If you want me, satisfy me

My thesis is on job satisfaction.  The literature is vast and hairy, overflowing with contradictory findings and scholars within and between fields talking past each other.  My review is crawling along.  Give me some analysis any day.

It’s absurd, really, because some of the theories are intensely incompatible with each other and yet can’t seem to get rid of one another.  Is job satisfaction basically a product of personality?  Can increased compensation bribe us into putting up with any kind of on-the-job shit imaginable?  Or is job satisfaction a heavily social construct, derived from socially-formed expectations and reference groups?  Needless to say, I’m not going to solve this one.  But I get to do some cool modeling with a massive dataset.

Every now and then, though, a bit of the real world slips past the PDFs and graphs to remind me just how inadequate our understanding of these things really is.

It’s 5am.  I’ve been working since noon, except for a trip to the grocery store on my bike, during which I kind of hoped that I would get hit by a car so that I could have some extra time for all of this.  Meanwhile, the custodian just got here, and he’s singing.

I dunno sometimes.

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