The Bowels of Hell

I hate work. Well not work in general, although that does harbor a great amount of unfriendly feelings, but my Job. I wash dishes for a paycheck. (Not a living, because my mum takes care of that.) Washing dishes gets so tedious, the same thing over and over; wash the plates then put them away. I hate it. The people I work with all have attitudes and emotions of a high school student. The problem? I may be a high school student, but I don’t conform to the normal attitude of one. It's sad; at times I feel so much more mature then them since I don’t laugh when someone refers to walnuts.

When I'm at work I almost always think about how much I hate it. This may be part as to why I hate it so much but there is no avoiding it. Many times a day I'll think to myself how much I wish the knife would slip and just cut off my finger so I wouldn’t have to work for a few days. It has actually been so bad that one day when I had a headache, I thought that the place where it hurt would be the perfect place to put a gun. Don't get me wrong, I would never kill myself, but that is just how much I hate work.

It's very hard for me to bring myself to quit. I hate the job, but I can’t do it. For some reason I've convinced myself that I have to keep a job. I never bother to think about how long the 6.5k in the bank will last me if I decide to stop working for a while. I theory I have looked for other jobs (more like "job") but it has yielded nothing. At times I forget how much money I make compared to my friends, and then I say, "I don’t care I'd work any other job for a lot less money."

In the end I go back no matter how I feel. I blame my mum for such great work ethic.