Choices

So much of life seems to be choices but so many people seem to abdicate responsibility. We act as though external forces have more control over what we do and what we are than we could ever have. And yet, it really does boil down to choices. Don't like your job? What's keeping you from choosing to change it? Money? Then your choice is money. Not that that's bad. But understand that you do make the choice. It isn't forced on you no matter how much you want to believe it is. Feel like you aren't getting anything done, that you are just treading water? It is because you choose to. Hard sentiments, I know. I don't want to face them any more than anyone else does.

When I was in high school, I had/got to prepare a speech to try to become a commencement speaker. My topic was the fear inherent in being nobody but yourself. Needless to say, I didn't get selected. But as I type this, I realize the issues I raised almost 20 years ago are still relevant to me today. Whoever I am, I chose to be this way - whether by active choice or passive neglect. Whether I am happy or unhappy with who I am, I am exactly who I choose to be. The only question is whether or not I really want to be who I am. And I do .... with some alterations. But that's ok. That's a choice too.

Hersheypark Happy Post Age 40

OK, so we took the girls and a friend to Hersheypark yesterday. Remember when you first started going to amusement parks, how every ride was so exciting and the only thing you could say is, "Let's do it again!!"? Somewhere along the road to "growing up", you lose that gene. You also lose the gene that says spinning around in a circle repeatedly is not nauseating, but fun. And the one that says walking around in wet clothes all day is fun. And the one that appreciates eating tons of junk food with no ill effect. It was actually a lot more fun than I'm letting on, but I do have to admit that roller coaster after roller coaster has lost its appeal. The biggest problem is the morning after. After walking around all day, carrying/giving piggy-back rides to all the kids, I ache. A lot. I want to not move today. Not going to happen. What happened to the days when I could bounce back up and do it all again the next day?

A side note: I am so not a girl. Had my hair cut and colored this weekend. Feeling a lot like the long lost Beatle - It's too dark and a bit mullet-y for my taste. Just in time for vacation. Fun. Fun.

What Do You Want to be When You Grow Up?

As you may have noticed, I have a real love-hate thing going on with my job. (I know, who'da thunk it?) I ended up in the position that I am in because my mother wouldn't send me to college for what I wanted to take (English, believe it or not), and it seemed like a cheap, painless way to make money (meaning I could make a good living without going on for an advanced degree - yes, I am that lazy). And while the money part has turned out ok, I guess I never realized how annoying it could be to do something you couldn't care less about day after day after day after ...

So anyway, it got me thinking, if I could start over again, what would I do for a living? I'm not talking about becoming a ballerina or middle linebacker for the Steelers. I'm talking honest-to-goodness-in-the-realm-of-possibilities job. Truth be told, I'd rather go with independently wealthy and travel the world, but I'm guessing that might not be too realistic either. So if I could have my dream job, what would it be? I could only come up with two - English professor at a small, state college (less publish-or-perish pressures) or archeologist. Neither is likely to happen, mind you, but it's nice to know there is something out there that I think I could enjoy doing. Meanwhile, I continue to slog away. Hey, 20 more years and I'm outta here.

I'ma gonna kick your skeletal arse ...

all the way down to the donut shop and force-feed you jelly-filled, powdered sugar donuts. Ever feel like you'd be doing Hollywood a favor if you did that to about half the actresses out there? Why do fairly attractive women think looking skeletal and haggard makes them oh-so-much-more attractive? What ever happened to athletic, or G-d forbid, voluptuous? Why has our weight obsesses society convinced these women to starve themselves? Don't know what I'm talking about? See whatserface Lohan. See Lori Loughlin (I remember her from the Edge of Night - shut up, I know I'm dating myself - and she used to be really pretty. Now she looks like someone stretched her skin too tight over a bag of bones). Who on G-d's green earth finds this attractive? What is so sexy about a twig with water balloons strapped on the front?

Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock

"Time is but an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so."

Perhaps one of my favorite quotes of all times. Time seems to rule our lives. There's either too much of it (if you're waiting for something) or not nearly enough. It is spent, wasted, or killed. The fallacy is that it always proceeds at the same pace: always 60 minutes in an hour, always 24 hours in a day, 7 days a week and so on. But while technically all hours are the same, I find the older I get the faster time seems to go. I recall a quote from my younger days (pull up a rocker and listen to your cracked auntie) that said something to the effect the mistake that young people make is that they believe the second half of their lives will be as long as the first. My life seems to be spinning incredibly fast, like a marble in one of those gravity wells as it approaches the center. Oh, I don't mean I'm going to kick off any time soon (at least I hope not), but I have to admit I've been having a harder and harder time managing my time. It seems like after I get everything done that has to be done, there's no time left for anything else. And if there is time, there is seldom enough energy.

Truthfully, that's where the whole paranoia about writing comes into play. I have hundreds of ideas dancing in my head, but there never seems to be enough time to write them all down. I kind of made a promise to myself to not write something new until I edited the book I already finished, but now I'm not even doing that. I want to write, it's just that I feel guilty using my time to do so - there's always something else that needs done. I know, I know, just set aside a certain amount of time to write everyday. But that's easier said than done - what if I don't WANT to write that day? What if I want to write more but I have this arbitrary limit?

*Sigh* I feel a lot like Rimmer from Red Dwarf anymore, continually revising my schedule to the point where I don't have time to actually do anything.

