.frustrate: (v.) to prevent from achieving a goal.

i hate my job.

everybody hates their job, it's just part of life. there are fabulous things that everybody in the western hemisphere anticipates with collective eagerness: three-day weekends, friday evening, sunsets, ice cream, the next big blockbuster movie. going to work in the morning is not one of those things.

i believe, however, that i am special. i have demonstrated the capacity to work hard and to love it. so i should be able to find a job that rocks my socks off on a daily basis. i should be able to find a job that is challenging, interesting, meaningful, and satisfying. i should also be able to find a job that i am good at.

i know that this is a tall order. i want my dream job. i don't want to clean toilets, wash dishes, greet customers, book plane reservations, or update spreadsheets. i want glory and prestige, creativity and meaning, and a living wage.

i believe that i should have this job, but i don't believe that i ever will.

i think i may have it as good as it gets at my current job. i have a livable salary, my own office, and a brand new powerbook g4 that i can take home and use for whatever the hell i want. i like my co-workers. i can come in late if i want to. i can park downtown for free. i get to wear heels, but nobody gives a damn if i wear jeans. i can say fuck, shit, damn, bitch, and cunt. loudly. and no one cares. there's a liquor cabinet in the kitchen and i can help myself to a top-shelf martini anytime i want. my job perks make all of my friends jealous.

but what i'm doing in my fancy little office is ordering room service, booking hotel rooms, being everybody's beck-and-call-girl. i update an array of spreadsheets, coordinate meetings, and take blame for things that aren't my fault. i'm expected to work at night and on weekends when necessary. i never get to write, strategize, or contribute in any creative or intellectual way. it fucking sucks.

and there are so many possible avenues of escape from this job, and not a single one that i'm sure i should take. they all seem drastic and divergent and mutually excusive.

i could go to grad school. for art. for photography. for teaching. for english. for creative writing. for non-profit management. for journalism. for business.

i could travel. to teach english in thailand, poland, istanbul. to work on a farm in new zealand. to work at a park in alaska. i could travel aimlessly and see where i end up. i could get a job abroad somewhere.

i could get a new job. here, in portland. i could work at a non-profit, doing development and grantwriting. i could work at omsi, the humane society, the food bank, the art museum, the library, a local college. i could get another job in pr or marketing. i could work for a company. i could babysit. i could farm. i could waitress. i could temp.

i could move to a new city and break into editing, publishing, magazine work, journalism. i could go to new york, chicago, boston, washington dc.

i could just stay put and make the most of my off time by writing, reading, taking classes. i could take a photo class, a pottery class, a yoga class, a cooking class. i could do like i'm doing and memorize zappos.com and blowdry my hair and drink increasingly girly cocktails in increasingly froufrou bars.

i could foster kittens. i could write a zine. i could get a tattoo

while the options are infinite, i can only pick one path to pursue. and in the interest of indecision, i'm staying right where i am.