Truancy

I got work off today because we were definitely going to go to Vegas.

No, really. I swear. We had big plans.  We were heading down there with some friends and we were gonna bask in the 120-degree weather and jump in a pool and see family and everything.

But then we changed our minds.

So the inner moral conflict I dealt with was thus: Should I keep the day off and ignore the workload waiting for me merely 15 minutes down the road while my coworkers spend the day making up for my absence? Or should I keep the day off that was promised me for no real reason whatsoever?

I decided to skip.

And then I totally felt like I did in ninth grade when my friend Tesha and I skipped gym class just to go to the playground across the street to play on the swings for an hour and talk about boys.  There were still girls outside in their gym clothes when we came back, so we tried to be stealthy by sort of awkwardly bending over as we ran right past them.  But everyone knew what we were up to.  And we both got after-school detention, and my mom had to come pick me up, and I was grounded for like three weeks during a crucial window of perfect spring hang-out weather.  But oh, was that playground time WORTH IT!

So when I felt like that I told myself, “Self.  You’re a grown-up now. You’re taking this day to get important things done, like finish the laundry and get the oil changed and catch up on imperative facebook correspondence.”

I was definitely going to do all that stuff.

But instead I went to the park and fed the ducks. They loved my bread.  And I wasn't even sorry.

This isn't even the duck I fed.  I forgot my camera card today so stole this duck from the Internets.

I’m still half waiting for the principal to call my house.

Tasty Hasty

Attention all readers: I am eating my words. I’m eating them on a big fat silver platter, sautéed in butter and served with extra whipped cream. They’re delicious.

I wrote my last blog three days too hastily. A number of things happened in those days. First: I was given a second interview with another job. A good one. One that I decided would be an awesome replacement to the dream job. One that, in fact, could probably kick the dream job’s trash after school by the flagpole. Then I started training at the undream job and LIKED it. I liked the kind people. The atmosphere. The benefits. The great stuff I was learning. The free pizza on lunch breaks. Then I got called for a first interview with another company. Also a good one, though maybe not quite as unbridled at the flagpole. They liked me, it seemed. Threefold word-eating.

Then it happened. The FEAST. Thanksgiving dinner deep-fried with bacon and injected with Cajun spices. I got an email from the trash kickers. They hired me.

I cried. I cried because it was the best news of the summer, and because it meant I would have to go talk to the surprisingly cool undream job, and I would have to cancel my second interview with the not-quite-trashkickers, and most of all because I had realized just in time that life can be great even when things don’t always work out as planned. But gosh. When they do.

So here I am. A writer going on day 3 at a beautifully promising company. And I think it’s time for lunch.

A job? Thanks, I guess.

I got a job this week. It's not my dream job. The dream job e-mailed me thus: "You're a nice person and everything, but we're looking for NOT you. In fact we shall promptly forget you once we hit 'send.' Sincerely, your dream job." Then I got a cheerful call from the undream job thus: "You're exactly what we're looking for!" And then I said, "Oh. Thanks," like an angsty teenager getting K-mart shoes for Christmas instead of the 60-dollar All Stars . It's not been my finest hour where gratitude is concerned. So the following is a lesson to self. Continue if you wish.

The fact is, self, the last house we lived in had a grand total of two pieces of furniture, three appliances, and one room. Tidying the house meant making the bed. Now I have THREE rooms, which contain everything I could ever, ever need in life. This includes but is not limited to a cupcake tower. I OWN a disassembled CUPCAKE TOWER. And a pasta maker. It's like an Italian wedding around here.

Plus I have new running shoes. They nearly killed me today by carrying me further and further from home until I firmly told them to stop, but they've promised to help rid me of my protruding little gut.

Furthermore, there's this guy. He just came in to give me a back massage, and last night he played Phase 10 with me despite HATING the Phase 10 above all else in this world. Also, he lets me lick his nose whenever I feel like it. And go to Africa just for fun (the last two might be wishful thinking... but the first two are boy-scout promise TRUE).

There's a friendly woman at the Smith's down the road whose nails are always perfect and is always smiling, and our postman never fails to wish a passerby "Good morning." I wonder if they have their dream jobs? If not, they've probably figured out for themselves this good advice Joseph B. Wirthlin once gave me: “The abundant life is within our reach if only we will drink deeply of living water, fill our hearts with love, and create of our lives a masterpiece.”

Self, be grateful. Your life is your dream job.

Yours truly,

Valerie