Last week was our condo’s annual meeting. Our President resigned, and as a happy, contributing “Member at Large” for the past year, the remaining board voted me as President. I balked, but they basically said I was the biggest bitch (I concur) and would be perfect for the job. Wonderful. I’m watching my life get more complicated and all I want is for it to become simpler.
My forehead has been hurting for almost two weeks. Everytime I acknowledge that it is hurting me, I realize that I’ve been furrowing it. I’ve been furrowing my brow. I’m giving myself a stress headache. Daily. Hourly. Jesus. I’m going to become one of those women with that crinkle between their brow.
Karen Walker from Will & Grace comes to mind first. Now, while I love me some Karen, I don’t want the perma-crinkle in her brow. Since I can’t afford her botox (or can I?) I must find out the cause of said head crinkle and make the cause go away.
You see where I’m going with this, don’t you?
I’m tired of this rat race. It took me an hour and 45 minutes to get home from work almost every day last week. It took me an hour and ten to get into work when I tried that useless thing called “metro”. Too many people live here, life is too hard and it’s killing me. Very slowly, it’s killing me. It’s killing you too. You just haven’t realized it yet.
Besides the obvious that I was born in the wrong decade and should have been a hippie, cough, an economically conservative one who believes in the death penalty, I’m not sure what to do about this feeling like something is just missing and I want to quit my job and run away to find it. In place of the something being missing, I have a life that has become nothing short of a pain in the ass to live.
I metroed to work this morning, wondering if Christina Aguilera has a better life than I do. I don’t know why she popped into my head, I heard something about her I guess. I’m an US Weekly freak. And I love Christina. Anyway, I wonder if she loves performing so much that she just gets on the tour bus or however she travels and claps that they are going to the next city, next venue. I doubted it. It must get tiring. It must feel like you’ve sold your soul to the devil. Then the image popped into my head of me at the checkout counter, with the devil behind the register, and my soul on the counter.
Jesus Christ. It’s not for sale. That’s all I could think after my brain gave birth to that image.
I do miss home. New York. Lovely bustling New York. But, I can see myself in a small town, working at a store, or a restaurant a few days a week – making just enough to get by. My dogs can run in my yard, no one bitches, there are no cops impeding my ability to get to work to earn the all mighty dollar to pay taxes to ultimately contribute to their salary, there are no floods, no evacuations, no traffic, no crazy people calling the police because they saw me with my dog off a leash, no history, no one to dodge on the sidewalk because I won’t know anyone in the new place, sigh, no traffic. How I despise traffic. When my ex and I drove across the country together, I remember being fascinated at how long we went without any traffic jams, or traffic reports of jams and rush hour.
I think my dating hiatus and thus, lack of distraction from boys has really put my mind in the place to pay attention to other things. Sorry it’s not as upbeat or sarcastic as my dating posts. But think! Maybe if I move, I’ll have a whole new pool from which to fish. And the stories could go on forever! Well, not forever, but long enough for me to date everyone in the new town until I decide to pick up and move to the next place.
There has to be a better life. This isn’t it. Not by a long shot.