Molly to the Front

I dream of travel, music, writing, and to inspire others as they inspire me.

Saturday, October 23, 2004

MY NUTSHELL

Me. My life. 22 years of being in the same state with different ideals, perceptions, and goals. Currently, my life is 'the store'. 'The company'. I've been there two years and I haven't had the yearning to leave or even that sinking feeling when you have to go to work soon. Nothing. I like it. I've been a supervisor at the store for about a year now. The complaints, the gossip, the praise, the betrayal - it's like a soap opera - minus the whole commercial thing. Oh yeah, it doesn't stop. But I enjoy it. When people complain about it, I always say 'I love my job'. I said that today my boss as she was venting and I almost felt ashamed for saying. Me? Satisfied? No one else is ever satisfied with their employment. What the hell is wrong with me? Maybe I'm getting post SARS or something. It reminded me of telling people I liked Tiffany instead of Debbie Gibson. Except I probably didn't tell them that and most likely, lied and said I like 'New Kids' or whatever the rage was in the pathetic 80's. My point is that I sincerely like it there. I feel like people need me. Me - 22 year old me - taking care of people way older of me and handling the complains and all the other soap opera crap. The corny truth is that I need them more than they need me. Ah well. This is me. My name isn't really Molly. Someone nicknamed that to me because I was sick of hearing my name over the intercom. Hence Molly. What a shitty name.

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