I’m becoming royally pee’ed off with my job. Well, it’s not my job exactly – it’s what I do for my (very slender) living. Freelance science and medical editing. For someone with my outstanding social abilities, it’s pretty much the perfect occupation. Work at home, hours to suit, safe from the Hell that is Office Politics… And with copyediting, I get to indulge my OCD tendencies, too.
The older I get, the more I struggle with even this, most basic level of professional interaction. They email me work, I do it and email it back. When I check my inbox and see an email without an attachment, I know I’m in trouble because if they’re not sending me work, they’re pointing out my mistakes. A different kind of Hell: Quality Control.
“You just won’t be told!” (as my mum might have said, had she said things like that).
But isn’t it considered bad (wo)man-management – communicating with your underlings only to tell them the bad stuff, never the good? Or maybe freelancers’ feelings don’t count?
And then there’s the whole cognitive dissonance thing. Suffice to say, much of the work I edit is diametrically opposed to my dearest-held values, and I know that, in helping these people get published, I am effectively condoning what they do.
In the past I’ve tried to ignore the obvious; someone’s got to do it, I have to pay the bills somehow, etc. The justifications get weaker all the time, though, and taking such a mercenary approach to the way I spend a large chunk of my waking life can never be good for morale, or self-respect.
All of which makes me think it’s high time for a change. But how? And to what?Ì