You know the type. Not the round-the-way girls with the big booties and the stink; the I'll-just-have-a-salad girls with the clicky heels and the bedtimes. I've become one of those people.
Jessica Gets A REAL Job, Is Registered for Personality Transplant
Have you been wondering for weeks upon weeks where I've been, losing sleep, muttering in corners while you repeatedly bump into both sides of the wall? Have you stared angrily at your computer screen for days on end, pressing "refresh" on your browser until your keyboard actually emits an "OUCH" sound and your unwashed body starts to absorb your clothing in an effort to survive while your brain focuses solely on this terrible, cheap, pandering blog? I know babies, I know. Come to my bosom, let me explain.
First thing's first: remember a few months ago, where I got all pedestal-y about moving to San Francisco as this thing I NEEDED to do? Well guess the fuck what. I didn't move. Nope. As a matter of fact, I haven't even changed positions; I'm still on my bed with my laptop burning a hole in my skin while the house settles and sighs around me because I'm it's only stationary object. I didn't stay because I stopped believing anything I said, I stayed because I recognized that I don't get to control the circumstances of my life, only the way I react to them. And I also got a job. Like a real lady job. With a badge and a parking space and an ergonomic chair. After spending months planning finding this new life in San Francisco, I finally got a chance to build a new foundation; only I started construction in Los Angeles instead.
I don't regret staying, at least not yet, but I regret going back on my word to someone I care about very deeply. But! Things are mostly good. A new plan with a new vision, a new job and new grown-up shoes! But then it hit me this evening as I declined an invitation for debauchery: I'm boring.
I drink boring coffee while I read boring emails. I sort through my mail and make bank transfers to pay loans. I work out to podcasts, you guys. PODCASTS. Sometimes I have to turn off NPR because it's too stimulating and I just need to relax, for chrissakes. And here's the real bullshit: everything fun is blocked at work. Everything. Fun. Sometimes I see people sitting with their laptops at the Starbucks in my building and envy the sheer joy on their faces from watching a cat fall off a doorjamb and I think that used to be me. Cats amused me, too! I mean, sure, I get things done at work and actually learn things but kitties! And endless chatting about inane things! And drinking with friends on weeknights because work isn't a two hour commute away and you can just put off real work tomorrow while nursing a hangover! To quote a dear friend, those days are gone. Now I sit across from a dude who makes taupe wallpaper sound X-TREME with only a thin cubicle wall dividing us. I wander to the bathroom and back 40 times a day to ward off falling asleep. I write fake emails. Sometimes I open up old work and pretend to type things in it to keep others from giving me new things to do. Sometimes I Google a live clock and watch the seconds of my life tick away one by one by one by one.
But, in a weird way, I'm really happy! I'm moving forward, slowly but surely, inch by inch. There are things on the horizon so exciting and inspiring that I listen to Dolly Parton for hours on end just to satisfy my workin' 9 to 5 excitement about the future! Another plan to move in February with the Elaine to my Jerry (and Kramer crashes on our couch and eats from a bowl next to the cat's bowl)! Drinking at kitchy themed-bars for unreasonably long hours and low prices (Bigfoot Lodge this weekend, any takers?), wearing ridiculously high heels and remaining generally off-putting! Arguing over politics late into the night with cheap red wine and our fictitious kitten cowering in the corner to hide from her owners who just want to put silly hats on her head! Those days are just around the corner, as long as I stop the transition into one of "Those" (I swear to god, I actually picked up a book that had an Oprah's Book Club sticker on it) and reverse it into one of "THOSE?" people who blog about people that aren't their dads, (not even close!) then I'm going to be fine. I'll be better than fine. I'll be an even bigger nutcase but this time I'll have a desk!
And I will blog for you, baby birds; I will regurgitate my office-spaced-out life bit by bit for your nourishment. You will profit from my dull, not-quite misery. You will hear about Wallpaper Guy on a regular basis.
But now I need to go read my Jonathan Franzen novel (I know) and get to bed at a reasonable hour.
BLERG.
