Data Entry

Never at work do I feel more fraudulent, more like I’m taking part in some sort of masquerade, than when I am filing papers and inputting data. There’s no earthly way to make light of data entry no - matter what music is playing and no matter what faux-clever thing your coffee mug says. Mine just says “Happy Birthday!” and has pictures of balloons on it.


I look with some envy at the friends I have and the people I know whose professional lives so neatly intersect with who they are and what they do. On the other hand I feel split, except that my Mr. Hyde wears a collared shirt every day and doesn’t tell anyone that he plays Dungeons and Dragons.


The question is this: am I worried that there are two parts of me and that my work isn’t fulfilling enough? Or perhaps I’m entertaining that notion as a defense mechanism -- hiding from myself the possibility that there’s only one of me -- and he’s sitting behind a desk grading papers and confirming order requests for pens.

It’s so much easier and so much more flattering to feel oppressed and out of place.