Yesterday I left The Man’s in a snit. Got in my car, put in Pearl Jam’s Ten and blasted the windows out while driving a smidge too fast all the way home. (Wow, I have used the words “snit” and “smidge” w/in the first two sentences of this post. That doesn’t happen every day now does it?) It had been an irritating day to say the least.
I know whatever you put out here in cyberland stays around forever and I’m ever-so-conscious of that and therefore cautious about what I write about The Man. But dang if I don’t wanna just spill it all out and deal with whatever consequences come up later, if they even do. I won’t do this of course and that both annoys me and makes me even more irritated. (And here’s where all the boys say “yep, she is definitely PMSing”). This is probably why I will never live my life with the reckless abandon (dang I love that particular cliche, and topic digressions via parentheses apparently) that I’m always thinking about because I can’t just let it fly. I have this annoying thing in my genetic makeup that has, in the past, caused me to be cautious, do-the-smart-logical-thing, blah blah blah. I hate that. It’s gradually fading though and one day baby, it’s all gonna come crashing down and I’m gonna do something incredibly illogical and reckless. Just you wait. And you know what’s humorously ironic? I’ve even tried to do this and it has failed miserably. Heh. And wow, we are verging on the brink of an entirely different subject with this one…anyway, back on track…
To be as vague as possible, I just want people to listen to me when I talk as I do have at least half a brain in my head and know how to use it. I just want to NOT get that stifled, defeated, bored, oh-my-goodness-get-me-out-of-here-before-i-go-insane-and-belt-out-showtunes-while-running-naked-down-the-hall feeling. I just want to enjoy what I do, to have it be a stimulating, fullfilling job that makes me feel like I am doing something worthy. Something other than catering to The Man and his ridiculous politics and good-ol-boy doctrines. I just want to feel that I didn’t waste four years of college and thousands of dollars on a degree that I would now sell to you for a bag of Doritos and a Dr. Pepper. I just want to be creative and free and be able to be my quirky weird self and not have to put on a jacket and sensible shoes before walking in the door because my tank top and flip flops don’t meet the dress code. I just want to not feel like I have to walk on eggshells, say just the right thing, nod my head at all the right places when The Man talks, pretend to listen and convince you that yes, that is the most brilliant idea I have ever heard of when I really think it’s a total and complete pile of donkey crap. I just want to not have to cater to The Man’s insane moods (oh the irony, I know I know) and gauge just when to stay under the radar and when it’s ok to poke my head out from under my desk and make a suggestion. If I even wanted to make a suggestion because frankly, I have become so apathetic to this whole thing that I would prefer to just plug my numbers into my endless spreadsheets and go home every day. I just want to not have to countdown the minutes until lunchtime and then the minutes until 5:00 and strategize about just how long I can wait to even go to lunch so that my afternoon is as short as possible.
I honestly feel like some caged animal pacing around its pen trying to figure out how to bust, break or chew her way out.
And here is where I would usually say that yes, some of this could be remedied by an attitude adjustment on my part, a new hobby, counting my blessings, being thankful that I have a job at all, etc etc. But you know what? I’m not going to say any of that even though those are all valid counters to my current complaints. Because I’m tired of apologizing for feeling this way and tired of feeling like I have to qualify everything I say here and elsewhere with some dutiful, virtuous statement(s) of some sort or another. Because that’s how I feel and that’s that. I also feel that Brett Favre should just retire already but that’s neither here nor there.
There’s really no way to nicely sum up this rant o’ mine so I won’t even try. Except to say that it is now 2:13 and I have exactly two hours and 47 minutes until I can run out the door, shed the jacket, shove on ma flipflops and get outta dodge.