The Sound and the Fury of a 40 Hour Work Week

I feel as though six weeks of full time work qualifies me as a professional on this topic. So here I am, at an insurance company (consortium, if you will, as I work for an insurance group that only deals in cities and counties) that is everything and nothing that I had hoped.

I work in an office, and not even the good and wacky kind, just the normal grey and cubicled kind. I don't even have my own cubicle, I work out of the office manager's room with a tiny window. There is no Jim to my Pam here, and that's a good thing as the only guys here are my father's age.

Sitting at my desk, nay, table I slave eight hours a day for minimum wage and no benefits. My computer is the oldest one in the place. I have two monitors, but one of them is stuck at 800x600 no matter how many times I try to reset it. Somehow I have grown to love it, I think it's the people. My office manager is all together a sweetheart and reminds me too much of my mother. The guy who trained me is grumbly, but mostly a softy.

I could live with office work. Will I? Probably for awhile, hopefully not forever. And that, as they say, is that. It wasn't terribly funny, or entertaining, but it's the life you've been missing out on Ava and the life I've been living while missing you.

Maybe next time I'll talk about my wacky $2 dream...