The Job a Million Girls would Die for

The book The Devil Wears Prada is always by my bedside (sometimes even always ON my bed). I read it. A LOT. And when I realized I was quite, errr… attached to my already ratty and overly beaten down copy, I began asking myself: Why? Why was I so attracted to the story? Could I relate to it? Did I want Andy’s life? Did I adore Miranda’s cold antics and selfish senseless demands? Or… could it be… Did I feel exactly the same way Andy felt in that story? She felt she could have done better… she didn’t belong… she was criticized ALL the time… she became addicted to her job, irrationally addicted…she was not happy. There. I think we hit the mark here. You see… I think I am also in the position where a million girls and maybe gals would die for my job. It’s well-paying to the point where I am currently paying a condo unit’s monthly amortization and in a few years the place will be mine (and I’m only 23 years old, I got the place when I was 22). I can take a cab to work every single day (though I can’t have it reimbursed like Andy did). My lifestyle has totally changed. You can ask Mark about this. I used to be a complete simpleton. Now I want all things nice and beautiful and expensive. I have a laptop I can use anytime, anywhere. I got to go on a US trip and stayed there for two months… saw and breathed the lovely air of Niagara… giggled at the sight of Ms. Liberty… and ultimately checked off a longtime dream which has been an item in all versions of my life list (to watch Les Miserables in broadway). I am a leader. I have been molded to be one. I can make decisions. I can reprimand people for their poor performance. I can guide, I can mentor. I’m lucky to have this job. And I do feel lucky. The job a million girls (and guys) would die for.

But… (here it goes) is lucky IT? Is that the only and most vital way I should be feeling? Or should I be, first and foremost, HAPPY?

I have a condo unit to my name, but I’m all alone. My family’s not with me. I have a laptop computer, but all that really means is I can work anytime, anywhere. And I do. On weekends. When I’m sick. When I’m on vacation. If I keep this up I might get married with my computer tied to my wedding gown train. My lifestyle’s a bit more glamorous, but with glamour comes the price of…well… money. And I can only buy things. Clothes. Shoes. Not luxury. Not vacations and land trips and beach ventures. Because I have money, but I do not have time. I can dress up nicely and fashionably enough. But half the time my work gets me too depressed to even wear those clothes to the office. And I end up frustrated and irked that I spend so much on how I wanna look and I can’t even look that way. Upbeat. Perky. Again, HAPPY.

I have been intoxicated for months now. That’s the truth. And I’m not a quitter. But as much as I’d like to push myself way way wayyyyyy beyond my limits, I think I’ve had it up to here.

I am through spending my vacations in front of my computer (occasionally surfacing for air during dinner time). I’ve had enough of getting sick and calling in sick and then getting called in the middle of my deep sickly sleep to be asked and taunted and reprimanded for issues and concerns of the client and the employees and everybody else who does not give a damn that my cough and my cold has been at it for 4 straight weeks and my throat has started to bleed every morning, and I still end up taking the call and looking for internet connection so I can get online and (surprise surprise!) work. I’ve had it with getting German measles and still going to work. Everybody does not want to see you or be near you. But they don’t think you shouldn’t be working (even though you’re sick and infected!), so they situate you all alone at a building far enough from where they are.

I’ve had it up to here.

And I’ve decided to do something about it. To find a way to make myself and my life better. Even if it means I have to go back to being a simpleton and start cooking my own meals and start scrimping on cab fares. I’m still in the thinking and planning out process (no action/s being done just yet). But documenting this is my first step.

Overnight I grew up. I realized it’s not about the money anymore (well, it’ll always be about the money but…you know what I mean). It’s not about feeling lucky. It’s not about this job a million girls would die for.

Because just like Andy, I’m gonna save myself before I get buried with it.