Yeah, I was sick with The Crud for a couple days, but I think my lack of blogging is due a bit more to a combination of a lack of inspiration and the distinctly worrisome feeling of being at a crossroads.
The book is going to tank -- let's just face that fact right this second. Never mind that no one has read it yet. I am deathly afraid of allowing people to read it. Once people read it, they are going to realize precisely how terrible it is, and how stupid I am. I am pretty sure this book is going to lose me some friends once they realize I am mentally ill.
And the baby thing. I've been operating for way too long on the assumption that I could get pregnant at any moment and it's ruining my every waking hour. I can't live like this anymore. I need normalcy back. I feel like I should pretend it's never going to happen, so I can take a normal vacation and plan regular life events without worrying about what might be happening inside my uterus.
If I operate on the assumption that the book is going to tank and the baby thing is never going to happen, then it's time for me to snap the fuck out of it and re-immerse myself into society. I'm not generally a lover of people, so the idea isn't wholly appealing. But at the same time, I've grown tired of the singular companionship of my glowing monitor, as terrific as all you Internet people are. And sure, I have two cats and I occasionally venture out to Whole Foods, if I must, and sometimes my husband even comes home in the evenings. But I think I might be becoming slightly quirky from my solitude. I pray that once I re-enter society, I don't fart loudly whenever the urge strikes.
And by re-immersing myself into society, I mean getting a real job. With a commute and a boss and co-workers and health insurance and paydays and blinking telephones and email inboxes and breeeeaaathe do not have a panic attack. Oh, I do love interviews. And year-end reviews. Those are a hoot.
The problem with the job thing is I am basically clueless as to what kind of job I should attempt to get. Got a journalism degree and tried that for a while; it sucked. Tried corporate real estate; it sucked. Any and all administrative jobs I've had have sucked. All retail jobs sucked the big one. Sitting on my ass for eight hours a day, hunched over a keyboard, is exactly my idea of a complete fucking nightmare. Working on a "team," for a "manager" literally makes me want to find a knife and cut something. God, I am spoiled. Perhaps I should re-title this post "First World Problems."
And also, I should password-protect this post if I ever actually go on a job search.
Honestly, sir! I am uber-employable. I will make your most normal employees look like asylum escapees. It's my greatest asset.
Should I even broach the topic of my weight? I've been saying Aye Caramba a lot lately, so that is what I'll say about my weight right now. Aye Caramba. I'm formulating a new plan with a friend that might put a dent in what I've done to myself in the last six years. The key is going to be following through. If we don't follow through, all is lost, once again. And that would really fucking piss me off. I realize I have the power to change tons of things that I don't like about my life, but rather than change them, I kvetch. Enough with the kvetching. Tap into the power. Make amazing things happen. Amen.