When The 'Ol Train of Thought Suddenly Realizes It Is, In Fact, An Airplane.

"Try and get back to basics this week. Learning to dress yourself, brush your teeth, and eat with utensils would be a good place to start."

As a strange and poorly planned directive came raining down upon us unsuspecting peons at work yesterday, I fully anticipate I'll have FAR too much time on my hands today. As it's also Friday, I don't take much issue with that. Today, anyway. Monday's another story.  

My mind has been all over the map these past few weeks so I can say with some degree of certainty, that this post will be entirely incoherent. And that's OK. It is mine, after all.

On a quick side tangent (Christ, Annie, you are barely a few sentences in and already a side tangent? SILENCE, PEANUT GALLERY!!!!) a couple of months back, we were forced to write our own performance reviews. Nothing new of note there, really, it's just one of those Corporate nuances. Anyhoo, as logic would dictate, I wrote my own review. My brain was somehow sending the signals which eventually traveled through my fingertips and recorded onto the screen before me. So fast forward a bit and I have a meeting with my boss to address the whole ordeal. The first words out of her mouth: "I must say, I really don't care for your writing style". Ouch. Funny thing is, to this day I'm not sure how to even fix that when my "style" was little more than what my mind dictated I write. There wasn't much style to it, per se.... but who the hell else's style would I have utilized? This would be, then, setting aside the fact that I don't write for a living (clearly). I simply stated what I accomplished this past year. Why would I be critiqued on my writing style? Ah well, one of those little mysteries in life, no?

Moving right along, I had applied for a job I REALLY wanted. I mean REALLY REALLY REALLY wanted. As luck would have it, I was selected to move forward into the process to a testing phase. Little did I know this would actually drag out over about 7 weeks. Each successive test, I was totally convinced I had bombed miserably. Each successive test gave way to yet another. My gut instincts were evidently on vacation. So the final test arrives and, well, let's just say it was nothing more significant than a personality test.

I failed.

Literally the ONE area of my life where I thought "Hey, I'm not too bad, this shouldn't be an issue." was the ONE area that barred me from continuing. Tough for a gal to not take all of this a bit personally. Thing is, I don't have to hear it from anyone else. Bad news. Of any sort. I'm there. We are all our own worst critics. Pushing all absurdities, injustice and judgment aside, at the end of the day, if you don't like what you see in the mirror..... or taking that a step further, what you perceive in your mind - you're the only one who can change that, right? This is nothing new. Yet funny how even reciting it over and over again in your head does nothing to make it all QUITE sink in. Sometimes the off-color comments of others are an opportunity to revisit the dialogue in your mind. May I just offer some caution for the manner in which you revisit it?

I have been beating myself up from the depths of my own depression. We're talking blood sport, here. Unsanctioned, unregulated and quite frankly, uncalled for. I truly admire those with the testicular fortitude to say ENOUGH. It takes monumental oodles (I really delight in throwing those two words together) of strength, confidence, heart and courage to put an end to the cycle. My own cycle is deeply bound to the tides. They thrust me about in disarray and with a careless almost arrogance.  I often take comfort in that chaos. But in the grander scheme of things, it is an unhealthy way to live. It's not something that can be changed in a day. In fact, it's altogether possible it's a connection which can't truly ever be broken. It is, however, a challenge I'm more equipped to face than I was even days ago.

Someday I'll be free of the burdens imposed from my own mind. Here's to hoping I'm still "young" enough to enjoy the fruits of that. For now I'm off to seize the day. I may even fancy it up a bit with some sparkles or.... let's be honest - gin. TGIF, Pets!!!

P.S. As it turned out - the "side tangent" was to be the only tangent of the post. Ain't that some shit?




Everyone Has A Story

"Learn to appreciate the little things in life, because the big things will either cost more than you have or take more time than you've got left."

I found myself in the waiting room of our local police station last night. To be fair, I got there mid-afternoon and just happened to continue loitering into the early hours of that evening. Although not as efficiently run as my long-spanning viewership of Law & Order would lead me to believe, I was nonetheless amused. In fact, I would readily admit to being "guffawed" if I suspected that to be a real word. 

