Caterwauling

Claws

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I can just hear Patton Oswalt narrating my life right now.

So, I have kind of been up to something. I didn’t put a lot of thought into it. As we all know, desperate times call for desperate measures, and all that jazz.

Naturally, it’s come back to bite me in my sizable ass. Oy vey.

I’d call on God for help with this one, but even He is like, “Yo. I’m waiting to watch you jump the General Lee over the ravine you dug for yourself. Good luck!”

Thanks, Big Guy. 🙂

So, OK, I had 14 meetings between Monday and Tuesday (and one I forgot — story for another day there. Jesus Christ). And exactly one today.

Not only did I get a lot done, but I immersed myself in pure editing. No profit-and-loss statements, or conversion and renewal rates. No promo codes, no reporting software, no five hours of planning a one-hour meeting.

It was glorious.

I think I’ve risen to the level of my own incompetence. I thought I’d be good in administration. And I do love it, but I’m not advancing the learning curve fast enough. And things are falling by the wayside when I focus on things like supervision and, oh, editing.

It occurs to me, do I want a paycheck, do I want to be happy and creative, or do I want both? Because I thought I could have it all. But I really think I need to pick my priorities. And struggling isn’t my style.

I was thumbing through my copy of Peter Drucker’s “Leader of the Future” and my beloved Patrick Lencioni’s “3 Signs of a Miserable Job,” and I started dreaming of the business I want to start that has NOTHING TO DO with my current field.

I’m not mad at the field. It’s been educational and kind of lucrative in recent years. It’s gotten me introduced to the biggest names in the field, and gotten me accustomed to five-diamond accommodations and five-star meals.

I don’t want to start over. I just want to plot my second business and run it until such time that it’s my only business.

And that I went and did something that could rock my entire world, ugh. Seriously. WTF, Goddess? The cure for drama is not MORE DRAMA.

Well, I think God’s still mapping the joke He is playing on me. Santa Claus is my only hope.

Santa, all I want is to be happier than a hog knee-deep in slop. Please bring me whatever it will take to be that way. And take away everything else. Because I don’t have my wits about me enough to know the difference.

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