Thursday, 11:10AM

Today has been the longest day of this first week back after winter break. I’ve been at work for 2 hours and have dreaded every single moment since I arrived. There’s a high school intern here today, an attractive brunette about 5’-5”, taught physique not yet corrupted by the freshman fifteen. For the next two weeks she’ll observe and attempt introductory tasks to provide her an idea of what life working in this civil engineering firm is like. It’s a kind gesture on the president’s part, as I believe this girl is a member of his church. Yesterday was her first day and she’s already a pro. Thirty minutes before the bell was rung, she was checking her yahoo email account and sending text messages on her phone. I couldn’t help but smile as she clicked out of the internet in haste and or fear that I’d discover she was bored and trying to pass the seconds until it was time to head home. I can’t imagine what must be going through her head. I can imagine, though, approaching her for an exclusive interview, my first as I contemplate my change in careers from disgruntled overpaid engineer to average underpaid unemployed reporter. Writing seems to be the only task in which I find enjoyment and a will to improve. I can wholeheartedly relate to the high school girl. If this is how my job is now, at such a ripe young age, how can I possibly hope to ever find solace or success 10 years from now? Sure, my generation, Generation Me, loves to complain. We’ve been catered to for so many years with advances in every technology which makes being lazy that much easier. And quite possibly I’m simply complaining to pass the time or to fit in with my peers. But why not complain. If we’re a generation with the most opportunities available to us in the history of humanity, why not question the validity of the pipe dreams we were fed as young children, “you can do anything you put your mind to?” I have no desire to be an astronaut, or a doctor, a construction worker or policeman, or even a rat in a cubicle. If my kindergarten teacher had asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I might have said architect or photographer, until I realized I had little natural talent in either. It would have never occurred to me, though, to say, “Ms. Davis, I’d simply like to be content with waking up every day and dedicating my life to the pursuit of happiness and not money.” She’d probably have smiled, called the school counselor, and wondered whether I’d wandered into my parent’s stash of pot. Money, Money, Money…the save all end all, object of America’s youth’s obsession. I’ve been offered more money in this career in trade for more creative energy sapping dedication, more weekends, less sleep, less exercise, not to mention 2 hours fighting traffic each and everyday, Saturday and Sunday included. With money as the sole prize, the side effects seem hardly worth the pill. Luckily I’ll end up being paid for this 15 minute’s worth of rambling nonsense. Indirectly, of course, but I’ll be paid nonetheless. And the high school intern will be paid for the game of solitaire I just saw her lose for the second time.

Ciao readers and thanks for reading this unedited nonsensical bit of lyrical verbosity.

Jobe. (11:25AM)