Anorexia
Posted by Heather Kelleher
So here I am, hung-over and guilt ridden because I didn’t go to work. I hate that this ridiculous software company has a vice grip on my figurative balls so it’s not enough for me to feel like shit but I have to have this terrible anxiety over the “absent” points I’m accruing. Once I get to seven points apparently they’ll fire me.
Was it worth it? The answer is a most definitive YES. Had I been responsible I never would have had the chance to play the “let’s kick each other in the shins” game last night outside of the bar. Damn, my shins do fuckin hurt, and the bruises are just now becoming very noticeable and tender. Had I acted responsibly I also would not have had the opportunity to see a four hundred pound biker buy whiskey shots for a blond chic that prefers Jewish boys. I wonder if he thought he had a chance or was just going to hoist her onto his shoulder and carry her out.
So I say, yes, it was worth it, and I remind myself that it doesn’t really matter. Hell, I’m working at a software company and I loathe computers. Fucking bastards. I’m a psych and English major; I’m not conditioned to enjoy my job, particularly the whole cubicle business. I can’t tell you how much I enjoy my little partitioned off area and the fact that it’s getting so bad there we basically need a hall pass to go use the bathroom. Skipping work, I suppose, is my own warped way of exercising some control over my destiny, however detrimental. Kind of how anorexics use food to fight for some sense of power or control, even if it means starving to death.
Tomorrow I’ll go to work though. I’ll take the 7:49 bus from Oak Square to Kendall Square and I’ll hate every minute of the faint smell of urine, the lurching of the bus as it makes its stops, and even the faces that have become familiar out of this horrendous routine. And as I ride up in the elevator, before I use my magnetic security badge to gain entrance to the floor I work on, I’ll begin convincing myself that I want to be here. I’ll do such a good job deluding myself that by the time I sit down at my desk with my bagel and green tea, I’ll actually think I’m enjoying myself.
So here I am, hung-over and guilt ridden because I didn’t go to work. I hate that this ridiculous software company has a vice grip on my figurative balls so it’s not enough for me to feel like shit but I have to have this terrible anxiety over the “absent” points I’m accruing. Once I get to seven points apparently they’ll fire me.
Was it worth it? The answer is a most definitive YES. Had I been responsible I never would have had the chance to play the “let’s kick each other in the shins” game last night outside of the bar. Damn, my shins do fuckin hurt, and the bruises are just now becoming very noticeable and tender. Had I acted responsibly I also would not have had the opportunity to see a four hundred pound biker buy whiskey shots for a blond chic that prefers Jewish boys. I wonder if he thought he had a chance or was just going to hoist her onto his shoulder and carry her out.
So I say, yes, it was worth it, and I remind myself that it doesn’t really matter. Hell, I’m working at a software company and I loathe computers. Fucking bastards. I’m a psych and English major; I’m not conditioned to enjoy my job, particularly the whole cubicle business. I can’t tell you how much I enjoy my little partitioned off area and the fact that it’s getting so bad there we basically need a hall pass to go use the bathroom. Skipping work, I suppose, is my own warped way of exercising some control over my destiny, however detrimental. Kind of how anorexics use food to fight for some sense of power or control, even if it means starving to death.
Tomorrow I’ll go to work though. I’ll take the 7:49 bus from Oak Square to Kendall Square and I’ll hate every minute of the faint smell of urine, the lurching of the bus as it makes its stops, and even the faces that have become familiar out of this horrendous routine. And as I ride up in the elevator, before I use my magnetic security badge to gain entrance to the floor I work on, I’ll begin convincing myself that I want to be here. I’ll do such a good job deluding myself that by the time I sit down at my desk with my bagel and green tea, I’ll actually think I’m enjoying myself.
This entry was posted by Ben Myers, on
Monday, March 20, 2006.
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