My Writing

Wrong Job?

‘So here’s the thing. I don’t think I have the right attitude or whatever for this job.

I am both a perfectionist and apathetic. Weird contrast I know, but bear with me.

For most of the year I pay attention to everything going on around me. I notice where people have been slack in their targets, or shoddy with their paint work. I pay close attention to all the tiny little details that comprise each and every single item that passes by me on the path of production. I care.

And then one day it all gets too much and I find myself drifting away from that perfectionist attitude and just sort of staring at things as they pass me by on the conveyor belt and into the packaging room. It’s like the closer the big day gets the more overwhelmed I feel and the less I care. Or maybe I care too much and because of that I don’t know what to do with myself anymore.

I just sit there and go through the motions. I take no sense of pride in my work like I do in the summer. There is too much pressure attached to it come November onwards. It all means too much after that. People care about the outcome more, it all matters.

It’s too much to deal with. Way, way, way too much.

I get this feeling deep in the pit of my stomach that niggles away at me. Nothing that passes my station pleases me, but making it perfect would take too much effort that I cannot afford to take on each one because I ave a quota to reach. A daily quota.

With a deadline. An immovable deadline.

No matter how organised I am throughout the majority of the year, come the beginning of November it feels like I have been thrown in the middle of the ocean and just left there to figure it out.

I usually drown. Every year without fail.

I mean not totally drown or anything, I definitely make it through to my short holiday, but it comes at a cost most years. Always does. That main cost being that I reach peak levels of stress whilst simultaneously reaching peak levels of apathy.

The two don’t mix well together, so I struggle and then pretty much slip under for a little bit until I get yanked back to safer waters. Back to waters where I can let the precision come back with a vengeance without worrying about it getting too much to deal with. And there is a sense of calm that comes with that.

Something that I had almost forgotten existed by the end of the year. By the end of each year. And will probably to continue to forget until the end of time…

Maybe a slight exaggeration there, but definitely for the foreseeable future.

Unless I finally get the nerve to talk to Nick about the whole situation, see if there is something else I can do that doesn’t make me feeling like I am swimming upstream and losing all my strength.

But that is an entirely different issue in itself…’

If you could tell me what came over me when I was on the train home yesterday and decided to write something from the perspective of an elf working at this time of the year that would be great, because it came out of nowhere. I had a different post planned for today and then this happened instead…

Anywho, parentheses count: 0. See you tomorrow!

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