In order to make me feel more grateful for my current situation in life and to try to appease the obsessive planning part of me, I'm writing a post about work. So bare with me.
I love working. I always have and I hope I always will. It makes me feel productive, independent and like an adult. And while most feelings that I associate with being an adult scare the crap out of me, this feels good. I've always had mini goals about different jobs and occupations I'd love to do like a movie critic, librarian, Sting's back-up singer, nude photographer, perfume/cologne sniffer, cartographer, part-time antique collector/hoarder, host of "Whose Line is it Anyway?" and the person who names nail polishes.
Because frankly, the idea of committing to one job for 30+ years sounds absolutely horrific to me.
Lucky for me, I got to check off one of these goals this year. I've been working at the art museum on campus for a few months and I couldn't be happier about it. and my days are made all the better when I get to hear things like this:
Coworker 1: Ugh, this lady in the tour I was giving just grabbed one of the sculptures! It was so strange. I mean, there is a sign right in front of it that clearly states, "Do not touch."
Coworker 2: Did you then grab her breast so she could understand the level of inappropriateness?
Art jokes. Ahaha.
P.S. Last night, I went to my African dance for 1.5 hours and then went roller skating for 2.5 hours. Ask me how bad my joints hurt right now. My joints hurt so bad right now.