Caterwauling

Because I’m all spiritual these days (thanks to a thought-provoking Friday Five that I continued on Sunday and now today, Monday), I realize that I was not meant to hold down a 40-hour per week job, nor should I be forcing myself to mold my creativity to function only during those hours. Damn it, I just went on a writing spree about a subject that I found incredibly boring until a half-hour ago. I ran out of info, so I had to stop, but I just realized that it’s OK to be uninspired at certain times of the day (i.e., between 9 a.m. and 5 p.m.). I have 10 days, including weekends, to pull my stories together. (Hah!) But I guarantee the bulk of my writing — and my best writing — will be done after 7 p.m. during the coming evenings. Yet I have to drag my ass in here for a full day before that can happen.

It’s not the association’s fault … it’s my fault for not being a full-time freelancer. I guarantee, when I freelance, I’ll be working evenings and some weekends, and I’ll toss in a few weekdays for meetings and conference calls.

Workplaces strip people of their individualism, their uniqueness. So many people go in to work, uninspired (for a variety of reasons) and leave at 5 p.m. just because that is what they have always acknowledged as the end of a workday. But maybe their creativity doesn’t kick in till later in the night, like mine does. Think of all the wasted talent and vision out there in the world, because after you’ve had your ass kicked by your employer all day, do you REALLY want to work in the evening? Hell no. Not to say that we should only work when the spirit moves us (because most people might never be moved enough to accomplish anything) … but I do believe in muses, and when my muse comes to poke me in the ass, I’d like to have enough energy to humor her and produce something creative and coherent. 🙂

I keep getting that icky back-to-school feeling when it’s nearly time for me to leave for work. Ugh. I hate those butterflies. Can’t remember a job where I didn’t get that somebody-shoot-me-please anxiety. I love working with IKEA Boy, I love setting my own schedule, I love frequent bitch sessions with Shan and well, that’s about it.

This month is going to be tough because of tighter deadlines, but my heart isn’t in it. I don’t know if it ever was. Perhaps I am just a procrastinator and I’ll feel better once I’ve made an honest-to-goodness dent in the writing, but right now, I just have piles of research, a bunch of sent e-mails that long for a response, and some annoying callers who don’t realize that I while I would love to write a story about them, I have assigned stories that take precedence. Although, I am stressing myself out, trying to accommodate those goofballs, because I don’t want any negative attention for myself or the publication. Ergh. I don’t know. Truly, I only want to give as much effort as I am paid to give.

On Friday, the association had a potluck luncheon. IKEA Boy and I were the only ones not in attendance (he’s on vacation, and I can barely afford to feed myself, let alone cook for 60 people). Dumbass Jenn in H.R.’s office made this HUGE production, according to Shan, that she saw me sneaking out so as to avoid the whole love fest. They even had a CHECKLIST, to see who didn’t attend. At least IKEA Boy had an excuse, but frankly, I didn’t feel like looking at all of their sad sack faces. I attend maybe one of every three company events, and that’s quite enough for me. Besides, potlucks scare me. I know that I bathe every day (sometimes twice a day, and I scrub my butt in-between those times!!!), and I keep my kitchen and home reasonably clean — but does everybody else? I can spot an unwashed ass from a mile away, and quite honestly, I see how messy the kitchens at work are left. I always wonder what people’s homes look like, when they can’t even wipe down a simple countertop or microwave at work when they make a mess.

At any rate, Shan tried to tone down Jenn’s production by saying that I am dealing with twice the shit, since IKEA Boy is out, as some oddball things had arisen (which is true) that I had to figure out on my own and that I probably needed a break outside of the office. They didn’t care, apparently; they seemed to think me to be inconsiderate. Oh well. I think they are assholes, so we are even!!!!! It was dreadful, according to Shan, as she had to sit near someone who has been a large pain in the ass to her, and that person kept telling tales of woe about her ex-husband the whole time. At least Shan shut the bitch up by telling the story about seeing Pussy Demure — oops, Janet Reno — at the Press Club, and everyone was impressed. And she made sure to mention my name. Hah. Her point was to show that we have lives outside of the psych ward. Hee hee.

Oh well, off to do my makeup … gotta look good for the psych ward!!! Bill is in town today! We’ll see if he can give Shan and me any hope for our futures. 🙂