Sad news: Getting the news about one of the brightest stars in the field burning out and hanging up their tap-dancing shoes.
Great news: Getting proof that there’s life after working 80-hour weeks every year for 10 years in this crazy-ass field.
I wonder if, when I’m finally done too, people will regret that I’m gone or whether they’ll say, yup, she burned herself out so let’s find someone else’s hopes to destroy who’s new and young and a little too hungry and hopeful and ambitious.
I heard today that managers at a certain local grocery store start at $75,000 a year.
I also know two more stores are opening in the next few weeks.
I am thinking it is time to evaluate my career options.
There are certain people in this world who make me want to slack and slow down and be as happy (if not completely unproductive/useless) as they are.
Then there are others who make me want to be better than my best, which is clearly better than most.
I had a choice between two 10 a.m. calls. And the one I chose has made all the difference.
My beloved web developer is making us look SO GOOD to an external company. I’m suddenly motivated to do something awesome today.
I like soaring with the eagles. That is my high.
Let’s kick some ass today, people.
After four years of near-imprisonment in the state of Florida, I finally have a work trip next week.
Mom mused, “You really miss having jobs that let you travel.”
Yup.
I think someone was trying to rattle my cage recently by intimating that I don’t really excel at two particular tasks. Which, I do fine for someone who doesn’t have the time or the passion to do either.
My strength was always networking and connecting the right people and making relationships work and managing those relationships over the longer term. The aching details of projects and numbers never interested me. I just happen to be good at jumping into action the moment it is needed … whatever it may be.
Unfortunately no matter how many people I hire, there is no “me.” And I have a love/hate relationship with that fact.
Because, I love being a rockstar. But I wouldn’t mind handing off the guitar if anyone were fast/adept/skilled/motivated enough to learn a couple chords, let alone how to do a screaming solo to give a girl a night off.
I am painfully aware when people aren’t great at whatever they think their calling is. I think I may be seeing a bit of that right now. (Story for another day, if that nagging feeling is true.)
And there’s a certain comfort on my part that I’m pretty good at things that I know aren’t my calling. What if I got to do what I thought I’d be great at, and it turns out “not so much”?
Whatever. I’m just thrilled to be at the big-boy table again. Making connections. With people. Now if I can just remember how to act so I can maybe get to do it again …
Since certain people get their maxi pads in a twist and everything goes sticky-side-up on my busiest day of the week, I’m declaring Fridays as a no-more-war zone.
Heed my advice — don’t enter my dancing space on Fridays. When I tell you I will reply to you Monday, I mean it.
After all, their pads are wrong-way-up most of the week anyway. How about giving a girl a chance to recuperate, eh?
I don’t do this often but I’m inspired.
Dear ___,
This tit-for-tat shit needs to end. You cannot make six fuck-ups, and critique those who are trying to fix those fuck-ups (although, thanks to a slight misunderstanding, muddled one of those fuck-ups a bit more) and GET THEM IN TROUBLE.
How about stop fucking up. Seriously. Everyone’s got better things to do than to deal with the aftermath.
Love,
Goddess
I’m purposely avoiding social media and the news in general because today is, well, today.
I get conflicted because I realize how short life is, and also, how LONG life is.
Many beautiful lives were abruptly ended. Many other lives have been tested and hardened and wearied by their absence.
I think about losses I’ve faced, and losses yet to come. I also think about the joys that are supposedly left in store, amid and even after the terrible things.
I try not to think of these things. But on a day like today, you think of how big your problems seem, and how small you really are on this earth.
And yet, it’s your path to walk. It’s OK if your shit seems huge. IT IS to you. And nobody … nor time nor space nor distance … can take it away. Not even if you really wanted them to.
“Let me know when your whole life goes up in smoke. Means it’s time for a promotion.”
— “Nigel” in “The Devil Wears Prada”
Given the “talent” I’ve come across in this field, I’m downright cheap. Which people only seem to realize once they’ve tried to find someone just as willing to stick the broom handle up their butt so they could also sweep the floors on their way out.
Just getting home now is a good enough reason. I’m like a bad trade order — first in, last out.
Today Melissa Rivers buries her mother Joan. And I’m taking this loss pretty badly.
I ache for Melissa. She and her mom were like me and mine — always together. Always up to no good. Always laughing and doing everything to survive together.
Nobody knows how much longer they will have their mom. But I know my time with mine isn’t going to be long enough.
Melissa has a great career and a son she loves. I don’t know what’ll be left of me when I have to endure Melissa’s loss. Or that I could even get a day off to deal with it.
This is why I get so sick of dicking around with stupid shit. That’s taking time away from my family. It’s denying me the opportunity to fight for her. Instead I let everything slide. Waiting for someday when I get a week or a month off, to knock on doors and make calls and do research that I’m always too busy/tired to fit in.
But yes, let’s quibble over over numbers I don’t want to be in charge of or a paragraph that nobody’s going to read. BY ALL MEANS let’s spend unpaid hours on that.
I don’t plan to blame anyone but myself. But I’m going to have a really hard time going back to the routines that are killing us both.