Huh?

So...the internship is going well. And they kept their word and paid me...but...

How do I explain? I'm not cut out for a desk "situmawation," ya know? Uggh, what's puzzling me about this is, I wanted a JOB, I wanted something steady, but it lacks in creativity. The most creative I get within the eight hours of my day is scratching my head trying to write catchy tweets so that followers can click on the links to the organization's website and events. I didn't major in marketing so pitches aren't my strong point. "But I'm willing to learn!" That's what I told my boss when she interviewed me.

I find myself longing for the action that my bed provided: sleep, comfort, sleep and the occasional daydream. I'm not ungrateful, noooo, no, no. I'm beginning to like it, besides its my second week, I'm still learning the ropes. But I'm wondering if I'll keep landing jobs (or internships if I continue on this streak) where the descriptions on the career websites make it seem as if you'll be utilizing all your creative skills and then when you do begin, you're doing the work your boss doesn't have the time to get to. I told my mom my dilemma, and she reminded me that I always wanted to freelance. I nodded and remembered when I couldn't stop writing and creating. I knew if I remained stagnant my creative focus would sooner or later elude me so I vowed to freelance. That was six years ago before those journalism courses kicked in and the redundant articles had to be handed in weekly. Sticking to the routine layouts that news articles require sucked everything out of me along with news of the quickly deteriorating journalism business, it was hard to believe I'd actually want to stay within the field. Speaking with professors, classmates and colleagues who majored in journalism, everyone was bailing out on the profession. It didn't have the life force behind it that once use to possess and I was falling out of love with it. Creative writing became a distant memory and I no longer could put together a sentence without thinking of the hatred I harbored for my journalism professor. A succubus he was.

Now with laziness tugging on the other side of my brain, I realize all that glitters isn't gold. Maybe the rich housewife routine will fit me well? No?