You know, darling invisible friend, I just don't think it's healthy or right to loathe one's job as profoundly as I do. I don't. I wake up every workday with a feeling of despair and hatred. Sure, it makes for some amusing blogs, but this isn't about your needs.
As usual, it's about mine.
I must find different work. I simply must. It's awful enough to be the bad guy for every patient, but you mix in the stunning thrill of explaining how to collect urine, sputum, stool or semen specimens in an appropriate manner on a daily basis, and it just becomes less fun. And then there's the management.
Well. We've discussed this.
Anyway, I've been saying for ages that my dream job is one that allows me to have a small room with a door. A door that shuts. It could be a very small and windowless room. After more than two decades in labs, I'm okay with small and windowless. But a door. A door that shuts is essential.
In this tiny room with a shutting door that exists in my dreams of a better job, there is a desk. On the desk is an inbox and an outbox. In the fantasy I've constructed, I walk into my doored cubbyhole in the morning, close the door, and work through the pile in the inbox, placing pile pieces in the outbox when I'm done. What precisely I would do, I do not know, nor do I really care. That's irrelevant. What is relevant is that my phone rarely rings. Almost no one stops by. I'm valued for my efficiency and attention to detail and left to do the exacting work no one else wants to address.
If I really feel wild and crazy in my daydream, I imagine that there's a place in my closed room for a dog bed. And nobody minds my wee beastie coming to work with me.
Sadly, I have not found this dream job yet. I'm getting a teensy bit desperate. In the meantime, I've come up with another dream job.
Royal Food Tester.
I think this would be an awesome job for me. I would get to try all the delicious food prepared for someone with more money than I will ever see in a lifetime, so odds are it'd be pretty good food. Not that I'm picky. Just saying. And I have a gut of iron, so it's safe to say I'd be able to eat as large a volume as needed, without getting an upset stomach. This is important during feasts.
I'm not denying the downsides of the job. I wouldn't get to choose what I wanted to eat. It's entirely possible that the royal whoever would want to eat the five things on the planet I do not eat. It's not like I could eat as much as I want of the royal buffet, either. And naturally, there's the whole death thing if the monarch/pasha/czar's enemies succeed in poisoning the food. But at least I'd get a good snack in first.
And nobody would make me do hot yoga.
Dammit, I hate dieting.
Strangely, not as much as I hate my job. Huh. Just realized that. Go figure.