Ugh, this week.
I feel like I have too many options now. Like my life could take any winding, twisty road it wants and for one, I could get lost in the woods, for another, I could find the yellow brick road, and for the third I could step behind the secret door and take whatever it gives me. What a complicated thing, having all this freedom. You know when you get married, you tie yourself to one person. When you take a big girl job (with big girl panties) after college, you expect to be there for a while. When you apply to graduate school, you go back to school. But what do you do when none of those things are happening for you, and you’re in the middle of a mid-mid-life-crisis trying to figure out just which way to turn, let alone which way to start walking.
And if I start walking a certain way, I’m definitely going to need more comfortable shoes. So that’s one pair of non-“butt saying, ‘party like a rock-star’ panties, and one pair of pre-grandma flats. So, I suppose on my job search I should start saving for this inevitables.
And then there’s the workshops. And the road trips, and dear Jesus, Hallelujah, the weddings. So many weddings to go to this summer, so many white-flowered dresses and too-poofy hair styles. So many crying dads, SO many flower girls that will make my uterus explode in its’ WAY early need. Who can really complain about road trips though? Other than the girl I’m going with being too car sick to actually road trip the South Pacific (love you Hols). And then the workshops to better my writing and up the ante on my manuscripts so that I can become a bigwig writer gal with my face on the side of buses and on the inside of book jackets.
Yesterday, in my anger and desperation for all of these new things (I like to call it my kaleidoscope of things just to a put a positive spin on it, which I rarely do by the way. I’m Miss Piggy in all other situations) I told my best friend that the American Dream has become this: work 9-5 your whole life, only to retire and hope to have enough money to go on a cruise to someplace sunny (or Alaska…for a second honeymoon). And both of us are trying urgently to break these molds (she’s actually moving across the world to the small, Icelandic country of New Zealand where I will be having conniptions on a daily basis over possible Earthquake encounters) and I’m trying to avoid ever being barefoot and pregnant and live the life of Devil Wears Prada meets Cat Animal Hoarder meets wise, and mysterious author.
So, I’ve succeeded in giving most people I know the cat-lady vibe, but when do I become big New-York, Stilletto? Big New-York, dark glasses? Just Big and in New-York for God’s sakes? I want my ego to feel like the size of the Empire State Building. I want people to be as green as the Statue of Liberty when they see me walk down a street with my cat on a leash (I don’t do poodles…and I don’t really do cats on leashes either, or children…just sayin’). I just want this powerful woman image of myself. This strong, feminist, donates to bra-burning ceremonies and Planned Parenthood seventh grade field trips to learn about your growing body, woman.
So here are the options at hand:
- Lateral Entry into an Education Degree. One year at Wake Tech and I’ll be able to take the Praxis and teach high school children how to make a proper spit ball, and a proper iambic poem.
- Continue to work at my “recreation leader” position at the Teen Center and basically read more than my goal of 60 books this year.
- Make a few more awkward interview appearances until one actually falls through and I get a big girl job (PLEASE BE HARPER PERENNIAL).
- Get the Assistant Publicist job at Harper Perennial, move to NY and the rest is history. I’ll come back full of chain-smoke hair, knowing how to play every billiard table, and knowing the names of every cocktail.
- All of these except Harper Perennial include me applying in the fall, again.
- If Donald Trump runs for President (with or without Sarah Palin…or she runs for president), my leaving the country for Ireland will commence and everything else will be put on the back burner. Hasta La Vista, baby! (This blog needed a little political commentary anyway, because everyone knows the ENTIRE State of Hawaii is in on Barack being an illegitimate citizen. BARF).
So, what will it be people? Recommendations? Donations to the cause? Charity? I’ll get a cute hat you can stick your money in and everything. Maybe, I’ll come up with a witty sign full of reasons why you should give me your money (and I’ll wear two different socks with holes in them on the street) and fluff up my hair. There’s option # 79234.
Meanwhile I’ll be listening to the entirety of the Sara Bareille’s album, “Kaleidescope Heart.” (She always reminds me of the options of either a. tattooing my whole body with Broadway plays or b. moving to Vegas).