Right off the bat, I was struck by two observations: First, I was far more comfortable surrounded by colorful creatures with questionable rap sheets than I might be in, say, a mall. There's something fabulous to be said for people who perceive themselves in no position to readily judge another. Second, it seems my hearing/eavesdropping skills are far sharper than I initially suspected. I'll go ahead and throw a third observation in the mix for no reason beyond combating my assertion that I had only soaked in two such findings within 5 minutes of setting foot in those formidable glass doors: I am not the ninja I'd like to think I am. As I clearly hear better when I turn my head in the direction of the conversation, I'm not very subtle when staring at those whose business I'm nosing blissfully about in. 

Funny thing about police stations, there is no discernible regard for the privacy of others and/or their business. It's not like the waiting room of an OB-GYN where your first name is awkwardly whispered by the attending nurse. Even having a seemingly non-complex first name such as "Annie" can produce moments of entertainment when it's pronounced "Andy?" in an otherwise nonexistent Minnesotan accent. Nope. In a police station, the staff will proudly announce your full first, middle and last name with shocking clarity, not to mention booming pomp and circumstance. This all led to even more fascination with the reaction of the first gentleman called...

"JOHN JAMES THOMPSON? IS THERE A JOHN JAMES THOMPSON?"* (Notice no breath was actually even taken in between to allow for a prompt response)

*yes, yes, the name has been altered to protect the identity of the individual involved..... Although the employees at aforementioned police station would never willingly submit to such consideration....Just sayin'.

The response: "YES. THAT WOULD BE ME." comes this thunderous voice from a gentleman looking suspiciously like the grandfather from Silver Spoons. The best part? He finished reading his article in the newspaper before carefully folding it up, placing it delicately back into his briefcase, checking his shoes to ensure laces were properly tied, then retreating to the room down the hall. No sense of urgency whatsoever. No hint of shame at being part of our motley little crew. In fact, one might suspect he had just won a prestigious award and was collecting himself before delivering the most brilliant speech ever penned by man. Awesome!
Yep - That's the one!
Next up to bat was a special sneak preview of "Thelma & Louise: Where Are They Now? - 50 Years Later". The entertainment packed into those pint-sized white-haired cuties sporting Daisy Dukes and Blue Blockers was pure gold. They had apparently just returned from a drinking binge in N'Orleans only to discover some brute had stolen Thelma's American Express. My waiting room neighbor insisted on providing me a status update of the names on the clipboard at the most inopportune times, or I would have gotten the skinny on EXACTLY what purchases were made on said American Express. 

In those fleeting moments where the publicized dialogue would become hushed or altogether missing, I would make up stories in my head to properly fill in the plot gaps. All in all, it was a delectable adventure I'm not soon to forget. In fact, I think I'm rather going to miss that place. Perhaps not enough to embark upon some caper about town, but certainly enough to mull spending some well-earned vacation time back in that lobby in the near future. Any takers? Happy Tuesday, Pets.


Flowers Become Screens

"This would be a good week for you to take control of your life and your destiny, but hey, this is you we're talking about."

There was something in the violent storm last night. Something other than the nearly 3 hours of non-stop hail... Something aside from the blackest sky imaginable suddenly bursting into blinding brightness. The rainbow through the deafening sound of chaos. There was something that made me smile for the first time in weeks, and it was divine.

I'd like to think yesterday was my version of rock bottom. Depression, anxiety and roller coaster rides are nothing new to this gal. The feeling of complete and utter hopelessness, however, is. It exploded into feelings far more drastic and awful than I thought I was honestly capable of. However grateful I was to wake up free of that pain this morning, I wouldn't quite be myself if I didn't try grasping for an answer.

For now, it seems as simple as that storm. Needing that water to wash it all away, both figuratively and literally. I love song in the title of this post. I hadn't listened to it in awhile and it just plain fit.

Flowers Become Screens

Seems NKE is on her way back. Happy Thursday, Pets. 

