Day 64: The Waiting Room

I've come to the conclusion that we all have to do some time in a hypothetical waiting room. For some people, I think that time spent could be their entire life. I'm always afraid of this happening to me, makes me panic and sweat, waiting around for nothing. I suppose it doesn't help that I'm extremely impatient and I often think that I can predict the future, "We are going to be together forever, and beeeeeeeeeeee sooooooooo happpppppppyyyyyyy." (shortly thereafter, the dude returns to Turkey to find his "true love", then comes back to Canada, tries to pick me up in a nightclub as his wife is at home with their 5 children, and then shortly afterwards dies in a taxi explosion. Just saying...this has happened on occasion...)

I've also realized that my predictions based on the opposite of my predictions are also wrong, like I think everything is going to work out, and because I think everything is going to work out, I think I know it's not going to work out. Then I stop caring and just go through the motions like it's not going to work out, and I really end up sabotaging my happiness in the end. I do this with guys, I do this with jobs, I do this with Twinkies and Ding Dongs. I try and predict. All the time. And not kidding you, Twinkies and Ding Dongs don't stick around and last forever, you've got to take a bite sometime or eventually they'll grow this blue mould and it's just too late then, that stuff will make you poo hourly for an entire week.

I nearly did that today, putting off and putting off going in to this company to see the manager about a job. I'm like, this job is going to be boring, it's not going to pay me enough, and I'll quit in a month and be worse off then when I started. When you're on unemployment, you get a little gun-shy because you do have some sort of income trickling through (and I mean TRICKLING). Anyway, I rolled out of bed, procrastinating, didn't put socks or underwear on as I hadn't done laundry in 2 weeks (what's the point?), put on a pair of pants that I really should have worn with a belt (the hobo wear is getting a little loose), and gunned up the highway as fast as my 8-year-old fuel filter would allow me to (40km/hr in an 80km/hr zone, maybe I don't need to change it after all). I got to the door, and still would have turned around and bolted if it weren't for the dude walking in behind me. Which happened to be the manager. We ended up talking for an hour and a half, I have a second interview, the wage is $6g/month higher than my last job that nearly caused me a brain hemorrhage, + bonuses, and they are going to help me get my class 1 driver's license. I nearly kissed the guy. Actually, maybe I did...who remembers these things, anyway?!

So, you're probably piecing together what's going on. And you've definitely come to the right conclusion. Yes sir/ma'am. I am going to be an Albertan truck driver. I'm practicing the lingo now. But don't judge me. I just need a no-brainer job for a while, outdoors, breeze blowing through my hair and cryogenically freezing my eyelids shut, the chance to fill my pockets with cash for once instead of Laffy Taffy, and being able to go home at the end of the day knowing I don't have to figure out how to answer a Blackberry (what freakshow designed that stupid phone?). Because ultimately, my career is me. I just need some decent waiting room real estate for a bit. And a motorcycle. Everyone needs a motorcycle.