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Lather, Rinse, Repeat
Jul. 1st, 2004 11:46 amWorked yesterday, worked the day before that, work again tomorrow. This is supposed to be our busy season, but somehow I still manage to spend most of my time at work doing the nurses' jobs for them and catching up on outdated journal articles. When I have appointments, they always manage to be simple, non-challenging, painfully typical issues like puppy vaccines and schnauzers with conjunctivitis. Nothing creative or life-saving or intriguing.
Today is one of my new extra bonus days off, since my boss somehow decided that I demanded to be taken down to part-time. Because, getting married in a few months, it's not like I want to earn a decent living or anything like that. I don't need a survival-level income. Anyway. Day off. I'll probably spend it shopping for Saturday and baking cookies. Maybe I'll make a new chemise so I'll have something to wear to the SCA event in 2 weeks. Maybe I'll just lie on my stomach on the living room floor and read trashy SF for five hours. It would be about as useful as anything else I do.
I want to do something useful and important. I want to be helpful. I want to accomplish something - answer an important question, make something that matters, instead of just gratuitous carrot cake and oatmeal sandwich cookies. This would probably be easier if I had 1) marketable skills and 2) some concept of what I actually mean when I think of useful and important things, but such is life. Right now, the definition my mind has latched onto is a vague handwaving at 'something other than what I'm doing now.'
Looking over my journal for the past mumblemany years, it's pretty clear that most of my discontentment stems from feeling that whatever I'm doing in life isn't good enough or important enough or exciting enough. Given that my day job involves life and death decisions, emergency surgery, and medical intrigue, this is patently ridiculous. And yet, it's still true. Apparently I will not be happy until I am not merely a champion of animal medicine, but also a superpowered hero saving the world from certain doom. With a costume, and perfect hair, and a shiny magic gizmo or two.
That would probably satisfy me. For a year or so, at least. Of course, eventually I'd wind up whimpering here that while Darkforce Control and Smiting Eye Beams of Sarcastic Doom and my Magic Wand of Forcible Niceness were good enough, they weren't Truly Fulfilling, and I didn't feel like I was making enough of a difference, and I wouldn't feel like I were actually contributing to making the world a better place unless I could spin straw into gold, or raise the dead, or play the guitar....
Today is one of my new extra bonus days off, since my boss somehow decided that I demanded to be taken down to part-time. Because, getting married in a few months, it's not like I want to earn a decent living or anything like that. I don't need a survival-level income. Anyway. Day off. I'll probably spend it shopping for Saturday and baking cookies. Maybe I'll make a new chemise so I'll have something to wear to the SCA event in 2 weeks. Maybe I'll just lie on my stomach on the living room floor and read trashy SF for five hours. It would be about as useful as anything else I do.
I want to do something useful and important. I want to be helpful. I want to accomplish something - answer an important question, make something that matters, instead of just gratuitous carrot cake and oatmeal sandwich cookies. This would probably be easier if I had 1) marketable skills and 2) some concept of what I actually mean when I think of useful and important things, but such is life. Right now, the definition my mind has latched onto is a vague handwaving at 'something other than what I'm doing now.'
Looking over my journal for the past mumblemany years, it's pretty clear that most of my discontentment stems from feeling that whatever I'm doing in life isn't good enough or important enough or exciting enough. Given that my day job involves life and death decisions, emergency surgery, and medical intrigue, this is patently ridiculous. And yet, it's still true. Apparently I will not be happy until I am not merely a champion of animal medicine, but also a superpowered hero saving the world from certain doom. With a costume, and perfect hair, and a shiny magic gizmo or two.
That would probably satisfy me. For a year or so, at least. Of course, eventually I'd wind up whimpering here that while Darkforce Control and Smiting Eye Beams of Sarcastic Doom and my Magic Wand of Forcible Niceness were good enough, they weren't Truly Fulfilling, and I didn't feel like I was making enough of a difference, and I wouldn't feel like I were actually contributing to making the world a better place unless I could spin straw into gold, or raise the dead, or play the guitar....
