Fief Chief

Dear J-

With President’s Day coming up this next Monday — and the calendar, now that I’ve been at the plant for six and a half years, quite familiarly showing a wasteland devoid of holidays until Memorial Day — I broke up the week by taking today off instead of Thursday.  Five days off would have been enough to make me forget both what I was doing and why I was doing it; as it is I nearly don’t want to go back tomorrow.  Again I sit here and wonder why work consumes my thoughts on days off.


I know I should be happy to have a job at this point, but that makes it feel a little too beholden to the company, as though I should only define myself in terms of work.  I should instead call myself a collector of useless junk, or defender of obsolete technology, or photographer of the eternally surprised, but it’s all too easy to define yourself by the activity that consumes most of your time, instead of the one you’d rather be doing.  Instead of choose your own adventure, it’s choose your own reality:  attitude trumps, well, copping an attitude about yourself; as important as work may be remember all the little Napoleons you’ve run into, protecting their fiefdoms as though it defined their self-worth.



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