I am strapping on my rockin’ quad-skates; tightening the chin strap on the stoopid fresh, retro gold, glitter helmet that I *DID NOT* set back down on the table and abandon because of the exorbitant price tag at the sidewalk flea market on Houston Street. I’m adjusting my black and gold fishnets and accounting for all my gear – including a wicked mouth-guard – and am NOW… READY… To JAM!
Fishnet-burns and hot-laps be damned, whip me past the offensive and fire me up to knock some bitches down. I’ve got a WICKED hip-check… BOOM!!
Yeah, I daydream. In my dreams there is way more freedom and ferocity and courage. I break shit. I get in your FACE. I WIN. I’m a trophy-toting winner. They pin ribbons to my ass and tattoo my milestones for free. Beaucoup, baby; beaucoup!
But this doesn’t happen in that hazy, cold, blurry place called “Reality”.
Reality casts me as a shy frustrated secretary up to her neck in filing she couldn’t give a crap about. In reality, I used to care about doing my job, doing it well and asking, “Please, Sir – may I have some more cash-receipts entries?”
But the reality of the past 6 years has typecast me as fucking jaded.
I am jaded and… I’ve done things.
I’ve done Bad-Secretary things. Some of these things have been on repeat often enough for them to mature and fully develop into habit. Bad habit(s) like paying my bills, like shopping, like checking my email. Like writing posts for THIS BLOG. Like being SO obsessed with Google searches that hardly anything outside of what’s purely necessary and branded with a firm deadline gets done.
Now every single hour spent in this duplicitous whirlpool, black hole soul-sucking vacuum… Well, you get my meaning here.
Basically, ever since the private discussion with my boss my motivation to actually DO anything has almost completely left the building. I am surfing through my days here high on “FUCK THAT!”
It might sound life-affirming and fun, but it’s not. It’s a little guilt-inducing.
My boss is NOT a bad boss. Maybe he was a bit too hands-off with a certain Jar Jar Bitch. Ok, yeah – he totally was… BUT he’s a NICE guy and a good boss and this organization deserves good help and dedicated professionals; the likes of which I am currently NOT. If I could afford to, I’d just walk out. Alas, this cannot happen.
What can also safely be filed under “not gonna happen” is getting my professional mojo back by my management-imposed June 2015, “or-else” deadline.
There is a publishing house that I’ve been quietly stalking for the past year on LinkedIn. Unless you pay for a “professional” subscription you can’t email people outside of your network unless you know their private email address (which makes absolutely no sense) or unless you tell a little, white lie. So I took a chance and little-white-lied my way to a connection with the President of this company and she was awesome enough to accept my connection request.
What is also awesome is that this company finally listed a couple open positions which seem like a match made in job-heaven.
But is there such a thing as “job-heaven” for a secretary who doesn’t really want to be a secretary anymore?
How much would it SUCK if my downtrodden, jaded, Bad-Secretary behavior “walled” my curriculum vitae and C-blocked my own assertions of dedication, enthusiasm and willingness to do a good job… I might just wind up sitting in a penalty box nursing a nasty rink-rash by the time I actually break free of this place…
Note to self: Next time around, YOU throw all the hip-checks and sneaky back-blocks FIRST. And do it smart-like so the refs don’t see…