I haven't had a day off in two weeks. Every day I stare at computer and type away soulless articles until my eyes burn. It's okay though, right? I'm efficient & my managers keep dumping more work on me. Maybe I'll finally get a good promotion and start getting paid for what my work is worth.
I'm a writer though..right? Why am I editing photos, adding links, and worrying about formatting? Why am I doing an editor's job without an editor's pay? Shouldn't I just be writing…?
Nope.
I hit my quota yesterday. I figured, “Maybe I can finally take a good two days off and clear my head.”
Wrong.
Apparently, nothing will ever be good enough. I'm making careless mistakes, but nobody's asking if I'm okay. I've never made these mistakes before I was consistently burnt out. Nobody cares that I might be burnt out. As long as the machine keeps running, who cares, right? I might be discarded if it keeps up. If a part's broken, they just replace it.
“We're low on content. We need more content. We won't pay you a decent rate or incentivize a healthy work ethic though. We just need content.”
Every day my eye bags increase as my eyes grow drier. I'm tired all the time and constantly thinking about content. Content. Content. Content. Content. My work could be as soulless as possible…but as long as they have content, right?
I feel like my passion for the subjects I write about has been gravely taken advantage of. I may love them, but at some point I'll run out of things to say and stare at a blank word document, screaming at the top of my lungs and letting go of the pure fucking rage that's been building up for the past few months.