I Have My Dream Job (Apparently)

I Have My Dream Job (Apparently)

Yeah, so… I have my dream job.
Which is wild, because every morning I wake up and my first thought is, “Do I really need money?”

You know you’re officially employed when your alarm goes off and you start negotiating with your soul like it’s a hostage situation.
“Okay, I’ll go in… but I’m getting Starbucks AND quitting by 2027.”

When I was a kid, I imagined my dream job would involve creativity, freedom, maybe a little travel.
Now my “dream job” involves sitting in a chair for eight hours straight, answering emails that could’ve been one emoji.

My back hurts, my eyes burn, and the only traveling I do is from my desk to the microwave.

They tell you to “follow your passion.”
So I did!
And apparently my passion is… spreadsheets.
Who knew?

Like, I don’t even dream of beaches anymore.
I dream of vacation days that don’t need manager approval.

And can we talk about the word “dream” here?
Because if it’s my dream job, why am I so sleepy at it?
I’ve had dreams that were less exhausting.

The other day, my boss said, “We’re like a family here.”
I was like, “Cool, does that mean I can stop pretending I like everyone?”

Work meetings are my favorite.
There’s always that one person who says, “This’ll be quick.”
And that’s how you know you’re trapped for the next 45 minutes listening to a slideshow titled ‘Q4 Synergy: Reimagining Innovation.’

Meanwhile, I’m sitting there like, “I reimagined my will to live about 20 slides ago.”

And let’s talk about remote work.
Working from home sounds dreamy — until your Wi-Fi cuts out during a Zoom meeting and you freeze mid-weird face.
Now everyone’s screenshotting you looking like you just saw the ghost of your unpaid student loans.

But honestly?
Even with the chaos, I kinda love my job.
It pays the bills, I’ve got good coworkers, and sometimes we get free snacks — which, let’s be real, is 80% of job satisfaction right there.

It’s not perfect, but that’s what makes it funny.
Because your dream job isn’t supposed to be a dream, it’s supposed to be a story.
Something you laugh about on Friday nights when you’re too tired to go out but too proud to quit.

So yeah, I’ve got my dream job.
It’s stressful, it’s ridiculous, it keeps me caffeinated and slightly unhinged —
but at least I don’t have to update my résumé.
And honestly, that’s the real dream.