Nine-to-Fives Are Easy

I am eager to be back on the job market.

No, I didn’t just awake from a hundred-year nap. I’m just tired of being a student. Of course, once I do graduate and can wave that signal piece of paper to employers–letting them know I may be overqualified but I still need to eat, especially in this market–I won’t be complaining. Still, right now–at this very moment–I’ve got the itch to work, not study.

I’ve talked before about my insulation, and on some days, I’m really feeling my student-ness. It’s been so long since I had a “real job” I actually forgot the name of the government forms everyone’s waiting to receive around this season. What do you call ’em? Yeah, yeah–oh yeah–W2s, right? Then there’s the money from Uncle Sam, but even that’s not a win-win, ’cause I’ll be paying all that back pass the time it’ll take for my Rubbermaid container to biodegrade. More importantly, there’s the sleeping in (when I get a chance) and the Thursdays off…Pure…Sweetness.

I say all this at the risk of not being taken seriously. Hey, I DO work, you know. Like most grad students, I’ve got an internship going on, and I’ve mentioned that assistantship that pays for my weekly bag of Doritos. I can attest, on behalf of grad students everywhere, to having your mind pulled by the four winds–just staying on top of what’s due tomorrow.

Not enough hours in a day, I tell you.

I keep admonishing myself to stay in the present and appreciate this grad school experience, as I won’t have another such as this. And it has been great. Though I don’t see myself as an academic, nothing titillates like brain sex and working against an intellectual challenge–the frustration of wrapping my mind around new, foreign concepts until something clicks…ahhhh, knowledge transferred.

However, if I had a JOB-job, I’d have only my 9 to 5 to worry with. There’s living to be done, right? I could ride the train while reading books I actually like instead of seething with envy, white flames popping from my nostrils, while the lady next to me reads “A New Earth.” I could exercise and not feel guilty, thinking I should be reading some policy analysis reasoning for government intervention in markets. I could cultivate actual friendships, even go out to dinner once in a while, in this new city that I still haven’t quite broken into. Or I could get off work and catch up on 15 episodes of “Lost” if I wanted to.

IF I wanted to.

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