Stop me if you've heard this one before...

I was born poststructuralist, understanding that context is everything, meaning is relative, and value judgments are set in marshmallow.

This perspective has always been a trade-off. There's a lot of worrying and overthinking and an infinite regress of doubt, to the point that some days only an offseason swim in the ocean can snap me out of my head (making summertime and Middle America all the more worrisome); but always after a while the tenuously poised considerations wind down into an easy acceptance of everything and a general okayness with any possible outcome or conclusion. Relativism sets up the joke, and it always pulls through with a punchline.

About a year ago I graduated from college, and rather than go straight to grad school for my masters and phd (my long-term goal is to be a college professor), I decided I'd do well to take a year or two off and get some life experience. Being a privileged kid and not having had to work during high school and college, I developed a taste for socializing, sofa-lounging, and free time. I didn't really want a job, unless it was one I loved, or at least with an organization I loved. So I made a half-assed attempt to find an entry-level position in the nonprofit sector, and an even more half-assed (quarter-assed?) attempt to find an entry-level position in any office-work type organization. Completely unsuccessful in finding a "real job," I've been working two restaurant jobs and soaking my feet in the very spare meantime. After almost a year of this, I would KILL for a job. I would love a job! I'd be happy to have one!!! I would take any normal type job I could get -- administrative assistant, assistant to the executive assistant -- anything that would cover my superlow monthly expenses, plus like two hundred bucks left over each month. That would be lovely. That would be ideal. I would thank them and heart them for ever and ever. I would bake cookies and bring them in to the office. I would make them without nuts so that everyone could have them. I would go to the supermarket specifically for colored cellophane to wrap them in! I would love it, I would love it, I would love it.

Over this last year, life has beaten me down so persistently, that my standards are so low it's sad, and worrisome, and hysterical. It's a riot, it is. Because I still go through my day giddy, at the thought of a connection I forgot I had, at the thought of the jobs I could possibly have, imagining what my workspace will look like, and the smooth feel of the buttons on their multi-line phone system. My multi-line phone system. :) Yesss.

Taking a step back, I can see that something has probably been lost, or disregarded, and it speaks of ideals and of principles and of potential. It asks me how much of a difference I am making in the world I've aimed for years to improve and make sweet, philanthropic love to. And I come back to the conclusion I always circle round to: that if I'm ever to feel "good enough," I'm gonna have to lower my standards, and up the ante. And getting an office job would be a challenge. And enjoying it would be a godsend. So yes. To all this - to the routine, to the computer screen, to the button-down shirts and sexy pencil skirts I'll wear as I transfer a call and cherish the smooth ergonomic valley of the plastic buttons, I say Yes.