“Jim never has a second cup of coffee at home..."

"Go a little bit crazy this week: Get liquored up on cheap vermouth, steal a tractor-trailer rig, and drive it around, steering with your feet. "

***WARNING: Ninja Kitty is going to rant/whine in 5.....4....3....2....

Funny thing about the end result of a once self-declared-free-spirit-of-a-gypsy becoming predictable through circumstance - To stray from said predictability opens doors to paranoid delusions. I am currently kicking myself for slipping into such routine that I now have become a walking target for cheap shots and disrespect. I'm quite sure some of this whine w/ my cheese can be attributed to my upcoming anti-celebration of another year under the 'ol belt. I used to pity those who dread birthdays, but now find myself in that same canoe of woe. (Incidentally, I'm pretty sure some revenge-seeking beaver is responsible for the dysfunction of the oars...)

During the course of the last handful of years, I found myself increasingly subdued, introverted and... well... numb. More significantly, I became predictable. I somehow figured routine would counter much of the chaos until I found myself in a world as seen through opaque-ish glass - gummed up with years worth of grime, neglect, rockchips and cobwebs. In an effort to climb that rickety rope ladder out of this funk, I sought to redefine myself and hopefully reignite that inner spark. Secretly hoping the cogs weren't too far rusted to become a well oiled machine once more. I suppose I forgot to distribute a memo with the appropriate TPS cover sheet as many of those around me met these small changes with horror and suspicion.

For years, I recoiled in nervous panic at the sound of a ringing phone. Although I was provided a cell phone through my work, it mostly served to collect dust when not serving a purpose as the occasional alarm clock. I shied away from social invites and went about my days with clockwork precision. I also grew rather sad and restless. One fine day, I answered the phone. It wasn't for me, but for once, I didn't seek refuge while waiting for the answering machine to pick up. The next day, although weary from the previous days' event, I made an effort to return a missed call within moments of the voicemail left. Gradually - and we're talking painful baby steps, here, I began deviating from routine. I began keeping commitments and not paying as much obsessive attention to the minutes ticking by. I began consciously lowering my heart rate on the occasion or two when I would miss a self-declared deadline, or venture out in public in direct defiance against my fears. What I imagined were healthy changes were increasingly met with disdain.

"You're different." "How?" "I don't know, but I don't like it."

"Different" has been slowly and more thoroughly defined as exhibiting miniature hints of confidence, confronting many of my darkest fears and - as mentioned previously - straying from a state of predictability. I am not entirely willing to reopen the doors I have worked so intently to shut. Perhaps stubbornness plays a role of Devil's Advocate. What breaks my wee heart is that most everyone else has long been allowed, if not encouraged, to make these same strides. I do not seek cheerleaders (I leave that desire to my male coworkers ;)  ), just the benefit of the doubt. Then again, it is altogether possible that I simply place too much emphasis on the thoughts and judgements of others. I mentioned efforts to overcome such obstacles and I may have lost focus (along with my marbles, at large).

Alas, today is a new day. It's a Monday, so there's bound to be some general disenchantment followed by hair of the dog, but I make no apology for my bizarre evolution. Painful as it may be at times, those not able to offer constructive criticism will inevitably require parting gesture.

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Kitty

Monday, June 27, 2011

“Jim never has a second cup of coffee at home..."

"Go a little bit crazy this week: Get liquored up on cheap vermouth, steal a tractor-trailer rig, and drive it around, steering with your feet. "

***WARNING: Ninja Kitty is going to rant/whine in 5.....4....3....2....

Funny thing about the end result of a once self-declared-free-spirit-of-a-gypsy becoming predictable through circumstance - To stray from said predictability opens doors to paranoid delusions. I am currently kicking myself for slipping into such routine that I now have become a walking target for cheap shots and disrespect. I'm quite sure some of this whine w/ my cheese can be attributed to my upcoming anti-celebration of another year under the 'ol belt. I used to pity those who dread birthdays, but now find myself in that same canoe of woe. (Incidentally, I'm pretty sure some revenge-seeking beaver is responsible for the dysfunction of the oars...)

During the course of the last handful of years, I found myself increasingly subdued, introverted and... well... numb. More significantly, I became predictable. I somehow figured routine would counter much of the chaos until I found myself in a world as seen through opaque-ish glass - gummed up with years worth of grime, neglect, rockchips and cobwebs. In an effort to climb that rickety rope ladder out of this funk, I sought to redefine myself and hopefully reignite that inner spark. Secretly hoping the cogs weren't too far rusted to become a well oiled machine once more. I suppose I forgot to distribute a memo with the appropriate TPS cover sheet as many of those around me met these small changes with horror and suspicion.

For years, I recoiled in nervous panic at the sound of a ringing phone. Although I was provided a cell phone through my work, it mostly served to collect dust when not serving a purpose as the occasional alarm clock. I shied away from social invites and went about my days with clockwork precision. I also grew rather sad and restless. One fine day, I answered the phone. It wasn't for me, but for once, I didn't seek refuge while waiting for the answering machine to pick up. The next day, although weary from the previous days' event, I made an effort to return a missed call within moments of the voicemail left. Gradually - and we're talking painful baby steps, here, I began deviating from routine. I began keeping commitments and not paying as much obsessive attention to the minutes ticking by. I began consciously lowering my heart rate on the occasion or two when I would miss a self-declared deadline, or venture out in public in direct defiance against my fears. What I imagined were healthy changes were increasingly met with disdain.

"You're different." "How?" "I don't know, but I don't like it."

"Different" has been slowly and more thoroughly defined as exhibiting miniature hints of confidence, confronting many of my darkest fears and - as mentioned previously - straying from a state of predictability. I am not entirely willing to reopen the doors I have worked so intently to shut. Perhaps stubbornness plays a role of Devil's Advocate. What breaks my wee heart is that most everyone else has long been allowed, if not encouraged, to make these same strides. I do not seek cheerleaders (I leave that desire to my male coworkers ;)  ), just the benefit of the doubt. Then again, it is altogether possible that I simply place too much emphasis on the thoughts and judgements of others. I mentioned efforts to overcome such obstacles and I may have lost focus (along with my marbles, at large).

Alas, today is a new day. It's a Monday, so there's bound to be some general disenchantment followed by hair of the dog, but I make no apology for my bizarre evolution. Painful as it may be at times, those not able to offer constructive criticism will inevitably require parting gesture.

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