Something is wrong. Very wrong. Usually I wake up, with an energy that rivals Michael Jackson not-doped-up, and do back-flips to my heaping bowl of Cheerios. Well, that was until we cross the Mississippi.
Now I crawl my ass outta bed ala The Ring, and start licking coffee grounds until a.) the coffee actually brews or b.) the grounds give me 2nd degree burns on my tongue. (Maybe then I can sing along with the guy, "You don't always die from tobacco...sometimes you just lose your tongue.")
I don't know what happened.
Take today for instance. I've been up since 6:28am, and the first thing I did was make coffee. It's now 7:17am, and I've enhaled one cup of coffee...but still have failed to fixate on those little halos of love. It could be because I have another interview today (with another employing agency) and my appetite is nowhere to be found. And while it may not be interviewing for the White House, interviewing still makes me queasy. And it's not that I don't like talking about myself (because that's just lies!), it's that people judge you on every. little. thing.
Oh, you went to a state-funded university.
Oh, you're tall AND you still wear heels.
Oh, you haven't tenured as an Executive Assistant to a VP yet. What's your issue?
Two words: "F*** off." I don't need your judgmental attitudes ruining my mojo. I don't work because we need the money. I work because I WANT to. I work because I like it. I like the responsibility. The camaraderie. And the money. Because let's face it. When your checking account is down to $71, it kinda depresses me. (And no, this is not all the money I have. My savings is still Uncle-Scrooge-can-swim-in-it, I just refuse to transfer over any money until I bring in more bacon. It's not like I need anything else. Minus more printer paper.)
So this is my issue this morning. Coffee blows my skirt up more than Cheerios. Well, minus the weekends. Because those are all casual, and I don't have to get up and put my best power suit on. And by "power" I mean JCPenney. Because this blogger doesn't do lesbian, mid-60's real estate agent. Nope. Sorry.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
I'm sorry your coffee isn't giving you the normal fix. Interviewing makes me a bit queasy, too. But then I think if those people don't hire me, they're the ones with a problem. Not me. Oh yeah, no self-esteem issues here.
ReplyDeleteAfter every job interview I felt so ill afterwords I'd come home, eat a million pounds of crap, and feel like I was going to die.
ReplyDeleteEACH AND EVERY TIME.
I feel ya homie.
Yes. Your birthday is coming up. You're going to get a box of really random shit if I don't get a list here SOON!
ReplyDelete