I am raring to go out tonight–with the possibility of seeing my kick-ass, mean friends from two jobs back. Did I mention already that I am friendless here? Oh, well I have my (cool) boss and the equally (cool yet acerbic) Media Relations boss — they’ve been my only source of comfort and peace in this otherwise cruel and snooty place. But save from them, I am usually at my own place, dealing with my own shit.
Save yourself the pity party — I am not really bothered if I don’t get to hang out and exchange with office gossip with the people here. For one, I am not one who needs to be constantly with people. I actually find comfort on being alone. And for the rare moments that I am blessed with friends, I find that I usually gravitate to people who are intelligently sarcastic yet kind, detached yet relatable. And well, given the choice here, I’d rather wing it on my own, thank you.
Oh God, I am turning into Daria here at the office–minus the cringe-worthy taste in clothes. I am sarcastic, usually emotionless and prone to saying things as they are, minus all the BS. (which is soooo rampant here in the office).
I currently handle just one account (for non-PR people, it means, I am just handling one client) but I am always beat by the end of the day. You know why? Because the account–that one effing account–has the power to drain all my energies and enthusiasm in just one quick email. The sight of the yellow envelope icon at the bottom of my computer monitor is enough to send me stressing. My client has this thing where she demands incessantly on either (a) virtually impossible things or (b)stuff that’s been passed for her reference days ago (which she managed to miss because she doesn’t check her mother frigging email). I am looking forward to the day when my boss will inform me that she’s removing this problem account from my hands. I don’t care if she replaces it with ten million other accounts, but as long as these accounts have reasonable people in it, I don’t really mind.
Oh wow, 3PM and already ranting huh?
Sometimes, I don’t even know why I am working this hard? I am barely out of my 20s but I already possess the tired, old soul of a 65 year old Japanese salaryman. Maybe it’s because of my dreams of providing a better future and a better life not only for my future kids but also for my aging parents. I really wanted them to experience how it’s like living a comfortable life, after all — they’ve been struggling the rest of their lives. And working hard is a small sacrifice I am willing to make just to make sure that my parents are comfortable.
So yeah, right now the highlight of my day would be the possibility of seeing familiar faces at around 6PM and hearing the comforting stories and hearing the familiar laughter and below-the-belt jokes (I have VERY mean friends, people :-))
It’s 3:30…I can’t wait to get out of here.