Sometimes I don't think I can do it anymore.
Continue on with this job I despise.
It's disgustingly easy.
Which makes it really, really hard for me.
I love to be challenged.
Stimulated.
So as I sit here, doing something anyone could do,
I want to implode.
To run.
To flee.
To quit.
To get as far away from this hospital.
And these charts.
And the piles of papers to file.
But I can't.
I know there is a lesson to be learned from all of this.
Something about delayed gratification.
Patience.
Gratefulness.
But until I figure it out,
I'll be here,
bitter and understimulated,
shoving papers into charts,
counting down the seconds until I'm free.
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