I’m not going to sit here and tell a bunch of lies about life.
I’m laying sans clothes in my unmade bed, with Criss Angel: Mind Freak in the background, serving as a low-volume distraction. Much like elevator music, with the occasional over-inflated magician host. Behold, Criss Angel. (looks like Hot Topic exploded all over him, holding strong to the New Jersey accent; glorified on A&E.) Anyways….
Get ready for some random shit.
“I try my hardest.” It is easy to believe, but sometimes I wonder if my life would be drastically different had I been more “focused” thus far. Hmmm… perhaps? I would have moved on to a job with some sense of hope and possibility.
Job security is something that’s challenging to walk away from. It was easy to soften and focus on other things in my life. But now I am 30, and have come to realize…a rewarding job that pays well is indicative to happiness. people say money doesnt equal happiness, but has that ever been proven? Where are the numbers? Was this a question on the last Census survey? I doubt it.
And what about passion?
I look forward to a job that still feels good at the end of the day.
Things in the office have reached an all-time low. I find new ways to entertain myself. Have you ever imagined your real-life reality show? My ratings would be breaking records this season. Chuck, a numbers whiz who works down the hall, has been visitig my cubicle on a daily basis.
I caught him staring at my chest at the company summer picnic. He sat across from me on the picnic table, mumbled a few sentences about food alergies. I could barely hear him over the music; and it was the first time in ten years I’ve ever heard a DJ play awesome party hits at a company outing. There is an undeniable difference between soft holiday classics and Prince. When Doves Cry was blasting across the pavilion filled with uncomfortable looking middle-aged business casual attendants carrying on semi-awkward conversation. Chuck was blabbing “brought my Rubbermaid container since I can’t eat hot dogs. Oh well. ” Anyways, daily unannounced visits ensue. Chuck is creepy.
Just talking about this is making me lose my appetite. He asks me to lunch and I decline. Every. day. I think tomorrow I’m going to tell him to go away in some sort of ‘professional’ manner. This is what makes it difficult. Saying things in polite, direct 3rd person-esque lingo. It would be much easier to tell Chuck to go take a long walk off a short pier.
Sadly, the presence of my cube mates do not allow me this liberty. They even come over to follow-up immediately afterward. Everyone in pod 7G619 agrees I must get semi-bitchy with Chuck or he will never stop. Alas, my idea of semi-bitchy is different from theirs. What will happen next? Doing this brush-off office-style is creepy in itself. But not as creepy as chuck.