Quit the god-awful temp job yesterday. Strangely feel kind of bad about it. Like I did made a mistake and shouldn't of done it. Part of it's because the guy at the Temp Agency gave me a scare about how tough things are and how I should be thankful to even have this crappy-ass job. And part of it is because I had been there long enough that I was kind of starting to feel comfortable there. Not happy, not content certainly because I still hated being there and was at any moment about to tell my dragon-lady of a supervisor where she can stick it. But still comfortable.

I had been there long enough that it had become my reality. My routine. I was getting used to waking up at 6, at schlepping into the office at the same time the sun was coming out , and doing mindless data entry all day to the point my arms felt like they were about to fall off and I was hoping for some sort of problem just so I'd have something to think about. I even started to have my routine at work established and set up- coffee at 8, lunch and reading the paper at 12:30, reading the magazines at the store at the lobby during breaks- and was getting used to it (that is until I got into another fight with my supervisor over when I can take breaks). Then there was the matter of actually getting a pay-check every week.

I think part of the reason why I hated it so much when I started was because I was unemployed long enough for unemployment to be my reality and I had my routines in it. I was unemployed and I had made my peace with it, was even liking it. When I started working, all of a sudden, my reality was yanked away and all of my routines were gone. Which is why I so hated the temp job at first, because I was no longer living my cozy, unemployed, completely impoverished life, and was quickly jerked into having another one, one that wasn't really that great. But now, I was adjusting, my reality had shifted, and I was starting to accept it. Which, come to think of it, is a damn good reason to quit when I did.

Sometimes I imagine what it would be like to wind up in prison. Not that I'm ever about to do anything that would put me in prison (unless John Ashcroft reads some of the things I've written), but sometimes I think about it. I mean, I can't imagine a more awful place to have to be stuck for a long period of time. If I have problems with accepting taking a lunch break at a certain time, imagine how well I'd take to not being able to leave my cell until certain times. But somehow, I think that after awhile, I'd get used to it in a way. Prison life would become normal and I'd have my routines in it. I'd even have my prison friends and social circles (and hopefully not a prison wife) and a life inside of the prison. And after awhile, I'd be kind of comfortable there. Not happy, certainly, nor not dreaming of getting out of there, but I'd be able to deal with it. I even think that some days I'd even find a measure of happiness here and there.

I guess this is a good thing. Here's hoping I never really ever have to find out for sure.