My Real Job

Today is Friday.
And I am tired.
Physically tired from yoga and tennis and spinning. My hips are speaking to me even as I sit here.
But the fatigue is mostly in my mind.

I had a very frustrating day. Or should I say, month or two. The office is wearing me thin. Mostly because it's an office. And I get bored. And lonely.

This week was kind of the last straw. Not enough of a last straw to make me quit... or even seriously contemplate quitting. But enough to get me pissed. And wear me out.

I've been full time since May. Finally, after three years, I know what I am doing. I know how to do what I do. And most of the time I'm able to do it right and do it well.

I started a new kind of job this week. Opening mail. Not the data entry I've been doing for years. But sorting, opening, scanning insurance and patients' checks and refunds and bills from collection agencies.

It sucks, basically. And I'm slow. And my eyes don't know what to look for quite yet. And I've been working overtime to make sure it gets done.

Overtime that my pay stub told me today I wasn't getting paid for.

So I got to work this morning... thanking God it was finally Friday.

My allergies had my head in a fog.

My muscles hurt.

And the kitchen was sagging in greasy food for a coworkers birthday.

Bad combo.

A few more things happened ... adding frustration and sadness to my plate.

Until everyone started noticing.

And they started telling me how much they appreciated me.

About what good work I did. How they didn't understand why I'd been given one of the most menial tasks on my side of the office. Why my "talent" was being wasted. I was the best they said.

That made me feel better.

But I still had to go back and sort the daggon mail.

And as I sat down... I remembered something.

Something about how we're supposed to do everything we do as if we are doing it for the Lord.

Even if that means sorting mail until we're blue in the face.

I may have convinced myself I want was superiority and authority at work... but it's a fat lie. I like to fly under the radar. To do what I do and do it well and right and then maybe a little more... and then go home and feel good about it. I don't want to be in charge. I just forgot that about myself for a while.

So my job is not so much sorting mail or making notes or cleaning up patient accounts or reminding Rita that military insurance uses socials as ID numbers.

It's about doing what they hand me.

And doing it well. And right the first time around. And then maybe doing a little more.

Because I'm doing it for the Lord.

And that's all there is to it.

This gives a whole new meaning to "doing God's work".

But I'm still unbelievably relieved that today is Friday and it is four in the afternoon and I have two and a half days to be myself.

It will just make Monday morning that much easier.