It’s Sunday night, and I have that feeling. Do you know the one I mean? There’s a churning in my stomach (sure, it’s possible it’s the leftovers I had for dinner, but I doubt it), the slight achiness in my body, depression building as I notice the hour getting later. Miracle of miracles, it does not rear its ugly self during the summer. Therefore, it is clearly school/work related – don’t need Sherlock Holmes for that one. You know – it gets to a point where you wish for a snow day, a broken pipe, and recalculate how many off days you have in the bank? Once the reality sets in that another weekend has ended, the feeling grows. Was it such a great weekend? Not the point. Tomorrow, I’ll be up before the sun and then wait on the corner for the bus while hoping to find a seat.
Let me come out and say it – I am not happy at my job. No need for specifics now, but the amount of job satisfaction I feel at this point is minimal. I work hard and pride myself on professionalism and strive to find contentment as it arises. In fact, there are moments and days when the job feels right but ultimately, they are fleeting and therefore, I take them with a grain of salt. I am not complaining – perish the thought. As the levels of unemployment and underemployment remain elevated, the unwritten rule seems to be that people are not supposed to complain about their job. I can just hear someone offering the not so sage advice, “Just be happy you have a job.” I am happy I have a job – my children have gotten used to eating, and it is a comfort to not have to worry about how I am going to feed them. I acknowledge, recognize and appreciate that. However, does that mean I have to love my job? No, I don’t think so. I want something else, preferably something that doesn’t come with Sunday night sickness. I don’t think that is too much to ask for.