All grown up and nowhere to go

My life as a banker

Posted on: October 2, 2008

Dear Diary,

I found it really hard to get up this morning. Despite the fact that yesterday was a holiday, I did not feel well-rested at all. It might have to do with all that holdem I was playing for the whole day, practically since I was awake. Or it might have to do with looking at the stack of documents I brought home with me the day before the holiday. I only looked at it, mind you, not read it.

Maybe I’m just drained, I don’t know. I always feel drained at the start of the day, which is why I think it was a good decision to forego the IBD stint suggested to me. I think I will die having to work until 3 am and only getting 4 hours of sleep max each day. I think I will die if I can’t spare the time to nip into shops, or even online shop.

But then again, I think I will die from boredom with what I am currently doing. I’m busy, yes, but bad busy not good busy. Bad busy is when you dread doing your work despite the fact that they are piling up by the minute, so that in the end you procrastinate and end up more worried about not finishing them than before. Good busy is when time flies by and you miss your lunch and you get cross-eyed from staring at the computer too much, but you don’t really care.

I want to be good busy. The best thing about good busy is that once you’re done, you feel like you deserve to be rewarded, and then you go into Topshop and you buy an overpriced LBD and you feel great. And then you head out to the clubs at 9 pm to get the Phuture chop along with the other 18-year-olds (teehee) and then you stone for 2 hours and then you get drunk.

But I’m rambling, diary. Today my day started with a Diet Coke and a Starbucks cranberry muffin, warmed, low-fat. Well, actually no. It started with my mum nagging me for bringing short shorts for my Frisbee practice later. She said it’s like wearing undies. Diary, if I ever wear undies that look like FBT shorts, please kill me.

And then I got to work and then I said Good Morning! and then I logged into Bloomberg and typed all the funny acronymistic commands and stuff. And then I got started on my online training modules (85 in total to be done before Shanghai. I’ve done 17, and those were the easy ones). But I’ve just received an e-mail from my boss with yet another task and I got cold sweat and I screamed “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO” silently.  Sigh. Life at the bottom of the rung is hard, especially if you’re at a financial institution and banks and brokerages and insurance companies are dropping like flies. Why? Why are they dropping like flies?? Why can’t they soar to the sky, like butterflies???

I’ve never seen butterflies do that, though.

In any case, diary, I’d better get on.

Yours truly,
Butternut Squash.

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2 Responses to "My life as a banker"

if you ever forego your current job, try writing, darl. this post was so fun to read… haha

haha really? thanks dear, maybe if i am foregone by my current job, i’ll do just that!

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