I got bent out of shape at work over a repeating frustration. I moved through wanting to swear, loudly and repeatedly (but not doing it), into defeat. What’s the point? No matter what I do, or how often certain points are explained, people will fuck it up. It’s simple, but the scale is so fucking huge that people can’t, or won’t, keep the big picture in mind. Maybe they don’t even know the big picture. I feel quite morose.
I’m pulling out of it though. I called a friend whose company is disintegrating. He doesn’t know if he’ll have a job next week. It’s all in the perspective. My team’s deliverables are a holey, redundant, inefficient mess, but I’ll be struggling to improve them until I get moved to a different role and it becomes someone else’s nightmare. If I wasn’t such a compulsive perfectionist I’d just shrug it off as status-quo.
Moving on to another pressing problem, do I buy a new 46” or 52” LCD Flat-panel TV? I’m only considering top-of-the-line Sony models, of course. I don’t want to spend the cash, but I can’t make myself look at the lower end models. Do I buy now for pre-Superbowl sale prices or wait to see if the lousy economy will bring deeper cuts? Do I hold off on this completely decadent purchase all-together? Yes dear readers, my troubles are endless.
I may have another photo opportunity with Colin Powell on Friday. We won’t know until after his presentation whether we’ll get to shake hands with him or not. It depends on how many people with higher priority are interested. I’ll see him on a closed-circuit broadcast in a classroom down the hall from the auditorium, just like last time. I plan to wear my holiday party jacket and sweater shell just in case. My sweater was a crumpled mess last time and my eyes were closed in the first shot. Wouldn’t it be cool to document my ongoing weight lose through pictures with Ret. General Colin Powell? I’m up to 102 pounds lost.
Which finds me into projecting into distant future times when I consider dating. Gah! Terrifying. I've never managed to not be an ass about boys/men. I'm still mentally riding my bike past their houses a dozen times a day and baking anonymous heart shaped Valentine's Day cookies in mail cubbies. (Where everyone knows it was me, including the guy, but I don't know they know, because I'm an ass.) See how I jump from 100 pounds lost to over 150 as if it were nothing? I have purposefully not re-visited match.com to count how many men in my town are listed. Even thinking about dating makes me a nut-case. Do I blog about the train-wrecks? Do I hide my blog from potential boyfriends? God, no one would return my emails if they had access here. Wow! Problem solved. If I scare people off before the first date we only have the drama of my mind! Phew, glad I resolved one issue today.