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So, I took this little survey thing that Ingrid forwarded me where you fill in information about yourself and forward it to your friends. Where were you born? What’s your favorite ice cream? Do you have any tattoos?

There’s this one question on there, though, that’s “How much do you love your job?” I answered that with something vague like “Umm…yeah” but if you really want to know…

You know it didn’t even start out on the right foot. I’m essentially an event-planner. In the first few weeks, a colleague called me to ask for help planning a personal event. When I wasn’t able to offer on-demand event-planning advice, the woman replied, “Weren’t you hired with that skillset? Isn’t that what you do?” Laying the groundwork for me to feel like I shouldn’t have been hired in the first place.

But, now it’s official. I suck at my job, and moreover I don’t like it. When the attendees tell you “Oh, I think everyone would say they had a good time, but there are certainly things we could do differently next year;” or when your guests are attacked by some kind of albino R.O.U.S. that appears from the underbrush to defend its territory; or when the hosts of the party wrest control from you and turn your $0 budget potluck into a catered affair, at which you’re just the hired help who’s there to decorate, it’s fair to say that you’re officially not a good event-planner.

Maybe you’re not supposed to love your job. I sure never have, and I’ve had a few. On the other hand, whatever else I may have felt about jobs past, I pretty much always felt competent.

Bitter much?

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