I got home in plenty of time to watch Oprah’s final hour today, because my hours at work have been cut. But I didn’t do it. I feel just horrible, but I think Oprah and her millions (or should I say BILLIONS) will surrvive. I also meant to clean the dead ants off the window ledge today, but I have not gotten to that yet, and the clock, it is a ticking. I swear I am a clean person, ants notwithstanding.
Look, I have been doing this thing I do since 2004. I swear it’s true. I started at Blogger, moved to Typead (my favorite) then to Squarespace (blech) and now here. I am not in love with WordPress. If I can get my new Droid phone up and running and with free ringtones and a million apps and the settings just right in less than a day, why can’t I get this thing some decent widgets? But I digress.
Look, y’all, all five of the decent, kind folks who read my blather: Every day in my mind I compose epic posts. I truly do. But then some asstard comes in and ruins my day or makes me cry (which I do only when I get home) and then I just give up and play a few games of Burn it All on my iPad. This is game where you literally burn things up. It appeals to the pyro in me, and kills the stress.
I hate my job. My hours have been cut so drastically I am making less, LESS than I did on unemployment. I interviewed/tested at a temp agency yesterday, and the good news is my skills haven’t atrophied as much as I thought they had. I actually scored quite well on the Excel portion of the test — better than the Word, which shocked me. But they can’t place me unless I cut the one lifeline to a small trickle of pay, and if they did, it could be for a nine month job or a nine day job. I fucking give up. I really do.
Knitting is no longer a pleasure for me, and I haven’t touched the needles in days. I will soon, since I have a show this fall. But I can’t tell you when I will knit again for myself, personally. I just don’t give a flying fig. I can’t finish reading a book to save my life. I did go see Bridesmaids with Jon this weekend, but I cried more than I laughed. Because there’s nothing like seeing another woman hit rock bottom professionally to get me to really feel it in the gut, amirite?
I guess this is all a long way of saying I don’t know if I can do this anymore. I don’t have anything to say that I believe anyone wants to hear. Who wants to hear me bitch and moan? I don’t. I really and truly don’t. Maybe what I need to do is another rebirth, like a Tumblr blog. But then I think, oh shit, isn’t that what all the hipster kids are doing, and isn’t that passé now? Why, I’ll be mocked out of the Internets, mocked I tells ya.
So until I decide what to do (which I’d put here), I’m going to take the pressure off myself. I feel better already. Even though I say I hate Facebook, it’s quick and easy and I keep it active. Most of you are already my friends there, and if you’re not and want to be, leave a comment with your contact info and we’ll do the deed.
I posted this on FB yesterday, but I’m putting it here again b/c I can’t stop watching it. Both the song and Richard’s speech resonate with me SO MUCH. If there was ever an era/decade of music that defined me personally, it was Britpop/rock in the 90s
A slave to money and then you die. I’m a million different people from one day to the next. I can’t change.
Love you, back soon.