After almost two years spent in denial, I have finally had to admit to the fact that my job entails little more than being a glorified secretary. I have fought this label tooth and nail (primarily because I had some semblance of an ego and a little bit of dignity), but today as I "co-ordinated" between a young journalist and an incompetent travel agent, I found myself wondering if the money was really worth it.
True, jobs that don't let my brain atrophy won't pay as much, but at least I won't want to kill myself, a client or a journalist on an average of 17 times a week.
It was pointed out that this was a bit rich coming from someone that had just sat on her butt for four and a half months and twiddled her thumbs, but that never stopped me from whining before, and it certainly isn't going to start now. But I have a feeling that as I indulge in my next retail therapy trip after a long day at work, it's going to be just as hard to think about quitting...
