From deeply irreverant to deeply personal in 12.9 seconds...
I never intended this to be diary format so much, but I need to take a moment to write about my day*
*warning, author reserves right to use time and space as she sees fit
I work 9 hours a day, so my workplace figures large in the space it fills in my day. It has been a family tradition of sorts for me and mine to regard work as nothing more than the place one goes to get paid, to be endured and enjoyed at the least expense possible. When work and the workplace become adversarial, those who turn and run away live to work somewhere else someday. I am a very hard worker, but I have never invested my personality much into what I do, feeling like most, that work places only use and abuse, and any emotional loans extended will only bring the bank calling with heafty interest fines.
I come in and was asked to sit down and talk a moment, Shit.
My co-worker asked me why I had re-arranged certain items in the store after being asked to leave them where they were, and I replied, "because that is where they belonged". She then proceeded to tell me what a disrespect that is to the others, who know no less where things belong than I do, and told me how I reminded her of a particular 13 year old who had matriculated to university, but who quickly fell to drugs, and other self destructive abuses, and said that she knew how hard it was for people of exceptional intelligence to take the reigns from their powerful ego's and let empathy and consideration do the driving. And then, she said that all the love I need to change was here. But...but work is where I come to get shit on. Work+love=wtf?
I must praise my coworker for so expertly phrasing her criticism so that the reason I am such a social retard is because I am an intellectual genius! But listening to this, I was forced to accept several things: that being right isn't always worth the human cost, and that running away from things and people that upset me only makes for a three page resume. So even though there has been friction, I am not quitting my job. This is just the kind of emotional endurance test that should help me prepare for the big triathelon next month.
As much as most people sincerely believe that they want the straight goods from life and those they share it with, this was the perfect example of the need to judiciously read and employ "handling instructions" to those we fear breaking. Honestly, the majority of us have no stomach for the truth whatsoever, and need it to be carefully shaped into a sweet ass bowl of ice cream that disguses the bitter pill we are made to swallow about ourselves from time to time. There are also many cases, terrifying cases, in which we must admit that someone else, who may not know us even very well, knows all our secrets and may even be far more aware of them than we are ourselves. While this is a ghastly prospect, the up side is that we can look to others for constructive criticism and opportunities for personal growth, rather than muddling in a dark corner, crying and jerking off to NIN, thinking that nobody knows the trouble we've seen. Belief in the uniqueness of ones pain or experience really is nothing more than an mastrabatory egoasm.
Project Personality: Currently under construction, with cost overruns projected into the billions.
And now it's time for DEAR LORD: straight up advice from the all-mighty for life's quandaries
Q: Dear lord, how can be spared from passing gas in front of my intended? I ask thee in Jesus name.
A: Love brings many movements, not only of the heart, but of some less appropriate organs as well. This is the satan-fear and its accompanying curs-ed wind: be not blown away, my child. Simply eat nothing for at least 6 hours before your encounter. This will not only keep the dogs of gas firmly chained, but will also prevent the nervous release of other superfluous and unholy excretions. Can I get a hallelulah?
Q: Dear lord, how can I ever know for certain that I have left the house wearing the right pants?
A: Hold your two hands together and put the thumbs together outstretched. The side that makes an L is your left, the other is your right. Now that you know left from right, I ask thee child by what standard you judge your pants? Are you concerned what ladies may think of them, or has your ego simply gotten the better of you? In both cases, a good self-flaggulation with a young birch branch and 100 hail Mary’s made in sincere repentance of what ever will undo the problem with your pants. You may want to remove them first in any case, blood is a bitch to get out.
Q: Dear Lord, I’ve just creamed the butter together with the eggs and sugar. I know the recipe says to add the flour next, but I was thinking I need this cake to be extra special, so maybe I should do the spices first and that way the flavour gets more into the butter. What do you think?
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