(aka Stuff Megan Thinks About Every Time She Works Nowadays)

Today I woke up and I did not want to get out of bed to go to work. I thought that the whole time I was eating breakfast and getting dressed. I don't want to go to work. I thought while I looked at my cat running around. I wanted to play with him. I did not want to go to work.

Hell, I never want to go to work. I'm quite lazy. I like lying in bed and sitting on my ass. Just flopping around all day. I never want to go to work. Because even though I can browse the internet and stuff my face, I still have to look presentable. And you know. Sometimes I have to work at work.

The other day I had a dream. A nightmare. I went back to Party City. I had put on my khakis and black t-shirt and plastic name tag with the faded letters and I had gone back to Party City to work for Halloween. I worked every day. With Emily. With Dustin. With DJ. I was given vague directions and then left to do all the things. My cashier's tills were all off. The deposit was wrong. The computer was malfunctioning. The power went out and the registers had to be rebooted several times before they would work. The ad prices hadn't been uploaded properly so nothing on sale was scanning at the right price. The store was packed and all the registers were in use. I had one stocker. Costumes were getting stolen, children were peeing in the aisles, babies were screaming. The toilet broke. We ran out of helium. All the balloon orders were wrong.

I felt so much self-loathing because I had gone back There. And I hated myself for it because I was miserable.

And then I woke up.

So many people didn't seem to understand why I quit Party City. Everyone hates their job, they said. The number of people who actually love what they do is incredibly low. The hours are good and the pay is decent, so you'd be stupid to leave.

And yeah, that's probably true. But most people don't hate themselves for working where they do. And I hated myself for working at Party City.

So I left. I quit. And I felt so much fucking relief. Even when I had no job and couldn't find one and had no money at all, I was still relieved. Because I didn't work there.

And yeah, I don't ever want to go to work. And I hate having to leave my cats at home while I'm here. I hate that I have to remind myself that I can't look at porn and that I have to unfollow all of my NSFW blogs on tumblr and that I can't download anything and that I can't personalize my browser the way I'd like.

But you know? I'm here. I'm here and I don't want to be, but I don't hate myself for being here. And it feels fucking awesome.
 
 
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