March
2004 | Guestrant: Be Afraid. Very Afraid.
by Debi
It is quarter
to six, in the evening, and I am at work. I have decided to abide
by Tiny Dog’s credo—NO WORK RANTS! But let us just say
that I have decided to look for not only a new job, but also a new
career, even a new purpose in life.
This is not
a single-early-evening burst of insanity, but an ongoing episodic
saga of insanity, whereby I consider swerving off the money highway
entirely. Two or three years will be spent in school, incurring
the student loans my parents spared me the first time round, getting
in touch again with what passes for poverty in my circle—More
money than 99% of the planet’s inhabitants, but not enough
money to live wild and budget-free.
Being a 40-year
old deeply in debt student doesn’t worry me as much as the
subsequent attempt to merge back onto the money highway, having
traded a job equivalent to, perhaps a Volkswagen Passat V6, for
a job equivalent to a brand spanking new shiny Razor Scooter.
Have I mentioned
that I whine when the seat heaters in the Passat don’t work?
And have I
mentioned that at church last Sunday, I frightened a 3-year old
boy for my own amusement? This was almost entirely due to my spectacularly
bad judgment, and not because I am evil. So let me remind you folks,
there is a very thin line between startled and frightened for the
5-and-under crowd.
So I guess
now I have to pursue the Razor Scooter job of psychotherapist, being
that I owe a little boy some counseling for his phobia of ladies
who should know better jumping out from behind pillars and yelling
Boo.
Man, was it
ever fun though.
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