Thanks, Grumpy

Mr. Grumpy and I had a chat about work, after work. I had brought stuff home with me, and was planning on working from home this evening. When I explained to Grumpy what I had in store this evening, he asked me: why?

I stopped to think about my answer. After more of his questions, I told him that I receive no overtime, I receive no additional compensation. I had to stop and think a long while about my reasons. At the end of things, my answer was that I hated missing a deadline, even if someone else had placed an unreasonable expectation/schedule before me.

The more I thought about this, the more troubled I got.

So I blew off the work I was going to do tonight. There’s a lot to be done this week. But after some serious thought… the world’s not going to end if I don’t finish some things tonight.

Instead, I focused on writing. Which, truth be told, felt a lot like work as well. I’m super behind on the poems I owe Matt, and the more I stared at the screen… the angrier I got. Writer’s block isn’t the right description – writer’s block suggests some agency-less inability to create. Writing felt like a chore, it felt like a task I needed to complete – a requirement and not a pleasureable pasttime.

Something I’ve realized tonight: my job has shifted a lot. There was a time when I thought my job was to support myself financially so I can write. Now… I’m not sure what I think my job is: web guy? flash person? tech geek?

Some big questions to answer: If I’m working hard, what am I working hard towards? Why am I working? To what end? What will happen if I stop working? Who really cares about my work? Do *I* care about my work?

A long time ago, my job used to be writing poems. A short while ago, my job changed.

I really need to figure out what my priorities are. They’ve changed in ways that I don’t think I’ve fully realized.