I hate my job

Like most every other adult: it has become my main source of soul-crushing dread.

I think: I am a totally capable young man in the prime of his life. I can do whatever I put my mind to. 

But lately I can’t put my mind to analyzing sales data, spreadsheets, impression share, cost per click, return on ad spend, average order value, user retention, a million other worthless acronyms all in the pursuit of making my clients, the people who are paid to interface with me on a weekly basis, a little bit richer. 

And I really could do it, I think, if I cared at all. But I don’t, so I can’t. 

But I also can’t give up this life. This place, this girl, this car. These luxuries I’ve grown accustomed to as a result of my half-hearted daily efforts.

But now it’s Sunday night, and you’re stuck at home staring at a screen preparing a “Search Keyword Performance Report” for a manager who, in reality, cares just as little as you do.