My brain aches from a day of trying to please people who don’t agree with me. Like bad Chinese food. But I get paid, to make sure 164 radio stations are happy. I am decidedly good at it, but I would rather be a spectator, than the clock maker. The time keeper. The perfection worker. I would rather be a florist, or a recreational serial killer. More creative, and way less stressful.
The even more absurd irony is that I work from home because my people skills have proven to be a source of severe discomfort in my office building. Chasing someone with a butter knife in hand doesn’t go down well. But my title is “Public Relations”.
It’s should rather be “Reluctant Ego Stroker”.
Some days I love what I do. But others, I wonder how I have not killed someone.
At least it is Friday. I get to sleep in. Wrapped up like a glow worm, hidden and quiet.