choking on humble pie

The point of this online diary, this examination of my life thus far, was to help me find my way. After nearly 20 years in a career that while it was enjoyable, seemed to be going the way of the horse and buggy, I left the workforce to stay home with my baby girl.

All was fine and well in the beginning. Home all day. Every day. This is great! I’ll get all these projects done, fix up the house really nice, get those gardens in order. In short, do all the stuff I never had time for when I was working countless hours at work.

But then the novelty wore off and I got bored and lonely. Enter new set of friends and new set of activities to fill my day. Wonderful. Now I have just about as much to do and keep track of as when I was working. And guess what? Projects still aren’t done. Gardens still aren’t planted. Etc.

Now I realize I’ve come full-circle. It’s not just a new life, it’s a new set of excuses.

I have to start looking at what I am doing as a job. I have responsibilities and deadlines and commitments. I should get up on time every day and get done those duties for that day and go to bed as if I have a job in the morning. I think in the long run this will help me move on to the next level: getting back to work again.

Right now I’m stuck in a rut. I don’t have a plan B. Or, my B plans have not materialized as I’d hoped due to lack of organization, lack of confidence or lack of motivation.

I’ve had a week of putting out fires ignited by my lack of organization. This kills me since I’ve always considered myself to be highly organized. Yet, if you knew what messes I made this week, you’d question my sense of self to even attach the “o” word to my list of qualities.

This, too, on the heels of a three-day tirade (ask the husband half of this relationship) about how no one in this friggin’ outsourced, downsized economy knows how to do his or her job properly and I have to redo and redo over again things that just don’t ever seem to get resolved.

Clue: We redid all our insurance plans this year and not one policy went into effect without multiple problems.

Clue: I now realize I drive a lemon, a gas-guzzling, money-sucking lemon. And we will be paying for this vehicle long after it is out of our lives.

With that in mind, I receive angry phone call that calls me out and places me square in the seat of all the moronic workers out there I’ve been cursing to hell all week.


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"It's not the tragedies that kill us, it's the messes." --Dorothy Parker
February 2008
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