Kitty

Friday, June 15, 2012

When The 'Ol Train of Thought Suddenly Realizes It Is, In Fact, An Airplane.

"Try and get back to basics this week. Learning to dress yourself, brush your teeth, and eat with utensils would be a good place to start."

As a strange and poorly planned directive came raining down upon us unsuspecting peons at work yesterday, I fully anticipate I'll have FAR too much time on my hands today. As it's also Friday, I don't take much issue with that. Today, anyway. Monday's another story.  

My mind has been all over the map these past few weeks so I can say with some degree of certainty, that this post will be entirely incoherent. And that's OK. It is mine, after all.

On a quick side tangent (Christ, Annie, you are barely a few sentences in and already a side tangent? SILENCE, PEANUT GALLERY!!!!) a couple of months back, we were forced to write our own performance reviews. Nothing new of note there, really, it's just one of those Corporate nuances. Anyhoo, as logic would dictate, I wrote my own review. My brain was somehow sending the signals which eventually traveled through my fingertips and recorded onto the screen before me. So fast forward a bit and I have a meeting with my boss to address the whole ordeal. The first words out of her mouth: "I must say, I really don't care for your writing style". Ouch. Funny thing is, to this day I'm not sure how to even fix that when my "style" was little more than what my mind dictated I write. There wasn't much style to it, per se.... but who the hell else's style would I have utilized? This would be, then, setting aside the fact that I don't write for a living (clearly). I simply stated what I accomplished this past year. Why would I be critiqued on my writing style? Ah well, one of those little mysteries in life, no?

Moving right along, I had applied for a job I REALLY wanted. I mean REALLY REALLY REALLY wanted. As luck would have it, I was selected to move forward into the process to a testing phase. Little did I know this would actually drag out over about 7 weeks. Each successive test, I was totally convinced I had bombed miserably. Each successive test gave way to yet another. My gut instincts were evidently on vacation. So the final test arrives and, well, let's just say it was nothing more significant than a personality test.

I failed.

Literally the ONE area of my life where I thought "Hey, I'm not too bad, this shouldn't be an issue." was the ONE area that barred me from continuing. Tough for a gal to not take all of this a bit personally. Thing is, I don't have to hear it from anyone else. Bad news. Of any sort. I'm there. We are all our own worst critics. Pushing all absurdities, injustice and judgment aside, at the end of the day, if you don't like what you see in the mirror..... or taking that a step further, what you perceive in your mind - you're the only one who can change that, right? This is nothing new. Yet funny how even reciting it over and over again in your head does nothing to make it all QUITE sink in. Sometimes the off-color comments of others are an opportunity to revisit the dialogue in your mind. May I just offer some caution for the manner in which you revisit it?

I have been beating myself up from the depths of my own depression. We're talking blood sport, here. Unsanctioned, unregulated and quite frankly, uncalled for. I truly admire those with the testicular fortitude to say ENOUGH. It takes monumental oodles (I really delight in throwing those two words together) of strength, confidence, heart and courage to put an end to the cycle. My own cycle is deeply bound to the tides. They thrust me about in disarray and with a careless almost arrogance.  I often take comfort in that chaos. But in the grander scheme of things, it is an unhealthy way to live. It's not something that can be changed in a day. In fact, it's altogether possible it's a connection which can't truly ever be broken. It is, however, a challenge I'm more equipped to face than I was even days ago.

Someday I'll be free of the burdens imposed from my own mind. Here's to hoping I'm still "young" enough to enjoy the fruits of that. For now I'm off to seize the day. I may even fancy it up a bit with some sparkles or.... let's be honest - gin. TGIF, Pets!!!

P.S. As it turned out - the "side tangent" was to be the only tangent of the post. Ain't that some shit?




Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Everyone Has A Story

"Learn to appreciate the little things in life, because the big things will either cost more than you have or take more time than you've got left."

I found myself in the waiting room of our local police station last night. To be fair, I got there mid-afternoon and just happened to continue loitering into the early hours of that evening. Although not as efficiently run as my long-spanning viewership of Law & Order would lead me to believe, I was nonetheless amused. In fact, I would readily admit to being "guffawed" if I suspected that to be a real word. 

