There's a point in every translation that you do for money, where you're stuck in the middle of the text and debate whether all this trouble is worth it. At that point the amount of money is of no importance. It may have been at the beginning. Because the equation made sense. The job you said yes to promised a decent amount of money for an appropriate amount of work. It always does.
But guess what. Fuck that equation. Screw all of it. More often than not it's not worth it. In most cases it doesn't even come close. At the end of the day, the lousy paycheck does not make up for the lost-forever hours you spent sitting at the desk, stretching your crippled back, rubbing your irritated eyeballs, stirring your toasted brains until you feel like a retarded piece of shit.
It's not worth the money. I could say it over and over again. I gain a couple of bucks, but the list of the things I lose is infinite. It starts with a as in appetite and ends with z as in 'ze fuck was I thinking. My noble subconscious tries to tell me that it's not my fault, that I should calm down, but of course I'm not listening. Of course, it's my own fault. I should've said no. Simple as that.
No comments:
Post a Comment