Lately I've been recalling the scene in Devil Wears Prada when Emily Blunt's character, after yet another ass-handing from her ever-so-monstrous boss played by Meryl Streep, returns to her desk and begins chanting, "I love my job, I love my job, I love my job." I realize I'm extremely fortunate to have a job that allows me to put food on the table, pay rent and yes, occassionally splurge on a massage or two. (Despite the fact that the whole reason I've been getting them lately is in direct correlation to my soul crushing job.)
Given the current economic climate, clearly a bird in hand is worth two in the bush. But let me pose this question: if you're unhappy - truly "I'd rather have a colonoscopy administered by a blind chimp than keep this job" unhappy - at what point does your paycheck even matter if you leave your job every day feeling defeated?
Given the current economic climate, clearly a bird in hand is worth two in the bush. But let me pose this question: if you're unhappy - truly "I'd rather have a colonoscopy administered by a blind chimp than keep this job" unhappy - at what point does your paycheck even matter if you leave your job every day feeling defeated?