The Life And Times of the Barely Competent

Went home to visit my family this weekend - an activity that always engenders severe introspection. You see, while I admire what my mother has been able to do with the life she's been dealt, I desperately don't want to be like her. She tends to go through the motions of life with a passion for nothing. There's nothing that she seems to want to do, nowhere she wants to go. When she does do something, it's because someone asked her, not necessarily because she wants to do it.

So here I sit and pray fervently that I will not be like that, that somehow I will be different. Then I look at my life. Now don't get me wrong, from external appearances, I have a pretty nice life. Heck, from my point of view, it's not necessarily too bad. Good paying job, husband who loves me, two kids, nice house (white picket fence optional). So why am I not more satisfied? At the risk of sounding like I'm boasting, I'm one of those folks who people expected to do great things. Always near the top of my class, a writer since the third grade. When I started my job, I threw myself into it and got a top rating. The top ratings continues, so I continued. Finally, twenty years and several downsizings later, the top ratings stopped. Now it feels as though I'm perceived as a somewhat competent business person. I sit here twenty years later in a job that I don't particularly like and feel as though it's too late to change.

What happened to the "promise"? Why does it feel like I'm destined to float through life and not really matter? How could I have not done something more with my life? Oh, I still haven't given up. I write. Sometimes. When the mood strikes. When I have time. I finished a book, but to really do anything with it, I would have to finish editing it. But for some reason, I hesitate. Am I afraid if I finish, fearing that if I do, I'll have to send it out and find out this is another area where my "promise" has fizzled? Gah. I hate feeling like this. I mean, I know that corporate America specializes in making you feel like shit. But still...where is my passion? Am I going to look back in another 20 years and realize that my life has been wasted? Tomorrow never comes, or so they say. Why do I keep saying tomorrow, I'll get my life together?

What are you, chicken or something?

No, ostrich, actually. Didn't you read the title? But seriously, why does it always seem easier to avoid conflict than facing it straight on? Or at least when you are the person who has to make the decision. I have no problem cheering from the sideline, urging friends to Fight! Win! Fight! Aren't I just the prettiest plus-size cheerleader? But when it comes time for me to be in the hotseat, suddenly fighting back doesn't seem like such a good idea. But what if they don't like me, I whine to myself. What if I'm wrong and make a fool of myself? Blah, blah, blah. Thank heavens I also have an overdeveloped sense of JUSTICE (cue opera music)!!! Or at least my perception that life is supposed to be fair. Says who? Well....says .... my mom? ....no?....G-d? ....er, He seems to be more interested in letting folks make their own mistakes, so probably not...My high school principal? .... um, you have gone to high school, that bastion of fairness and caring (or maybe not)....

No, the world is not fair. Boo hoo. Doesn't absolve us from doing our best to tilt the odds a bit.

Whaddaya Mean Those Solid White Lines Aren't Discretionary?

All righty, time for something terribly witty and insightful. *insert nervous whistling here* Or maybe not. As I mentioned before, part of my neuroses is that I know that I am not being logical. Take my job. Please. *ba-dum-bump* In case you can't tell, I have a real love-hate thing going on with my job. I seriously dislike what I do for a living. No SERIOUSLY. To the point of contemplating whether having a heart attack or some minor accident that requires hospitalization might be preferable to going to work. Not so unusual you say. Here's the neurotic part: I live in constant terror of losing said job. Like I said, cracked.

Anyway, today's task was to to drive five to six hours one way for a one hour presentation. And then to drive five to six hours back because that obviously isn't far enough away to warrant spending the night away from home (I should mention that said company also has taken to only emptying the garbage a couple of days a week as a cost savings - so be careful what day you order Chinese for lunch). So I haul my rather sizable butt out of bed at 4 am and plop myself into the company car to drive to locations previously unknown for the next several hours (thank G-d for mapquest). Trip up is blissfully uneventful. Unfortunately, so is the presentation, which basically means I wasted a day presenting to people who had as much interest as a Catholic at a Baptist convention. So after putting a roomful of people into a coma, I'm ready to head back. One problem - splitting, vice-around-the-temples migraine. No problem, I have meds, right? Wrong. Taking said meds is a bit like being drunk. So do I drive with a splitting headache and hope that the road is straight enough in various locations to close my eyes for a few minutes, or do I take the meds, knowing they put me to sleep when I'm already sleep deprived? (I did opt for no drugs, thank you very much).

Have I mentioned lately that I love my job?

What the Hell Is An Ostrich Doing On Ice Skates?

OK, this is my second attempt at a blog. First one fizzled out when I realized it would depress even the Teletubbies. So why start again? Beats me ... peer pressure? Sure, that's as good a reason as any. And yes, I would jump off the bridge .... why do you ask?

*ahem* So what exactly does an ostrich on ice skates have to do with any of this? Not much. It just seemed like the worst possible thing for an ostrich to try (well, actually, water skiing is probably worse, but that's just cruel). And that seemed somehow appropriate for me. Suffice to say I sometimes (well, a lot of the times) make truly bizarre choices. And what makes it even more bizarre is that I know they are bizarre, even before I make them. Does that stop me? Heavens no! Why should it?

So if you're interesting in the neurotic ramblings of an ostrich on ice skates, you've come to the right place. If nothing else, you should have a fun time pointing and laughing.