Right off the bat, I was struck by two observations: First, I was far more comfortable surrounded by colorful creatures with questionable rap sheets than I might be in, say, a mall. There's something fabulous to be said for people who perceive themselves in no position to readily judge another. Second, it seems my hearing/eavesdropping skills are far sharper than I initially suspected. I'll go ahead and throw a third observation in the mix for no reason beyond combating my assertion that I had only soaked in two such findings within 5 minutes of setting foot in those formidable glass doors: I am not the ninja I'd like to think I am. As I clearly hear better when I turn my head in the direction of the conversation, I'm not very subtle when staring at those whose business I'm nosing blissfully about in. 

Funny thing about police stations, there is no discernible regard for the privacy of others and/or their business. It's not like the waiting room of an OB-GYN where your first name is awkwardly whispered by the attending nurse. Even having a seemingly non-complex first name such as "Annie" can produce moments of entertainment when it's pronounced "Andy?" in an otherwise nonexistent Minnesotan accent. Nope. In a police station, the staff will proudly announce your full first, middle and last name with shocking clarity, not to mention booming pomp and circumstance. This all led to even more fascination with the reaction of the first gentleman called...

"JOHN JAMES THOMPSON? IS THERE A JOHN JAMES THOMPSON?"* (Notice no breath was actually even taken in between to allow for a prompt response)

*yes, yes, the name has been altered to protect the identity of the individual involved..... Although the employees at aforementioned police station would never willingly submit to such consideration....Just sayin'.

The response: "YES. THAT WOULD BE ME." comes this thunderous voice from a gentleman looking suspiciously like the grandfather from Silver Spoons. The best part? He finished reading his article in the newspaper before carefully folding it up, placing it delicately back into his briefcase, checking his shoes to ensure laces were properly tied, then retreating to the room down the hall. No sense of urgency whatsoever. No hint of shame at being part of our motley little crew. In fact, one might suspect he had just won a prestigious award and was collecting himself before delivering the most brilliant speech ever penned by man. Awesome!
Yep - That's the one!
Next up to bat was a special sneak preview of "Thelma & Louise: Where Are They Now? - 50 Years Later". The entertainment packed into those pint-sized white-haired cuties sporting Daisy Dukes and Blue Blockers was pure gold. They had apparently just returned from a drinking binge in N'Orleans only to discover some brute had stolen Thelma's American Express. My waiting room neighbor insisted on providing me a status update of the names on the clipboard at the most inopportune times, or I would have gotten the skinny on EXACTLY what purchases were made on said American Express. 

In those fleeting moments where the publicized dialogue would become hushed or altogether missing, I would make up stories in my head to properly fill in the plot gaps. All in all, it was a delectable adventure I'm not soon to forget. In fact, I think I'm rather going to miss that place. Perhaps not enough to embark upon some caper about town, but certainly enough to mull spending some well-earned vacation time back in that lobby in the near future. Any takers? Happy Tuesday, Pets.


Thursday, June 7, 2012

Flowers Become Screens

"This would be a good week for you to take control of your life and your destiny, but hey, this is you we're talking about."

There was something in the violent storm last night. Something other than the nearly 3 hours of non-stop hail... Something aside from the blackest sky imaginable suddenly bursting into blinding brightness. The rainbow through the deafening sound of chaos. There was something that made me smile for the first time in weeks, and it was divine.

I'd like to think yesterday was my version of rock bottom. Depression, anxiety and roller coaster rides are nothing new to this gal. The feeling of complete and utter hopelessness, however, is. It exploded into feelings far more drastic and awful than I thought I was honestly capable of. However grateful I was to wake up free of that pain this morning, I wouldn't quite be myself if I didn't try grasping for an answer.

For now, it seems as simple as that storm. Needing that water to wash it all away, both figuratively and literally. I love song in the title of this post. I hadn't listened to it in awhile and it just plain fit.

Flowers Become Screens

Seems NKE is on her way back. Happy Thursday, Pets.