Sexy Simba Something

I haven't posted in a week because it's been an emotional one. Lately I've been holding back what I share because I don't want my audience (all five of you) to think I'm a broken record. Or broken in general for that matter.

That stops now. I have plenty of journals filled with "I love X. Why won't he like me???" entries, with X changing as often as my underwear. Well, maybe more considering how scrubby I can be...

My 32nd birthday was the hardest to date. I woke up last Tuesday and cried. My life flashed before my eyes and in true Thighs fashion I zoned in on the negative. I kept tearing up all day, thinking "THIS is my life??? How the fuck did this happen??"

My friend Tron tried to talk me off the ledge by saying he's sure there are plenty of thirty-two years old who would love to switch places with me. My immediate thought? "No they wouldn't. I'm a fat, bald inventory analyst."

And there you have it. Those six magic words set the tone for the rest of the week.

When I first thought this I cracked up laughing. I admit this is a ridiculous way to describe myself. Tops on the list would be "red, pale, and loud" followed by "manic-depressive giggler." Crossed off the list is "easy, drunk, nail-biter"...

The thing is, even though I knew I was being silly, the phrase "fat, bald inventory analyst" stuck in my head all week. Let's break it down:

1. Fat. I know I'm not fat, I'm unfit. I was 170 pre-Tat, now I'm back up to 177. Damn you, boyfriends and holidays.

I'm excited to keep running, but I need to do more. There are times when my body is aching for a good workout and I ignore it. I am an athlete living an unathletic lifestyle. I need to listen to myself and move.

2. Bald. Obviously I still have hair on my head. It's really thinning out, though. I didn't notice until last summer when my mom brought it up. Now it's all I think about.

3. Inventory Analyst. This is the broken record part. I'm in the same exact situation I'm always in: I'm not challenged or given enough work to do so I take on special projects. Special projects go really well, everyone loves me, except for my boss who finally decides to start managing me and decides I shouldn't be on special projects anymore. I get upset because I feel like I'm being "demoted" so I pack my things and move on. Rinse and repeat every two years.

I'm at a loss. I tried to keep my mouth shut and not ask for special projects, but that lasted a whole six months. I am not the type of person who can sit in their office checking Facebook all day. I need to work. I need to think. I need to be challenged. I need to contribute. I need to be involved. These aren't wants. I am incapable of functioning any other way. Sure I have my goof-off slacker moments, but they are to decompress and take a breather. (Why do I always want to write "decompose" first?)

My mom says I hate authority, that I feel I'm entitled to create the job I want and not listen to my boss. She's right. If Tennis or Soaps gave me work that challenged me, it would never have crossed my mind to work on special projects for their bosses.

And that's my problem. "Work that challenged me." (Do a shot for everyone quote in this post!) Once again I am expecting my boss to be something few are: a mentor, a leader, a groomer, a teacher, an empowerer. (I think I made that word up.) Basically, I expect my boss to be someone who cares about me and my future. I almost wrote that unfortunately this is not their responsibility, but it just dawned on me, it's FORTUNATE it's MY responsibility.

I took this position because I wanted a no-brainer gig so that I could take classes at night. Well, I'm not a no-brainer gig kind of girl, nor am I taking any classes. I sold myself short taking this job and I refuse to fucking do it again. I am too smart for this position.

Did you read that? I AM SMART!! You would not believe how uncomfortable that was for me to type. I always knew I was quick and bright, but I never owned being smart. When I lived in Brooklyn I was in the Delta program taking advanced classes from kindergarten through 2nd grade. In 3rd grade I moved to Jackson and placed in a class that didn't challenge me at all. What happened? I ended up doing my own thing rather than focus on the "remedial" tasks I was given thus pissing off my teacher. Sound familiar? After a while I was moved up to the 4th grade, but I got made fun of so much that I asked to go back to 3rd. Isn't that sad? It must be because I'm crying right now. I was already the new kid without any friends, the last thing I wanted was to be the nerdy new kid without any friends. My mom probably should have forced me to stay, but I'm sure she wanted me to be happy instead of challenged. I can't help but wonder how different my life would be...

From 3rd grade to college I coasted, barely trying and pulling straight A's for the most part. There were some bad grades along the way, usually based on conduct rather than schoolwork. Yes, I was a mouthy student. Again, nothing's changed.

It wasn't easy to coast in college because it was too easy to skip class. Obviously I was forced to go to high school so I'd learn by listening, maybe even osmosis. The biggest lesson I had to learn in college was if I don't manage myself (time, stress, workload), I won't succeed. I'm not quite sure if I fully learned this yet.

Where the hell was I?? Oh right, inventory analyst. I don't recall ever consciously deciding I'd dumb down in order to fit in as a kid, but I definitely ignored my intelligence. In fact, a lot of the trouble I got into at Company was because I didn't realize I was smart. I thought, if I can figure this out, why couldn't everyone else? I can now truly admit to myself I am smart, waaaay too smart for my current position. The shit with my boss is the fallout from me feeling unchallenged and useless. Bosses just want to get the work done, they don't fucking care how the work makes me feel. I'M the one who needs to take responsibility for my life and find a gig that makes me use my brain and fulfills all of my needs. I'm not the "it's just a job" type (shot!), so even when I go back to school I'll need a daytime role that makes me feel good. I don't know what the job is yet, but I'm going to find it.

I am done with being a fat, bald inventory analyst. This time next year I will be a sexy, Simba something.