Fuck this job

How's work, you ask?

Well, if you recall, late last year, I had my dream job fall into my lap. Just out of the sky. Ploop. There it was. Not at all like bird shit or anything - like something good. Like calorie-free chocolate that tastes like real chocolate, let's say. In the shape of bird poop. But not gross or anything.

I had to leave a really great job that I loved, but I knew I was making the right decision, because it was as though this job description were written just for me. It was an opportunity to flex my creative skills and combine my personal and professional lives into one. I knew I would be able to be myself in this role, and I was really looking forward to it.

The last six months haven't been easy. In fact, they've been quite rough. The learning curve was steep. The job had to be made up as I went along because it didn't exist before, and my skills and instincts were challenged in ways that I hadn't counted on. There were times I broke down crying (yeah, even while at work) because I wasn't sure if I had made the right decision, because I felt like I was in over my head, because I was convinced that my boss had made a horrible, horrible mistake in hiring me and would surely figure it out soon and kick my shit to the curb. But part of me kept whispering, "It's going to be okay. Just wait it out and get through six months. Or a year even. It will get better."

And then, suddenly, at the six-and-a-half month mark, it did. As part of my job, I had an incredible experience with a group of young, artistic, creative, innovative people that energized me, that fed me spiritually, that made me realize I am one of them. And since then, everything has just clicked at work.

I love my job.

No, that doesn't really do it justice.

I really, really love my job.

Still not good enough.

I want to make love to my job.

Getting closer, but not quite right.

I want to fuck my job.

Almost.

I want to ninja fuck my job.

Yes!!

If I could, I would ninja fuck my job. I would rip off its clothes, throw it down on the bed, and ninja fuck the fuck out of my job until we pushed the bed from one end of the room to the other. Then, I would leap over the bed, turn my job over on its stomach and ninja fuck that fucker until we pushed the bed back to the other side of the room. Then, I'd flip it over again, wrap its legs around its head, and fuck it until we were both a sweaty, screaming, multiple orgasmic mess. And then, I'd stroke my job's hair, because I love it so. I'm sweet that way.

Oh, so in answer to your question, yeah, work's alright.