An Oracular Pig

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No, they did not call me today.  No, I don’t know if I failed out on this interview.  I don’t know if they are delighted with me.  I don’t know!

And frankly, it’s driving me nuts.  Actually, totally nuts, if you take my driving as any reference.  But when you’re in admin and you tell someone middle of the week when you’re super busy might end up being Thursday, easy. I so know how this goes.  And now the boss is gone for two weeks while we’re knee-deep in crap and I…have zero interest in anything related to my employment.  Zilch.  Okay, the story is not new or revelatory.  It can’t make you feel anything more than the minimal sigh you must already have offered up if you’ve read these screeds in order.

I just. I just!

I put out Christmas cards at the shop today.  A little assortment of them, some of which were so non-denominational and so winter-centered that it caught me entirely by surprise when I tried to get my oil changed over my lunch hour and ended up instead at the grocery store when they had a 40-minute wait.  Lined up to greet me were boxes of Red Lion amaryllis, and inside, where it really struck me, were the foil-wrapped pointsettia.  It is the holiday season.  78 degrees, walking around in t-shirts and shorts, getting ready to cook a turkey, and it’s the goddamned holiday season.

I am, if you cannot already tell, not ready for it.  People have mentioned raiding the racks for our special discount as salesfolk before the Small Business Saturday hordes come through…to buy presents at this dramatically reduced rate (that deludes you into thinking $40 for a dress is so insanely reasonable that you’re basically charging yourself if you don’t buy it).  I just blink.  Presents.  Presents, what are presents?

This doesn’t feel like a year for presents.  Give everybody donations to the ACLU and hold down the blast shield while you hum Silent Night.  That’s what this Christmas feels like this year.

But…you know.   I got there, I got my car loan paid, I didn’t get my car checked out, but I will, I am talking with friends, the Great Orange Pumpkin hasn’t gotten me yet.

I want my life back.  I want my brain back.  I want to be able to write a story and not feel this anxious clenching all the way down to my sphincter.  I want to move forward.  I want out.  I want out.  I want out.

Okay.  They’ll tell me tomorrow. Or they won’t.  I have no control.  I surrender it.  I surrender it to whatever power up there seems to care what job I do or where I am on a daily basis or whether or not I’m comfortable or not. I’ll let them choose as they are so wise.

Alright, I may just call this as my single worst post in this whole 6 year run.  It is awful as hell.  It is without meaning beyond my own frustration and I just want to finish it and post it and get away from it now.

 

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