I have a story to tell and it’s just killing me that I can’t reach anyone to get it off my chest. Out of desperation I’ve been scrolling through my Caller ID (I don’t think the local city lawn service wants to know or the guy running for office) and through my address book (absolutely no one is home) to simply find someone, anyone who will listen. Sure, being on the internet blabbing online or sending e-mails is ok, but it’s not the same as having the feedback from a real live person. I could type it all out here, but then too many people read the blog that might take offense (yeah, it’s one of those kind of conversations that’s exploding inside). It’s making me anxious and leaving me wanting for a mom type person. (My step-mom is out of town and obviously I can’t talk to Mom who would just be arriving home right now.)
In fact, I can’t even focus on what I want to get around to writing about – The Beatles (something had to drive the Obama Girl song out of my head – thank you, Seth), Harry Potter, stickers (ok, stickers aren’t funny, but I would have tried). My focus is completely shot by my day and all this “stuff” I want to vomit up. It’s one of those KLRU worthy stories (so you all can guess the type of people I want to reach and someone please send me Kati’s e-mail that I completely forgot to grab from my computer at work).
In a nutshell that I can’t explain – I quit, someone beat me out the door completely unexpectedly, and self-righteous BS makes me insane(er). I’m sure I just broke some major parallelism rule, but so be it. I probably need to proof, too but why start now?