Dear Job Letter

Dear Job,

I'm sorry I set you up every night so that every morning I can foist my frustration and resentment on you. I do know that I'm really mad at myself and you are convenient to be unhappy about because you are always just there. Every day is a slow climb to accomplishing anything with the daylight we spend together and I feel bad and don't take the time away from you that every couple needs to stay sane. I'm mentally tired for all the energy it takes to make awake happen and physically tired because as much as every morning has me longing for a return to the warmth of bed, every night is a petulant toddler's struggle to succumb to the rest I need.

It's not you, job, that consumes the 5-6 hours before bed with the spiritual equivalent of junk food, and catches the reflected glare of my countenance on the couch between commercials and is disgusted. Job, you have a free gym on my floor and give me time to use it. It's not your fault but I still hate you sometimes. I feel like if you weren't in the way, I would have this wonderful life, and perhaps with income as no object, that would be true. But Job, I suspect without you, my life would pretty much be the same, except I would have never challenged myself in the way you challenge me. I would know less about the world and the people in it (and I still know so very little). I would know less about myself (maybe not so much of a loss). I've explored some of my outer limits in tolerance of all types of stimuli and had some modestly notable achievements complete with obligatory office cake.

So Job, even though it's midnight and what was best for both of us passed close to 2 hours ago, I'm going to try tomorrow to appreciate you, not because I have you and others don't, but because you're you. I've had other jobs, I can leave you and I'm sure I can get another job before the ink is dry on my resignation letter, but I've still got to take me to every job I go to. So until you eclipse me as the worst part of waking up, I'm willing to stay as long as you'll have me.

p.s. A promotion wouldn't hurt. I'm just sayin'.