This is the last night of my (almost) two weeks of holiday.
This is the last night of my first proper holiday in ages.
It was much more intense than I thought it would be, and I think when I go back to work tomorrow, things will have to change. During the last two weeks, I travelled, and I had the wonderful opportunity to see some friends and some family members, and to realize once more that friends really are family members.
I had the chance to talk to friends about the topics that keep me awake at night, and by allowing myself to do that, I gave myself a rare chance to realize how miserable I feel.
I love my job.
I have always believed that there are two kinds of ways too relate to our jobs: treating them as a necessary evil, and integrating them into our lives and loving them. I love my job. I have always been the second kind. But there is something I realized, and it will probably sound trivial to most of you.
I may love my job, but my job does not love me back. When I wake up in the middle of the night, experiencing a mental breakdown, it does not hug me and tell me that everything is going to be alright. And I do wake up, and I do have these breakdowns, because the self-exploitation that comes with academia makes me take on duties that scare the hell out of me. It also makes me lonely to a degree I never thought possible.
Having had the chance to be reminded of how it feels to spend more than three days in a row with people I love, I have come to believe that this job does not deserve my love. And since I am at it: Probably no job ever does.
Tomorrow, I will stop loving my job.