When Work Robbed My Time for Writing

Finally, I had been working where I thought I would adjust perfectly. Not the offbeat job I have dreamed of but definitely it was what I had painstakingly studied in my entire college years. That being said would validate me as one competent nurse, I supposed.

Workplace is somewhere life-saving and life-changing, but those circling lights are just too high! Oh, should I wear stilettos then?

but this piece is not for my illusion to own, unless I would use a stool. 🙂

Three months  of working tolled an eerie effect on me; turned my writing into horrible clichés, safe and predictable (see recent post).

It is still happening I’m afraid, I could not figure out how to stop it. I’m so frustrated, I could cry.

No great deals of reading before going to sleep or doodling random thoughts at work could cast off the insipid train of expression, as of late.

Like a writer’s catastrophe I did not see coming, my paragraphs turned shorter, artless and less endearing.

Is this all that I can do?
Is this all that I get from winding up eight hours  at work everyday?

An insidious creature must have crept into my brain and shut it off, causing  a dreadful creativity decay.

Screw those atrocious surgeons ( well not everyone) for playing it harsh !

Screw work for robbing my precious  time for writing.

Screw me for working ardently despite not getting paid at all.

Screw the revolting system of my country for creating thousands of spirited nurses but not providing enough job for us.

Screw the OR lights for being beyond my reach, making me a little less competent in my workplace!

Screw me for putting myself into this laughable situation.

This is a piece of junk, an obnoxious third world problem, I hope you’d understand, my apologies for this shameless ranting.

So while washing the piled dishes I used up for dinner, I took the time to write this in my muted mind. Somehow, it made me cringe. If only I could do all the lovely things I really love doing,  still get paid, afford a nice apartment and live a pleasant life.

 At 25, self indulgence is sweet and hard to pass by but if you’ll allow yourself to totally bask into it, expect it to be career path wrecker too.  Hedonistic that I am, “Thou shalt be guarded at all times” I muttered to myself, unless I want to live off the streets playing with my paintbrushes , self-serving art pieces and  drowning in my enormous ruminations. I know. I know

Even so, a month-long hiatus from my lackluster success of hurdling with the nursing profession is not a bad one though. Keep coming back here for I expect to get myself write better post this whole month of August until September. “Thou shalt not  disappoint thyself ”, I added.

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