I think about quitting my job sometimes. I think about quitting my job and writing full time -- see where it takes me. Then I think I'm crazy.
Quit my job -- I can't quit my job. Can I?
Life's a gameshow that way. You're given approximately 2.8 billion choices to squander in your lifetime -- I did the math. Some decisions are easy -- or they should be -- wake up, brush your teeth, pick your nose -- eat the booger, don't eat the booger -- go to the bathroom, wash your hands ...
It's not a science -- decision making. There's always an exception; some nimrod in front of you at Starbucks or McDonald's -- my husband's a repeat offender -- who can't make up his mind. He spends 15 minutes hemming and hawing over this value meal and that value meal and finally out of pure desperation orders two or three of everything on the menu.
We all have our monsters.
I can't decide what to wear -- ever. My closet glowers at me like a serial killer, but rather than knives and pantyhose, it threatens me with clothing options. I spend 20 or 30 choices just looking at jeans -- there's dark, faded, skinny, curvy, wide leg, boot cut, ankle length, hipster, button fly and ass bling. Then I must calculate which style is acceptable based on several factors including weather and menstruation -- wide legs drag in the rain; skinny jeans get a 10-day pass following my period. Skirts, dresses, slacks, shirts, shoes and underwear come in equally daunting varieties so I'm ready to come home before I'm dressed and out the door.
Life's simplest choices drive me ape shit -- movies, food, parties, grocery stores ... I'm painfully indecisive. But the big stuff doesn't bother me. I told Jerod 14 years ago -- "My parents said I can marry you; the wedding's next summer."
I'm reviewing my career options soberly. Newspapers aren't viable -- not now; maybe never. I can kill myself for $200 a week and medical insurance, or I can shop for cheaper insurance and work for myself as writer. It's a Tough decision -- I'll keep you posted.
Quit my job -- I can't quit my job. Can I?
Life's a gameshow that way. You're given approximately 2.8 billion choices to squander in your lifetime -- I did the math. Some decisions are easy -- or they should be -- wake up, brush your teeth, pick your nose -- eat the booger, don't eat the booger -- go to the bathroom, wash your hands ...
It's not a science -- decision making. There's always an exception; some nimrod in front of you at Starbucks or McDonald's -- my husband's a repeat offender -- who can't make up his mind. He spends 15 minutes hemming and hawing over this value meal and that value meal and finally out of pure desperation orders two or three of everything on the menu.
We all have our monsters.
I can't decide what to wear -- ever. My closet glowers at me like a serial killer, but rather than knives and pantyhose, it threatens me with clothing options. I spend 20 or 30 choices just looking at jeans -- there's dark, faded, skinny, curvy, wide leg, boot cut, ankle length, hipster, button fly and ass bling. Then I must calculate which style is acceptable based on several factors including weather and menstruation -- wide legs drag in the rain; skinny jeans get a 10-day pass following my period. Skirts, dresses, slacks, shirts, shoes and underwear come in equally daunting varieties so I'm ready to come home before I'm dressed and out the door.
Life's simplest choices drive me ape shit -- movies, food, parties, grocery stores ... I'm painfully indecisive. But the big stuff doesn't bother me. I told Jerod 14 years ago -- "My parents said I can marry you; the wedding's next summer."
I'm reviewing my career options soberly. Newspapers aren't viable -- not now; maybe never. I can kill myself for $200 a week and medical insurance, or I can shop for cheaper insurance and work for myself as writer. It's a Tough decision -- I'll keep you posted.
Perfect card and Father's Day is around the corner.
ReplyDeleteI am going to spend a lot of time wondering about the fate of the booger!!
ReplyDeleteI really liked a uniforms....I can't believe how hard it is to decide what to wear to stay home.