The search for gaudium is real.
That’s the title of one of BelVita’s recent paintings
I had to ask what gaudium meant.
Joy.
No wonder I didn’t know the meaning of it.
I’m seriously dissatisfied at the moment. It’s been creeping up on me for a good few weeks. My low level misery is all related to COVID, missing freedoms, missing people and unreasonable work commitments. I’m finding it hard to recognise joy, which is unusual for me. I’m irritated and, and this is the current emotion I don’t like, resentful. I am putting way too many hours into my job for the pay I’m receiving. I’m working roughly 4 hours for every hour I’m paid. Beyond beyond. I know, I’m an idiot, but the extra work is essential to achieve the expected COVID conditions support.
Thank you for your effort and commitment.
I’m wondering if what I’m feeling is akin to what nurses feel when faced with applause, but no remunerative reward. Only, my pay, even quartered, is probably better than nurse pay. Keep in mind that I’m not as nice as those people emptying your bedpans.
So shut up with the thanks and put your money where your mouth is.
I have started to complain. I can barely open my mouth or sit at a keyboard without a complaint escaping, or my foot slamming down.
You may think that by complaining so freely, I’m pissing on my chips, as the saying goes. You could be thinking that those of us who freelance, or work zero hour contracts should tread carefully. My thoughts are, that currently I’m not seasoning my chips, but soon pissing on them might be the only option left open to me.
I’m going to hurriedly wish everyone, gaudium et spes, joy and hope, quickly before I start complaining again.
fat tart 