Work work and work

It makes me sad that, while I actually have a very cool job, one that I am probably perfectly suited for, I still hate working. I hate getting up in the morning, knowing my time is not my own. Knowing that I must be in a certain place at a certain time, and that if I don't show up and do what I need to do it will adversely affect those below me on the food-chain (probably the only business-ism that I think means anything) while it would mean nothing to those above me.
At least not for the first few days.
I had hoped that as I sauntered into early middle age (I plan to live a very long time) I would start to grow resigned, I would be comfortable with my cog-like place in the grand design.
I am not.
I don't want to be more important. I want to be far less so.

um, my mood as described by a large, gay black man, "You are not feeling it today, sister-woman, I can tell."