My mom took my sister and I to Disney World a couple weeks ago for vacation. Yes, we are children. No, we are not ashamed.
Do you see it? DO YOU? Me neither.
Disney World is besides the point. I think it was being in the sun and heat (since we’ve really had none of that in Illinois) that made me feel so damn go-get-’em.
I’ve been applying for writing and editing jobs because that’s what I’m good at (as readers of my blog, you may protest to that statement, but whatever). (I also just ended that sentence with a preposition, but I used a parenthetical statement to distract you from it). For instance, I looked at an old blog post the other day and noticed a comma splice. SEE?! Noticing it proves that I’m a good writer and editor.
Anyway. I enjoy those things, too. They’re great, whatever. BUT (look out for a blog post on why “but” is my favorite world in the entire world and why I want to get it inked on me but I don’t want people to constantly ask me why I have a “but” tattoo) it is not what I think I want to do as a career anymore.
In much simpler times, people had their career by the time they were 26. Usually by the time there were sixteen. In much much simpler times, they had their career before they were 6. Screw them. I’ll take my damn TIME to grow up.
ANYWAY, while at Disney World, in the sun, walking 50 miles (according to my mom’s pedometer), I discovered a passion in me to NEVER WORK A JOB EVER…
…indoors. Never work a job ever indoors. Is what I meant to say.
Really, I don’t want to sit inside an office. I want to work for a company that respects the outdoors and its workers’ places in it. So I’ve been applying at those places. And getting NOWHERE.
You hear of repression this and repression that, but you don’t think of physical repression. That’s because I just made it up! You’re welcome. Maybe pen that into the blank pages at the back of your college psych 101 book. Or not. It’ll never come up again.
I spent years in a state of physical repression wherein I sat cradled in front of the TV in an armchair, working on a cross stitch (wish I were joking), hip cocked at a certain angle and propped on pillows, thinking to myself, “Lucky bitch, your dad has to go out and shovel on this bitterly cold night. What a sucker. Hyuck hyuck hyuck.” While my subconscious was thinking, “NOOO!!!! I want to dig and make snow angels and maybe get a little frostbite so I have a cool black toe!”
Too bad you only really hear echoes of your subconscious years later. Actually, probably a good thing because I would have freaked out.
I liked playing sports when I was younger. I volleyed balls and basketed balls and rode horses who did not have balls. I liked doing things. Then I stopped liking doing things because it hurt to do things.
Now, I have recovered physically, but there was a year or so where I was still afraid to move my body in certain ways because it might break. I’m feeling pretty confident now though, like a woman wearing white in a tampon commercial.
So this is not really a blog post. This is a plea for a job. If you or someone you know is in the position to hire me to fill the position for Outside Person, please do. (I think my need for health insurance is pretty clear, but in case you didn’t GET that, I’ll need a comprehensive benefits package, too)