Let's talk passion, shall we.....
Hello my lovelies,
Today I am changing things up a bit. I'm not going to rant about hipsters or about nonsense from recent travels. I'm not going to complain about my neighbors or the construction workers that hoot and holler at the cute, barely-dressed 20-somethings when they walk by. I'm not going to bitch about the obscenely short shorts (that inspire the catcalls) or the camisoles, that would be lovely if it was paired with a damn sweater already, but are a little too revealing as a shirt. I'm not even going to whine about how these asshat children around me won't pick up their damn dog's poop even though it infuriates me that they don't pick up their dog's poop! NOPE! I'm not doing that! Today I am going to rant about an email that was supposed to be motivational, but with my broken brain, sent me into a downward spiral. I am doing this because I bet many of you can relate and if you can't, then just consider this proof positive that I am one seriously crazy bitch!
I should warn you that I've had A LOT of time in my own head recently. Seriously A L O T of time! Me, in my head, is a very dangerous thing. My estate checklists are all nearly complete. (SIDEBAR: The final hurdle is Fidelity getting the "blessing" from Agilent to pay out the 401K and pension. If Agilent Legal says that we were married, then it's mine, if not, well, then I'm not sure, but it probably means lawyers. GAH!) Without my to do lists, I am running out of ways to distract myself, which means I spend a lot of time thinking. I think about the past, I think about all of the stupid, terrible, embarrassing things I've done and said over the years. I think about "the good times" and about the not-so-good times. Hell, I even think about the completely mediocre days when nothing good or bad happened. I think about when I was that poor, little, white-trash girl from Northeastern Colorado and how I've spent countless hours/weeks/years trying to prove to myself and everyone around me that I am not that girl anymore. I'm not that girl anymore! I'm not ...or maybe I actually am. I really don't have a clue! Then today I get an email that challenged me to answer the following questions:
Full disclosure - There were other questions on the list, but they were all equally as ridiculous, so I abbreviated it.
- Do you know what you are passionate about?
- Can you envision a job or career that would light your fire?
- Are you too old?
- Are you successfully managing your priorities - kids, family, work, etc.?
Here are my answers:
- I don't have a F*ing clue what I am "passionate about" and frankly I'm not even sure I actually know what that means, so please STOP ASKING!
- Light my fire? Short of launching a career as an arsonist I am not really sure what "fire" you want me to light, but I am a big fan of paychecks, so I think I will work on getting me a few of those bad boys again soon!
- Too old for what? I'm too old (and too fat and too lazy and with absolutely zero skills) to be a world-class gymnast, but I'm not old enough to qualify to get into one of those posh 55+ retirement communities, so what exactly am I supposed to be concerned about being too old for?
- YES! I have no kids (you are all quite welcome that I chose to not procreate!) I have NO relationship with my family and I am unemployed! Pretty much sounds to me like I am rockin the shit out of this question. BOOM!
OK, sooooo maybe, I missed the point on the last question. Perhaps the fact that I am thinking about, pondering, dwelling upon, obsessing over and ruminating around these questions and the fact that this stupid email got me so riled up means that I am failing miserably at all of this. I know this makes me sound like a complete failure right now, but I have no idea what my goals are. For most of the last five months I've been focusing on getting items crossed off my list. Recently, there have been a few days that pretty much all I have the energy to focus on is getting my ass out of bed and brushing my teeth. Now as I am seriously looking for a job and thinking about interview questions I am going to have to answer, I feel like I probably need to come up with something for the ridiculous, completely meaningless, interview question "where do you see yourself in five years?" Somehow I don't think "Bitch please! Five months ago I didn't envision being where I am now, how in the hell am I supposed to see five YEARS into the future....." is actually going to score me any points or help me acquire paychecks.
GAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I need to get out of my broken head!
On a less happy note, I got an oldies update this week. Sadly, but for the best, Joyce has now realized she cannot take care of the old man at home. Yesterday, Al and Grace came back to Colorado and helped move them into an assisted living facility. I got a text from Joyce this morning that as of 7:30 last night they were transported to the hospital because the old man, now officially 99-years old, has pneumonia. I offered to drive up there to see them today, but she asked me to wait until next week after they get settled. I hope that's not too late... I really don't think I can handle anything more right now!
Until next time...
XOXO
PS - Tomorrow I am off to Vegas to chaperon Joie, while she chaperons her son and he chaperons his girlfriend. Rest assured that what happens in Vegas will most likely end up in coffee and possibly on Instagram.
PPS - I'm serious about the Instagram nonsense. Joie convinced me to sign-up. My profile is completely private, so you have to request to connect with me and if I deem you worthy you are in my cool-kid club! My new handle (FWIW that is a trucker reference paying homage to my jackass brother-in-law that wanted the family members to call them by their trucker handles (Phantom 309 and Mama Teddy Bear) rather than their names. I refused!) is "Chadderbox13" I don't promise anything spectacular, or even frequent, but I have it is now, so we will see where it goes from here.
PPPS - not kidding about the trucker handles. He seriously asked at a Thanksgiving dinner, probably 20-years or so ago, that we all call them by their handles instead of their names. Phantom309 is Floyd and Mama Teddy Bear is Susan. GOD I wish that was a joke, but if you were doubting any part of the white-trash reference above, that should remove all doubt. F*MYLIFE!
XOXO
R