Member-only story
Pay me enough to obsess.
A work rant in poetry.
My greatest asset to a workplace is my obsession.
The motor inside me that pushes me to order a calzone with cookies and spend a weekend inside researching countries that end in -stan.
The compelling force that tracks notes about a book I didn’t even like, so I can vent about it in detail for strangers to hear.
The annoying bitch inside my head that wants me to watch 500 movies in a year, even when I fail and have to stretch it out two months further.
A narrow mind is a terrible thing to waste.
Which is why, however difficult, I must ask for more.
I need more money for this gift.
Why? Because obsession cannot be divided.
It cannot worry about bills, food, or being good enough.
Obsession needs to be free. Free from worry and malice.
Because yes, malice does come when money is not enough.
Obsession does not love. It does not know “team work,” not the holy single work but the act of being a team in order to get things done.
Obsession does not care about working for the love of a concept. It has it’s own needs, and if they are not served it will move on.
