, my life, my relationships, and everything that cascades on from such. It doesn't help when the doors in my house are left open, dissipating what little heat I've trapped in the kitchen into the other frozen rooms of my apartment. Piles of dirty dishes plague the sink, and I'm never home to wash them. Wait, remind me again why I'm washing someone else's dirty dishes? Oh, that's right - my apartment would be even dirtier if it weren't for the thirty minutes a night I spend after getting home from spending the remainder of my free time with Amber. Of course, directly after, shower and bed. Only to wake in the morning for work at 0800. Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday.

If only people were patient, if only I could let them into my world. Unfortunately, I'm expecting a box to be placed on my doorstep any day now, with all of the various items I've gifted out over the past year and a half. There's nothing I can do to stop it, as far as I can tell, except to go work at Subway. I wish I could tell her that it'd be by the grace of God if I got out of that position, once I went there. No, it's not understood. It can't be understood. How long can one love without being loved in return? The sad thing is, it is in both ways. How sick and maniacally twisted is that?