Jurls, I'm down and out in Dallas, Texas. You're probably thinking, "Surely, you jest! You finally got to go part-time! What could possibly be left to bitch about?!" Duh, the three days I do have to go to work.
I've sat at my desk all day feeling out of step with the office antics surrounding me. My door has been closed since I darkened it this morning in the hopes I would be ignored and for the most part I was, but a couple people have tried to engage me in actual work-work and I pity the fools.
One poor soul can since my disinterest the second he steps through the door. He gets a confused look on his face like, "uh, you still work here, right? I'm still supposed to talk to you, right?"
I just look at him with a vacant expression because I cannot gather the strength to reassure him that he should indeed continue talking to me. I have reached critical mass.
When I'm not staring at people blankly, I'm on the verge of suffering a China Syndrome meltdown. Like when I get an e-mail from someone saying, "I'll be out tomorrow because I'm having my vagina scraped, but will be back on Tuesday, but out Friday for my Mom's breast enhancement surgery" and I consider stapling their brain to my desk. All patience for human beings has evaporated.
And the rare occasion a superior asks me to do something I feel offended. Why should I have to send that e-mail or draft that document?! Can't you see I'm watching videos on Youtube?! You may pay me, but you don't own me!!
It's gotten so bad, I stare out the window longing for an emergency evacuation. Or I focus on everything not work-related like finding new lamps. How did I get to a place in my life where painting my bedroom ceiling or finishing that second kids baby book was more important than keeping my job?
In a way, I miss the old me that just came to work and did her job without baby distractions or grandiose delusions of becoming a writer. That girl never sat at her desk bored, shamed, depressed, and slumped over her keyboard connected to the mouse pad by a thin string of drool. No, that girl was a robot, even when she didn't love lawyering she did it, all day, every day.
I don't know where all this is coming from...one minute I'm fine and the next I'm Googling "how do I know if I'm a danger to myself and others." I think my attitude started to slide when first thing this morning the bastards at CNN posted an article about daily, moderate exercise not being helpful to losing weight. F***ers. Now, every day I have to work out for one hour to shake any of this fat off? I hate you CNN mystery experts. I HATE YOU!!!!!!!!!
Of course, my weight is what connects me to every sad, defeating, beat down, churlish emotion that I have and it brings to life my Inner Bitch. As soon as I started to panic over not getting enough exercise Inner Bitch said, "You do realize, that not only are you fat, but no one will ever pay you to do anything creative. You're still a lawyer so you better get your chunky cheeks to the office before you lose that gig and Husband chokes you to death." I hate Inner Bitch. She's a f***er, too.
Where did Inner Bitch come from? I think my childhood birthed her out. My whole life I've always felt anything I really wanted was so far out of my reach that it was ridiculous to even try. For example, in 1984 I wanted to marry Ralph Macchio, but did I even send him a fan letter? No, because I thought it was hopeless, me being twelve, living in Dallas, Texas, and on the chubby side and all.
Then there was the time in 1981 when I thought I'd be cool like all the kids in my neighborhood and wear my hair in a hundred braids with wooden beads on the end (think Bo Derek). I almost didn't try it because all my friends in my neighborhood were black and my inner bitch said, "you're not cool enough for beads and braids." But for once, I took the risk. My Gimmie took me to pick out my beads at the fabric store (I got nice natural-toned wooden ones) and got up at 6:00 a.m. to braid my thick hair into a million tiny braids with wooden beads on the end. Wooden beads.
I remember listening to the clackity-clack of my beads as the school bus chugged to school and the feel of their heavy weight pulling gently on my scalp....I felt so beautiful. Then I stepped off the bus and the black girls at school immediately began mocking me viciously because I used foil on the ends to secure the beads since that's how my friends in the neighborhood did it. I'd never noticed the girls at school used rubber bands. I think foil was the poor man's bead-fastener.....anyway, it was a tough day and I learned never to reach for the beads..er...stars again.
Those beads and being a chubby kid are the primary reasons I wound up a Political Science major. Political Science? That is so lame. (no offense to all you Pol. Sci majors) What does it even mean?! There is no real science in politics! And it is so not me. But, don't worry, I'm not lamenting things I can't change, I'm merely pointing out that I have routinely run in the opposite direction of my heart's desire due to lack of self-confidence or a basic misunderstanding of my own aspirations (Husband and children excluded from this pity party).
Today I feel trapped. Like a rat. And I don't dare share with you what I really want to be doing with my time for fear you will no longer indulge me at all!
Well, it's 5:00 p.m. and I've managed to waste some more time complaining and now I can go home. Tonight, Husband will ask me ten times, what's wrong with you?" and I will respond each time with "nothing" because even to my own ears complaining that I don't have my fantasy job is nails on a chalkboard.
Tomorrow I will try to avoid CNN.com and any other likely disgruntling agents.