but I refuse to be a part of it.
Thanks to a loyal reader and friend, it was brought to my attention that my previous post was the equivalent of a 20-something male pretending he doesn't like you...confusing and sorta stupid. The last thing I want to do is be one of those vague writers (yea I just called myself a writer, deal with it) that thrives on making everyone guess what the frick she's talking about. Not about that.
So, I will now clarify. See, you even know the next move, that's never happened.
There are two life sitches going on that lead to my deep (like I should've been wearing a long cardigan and converse while writing) post on controlling situations...aka picking noses.
The first is that while I am as blessed as ever to have my current occupation (benies, PTO, and all) I still would have never guessed, or even chosen with the knowledge I thought I had, to end up out of a classroom. I loved being a teacher, it's a part of my being (it's who I am to sound a little less smug). The situation with my most recent employer (Seriously what is up with hag principals impeding on my life???) left me without options as far as furthering my career in that particular school (over specifying here seems like it's breaking some sort of law, hang in there). I have theories on what was going on, but not enough time or energy to muster up putting them into written form. If you were in my world between May and July of this year...you've probably heard all you can handle about it...I'm an external processor, poor schmucks that have to listen to me all the time. God Bless 'em. All that to say, I was left without a choice in the matter. No matter how much I had accomplished, articulated, and attempted to get what I wanted, I was left without a job and one of the things I love the most. Most days in current "big office" position (whoa) I am okay with it all. Then something strikes, either that makes me absolutely loathe things like Excell spreadsheets, or that makes me miss smelly kids, and I am reminded of how little control I have in life. Like literally picking my nose is all I can be in charge of.
Sitch number two is a little bit more of a costly one. You can always find a job (with the help of 'Bauma bucks for a few months and determination) but you can't always find a spare $10, 000. Long story short, I had an "insurance covered" procedure (not exactly a face lift) and am now battling good 'ol Cobra (more 'Bauma in my life) to make them actually pay for it. While I want to make it sound like they're Goliath and I'm sweet little David (who will hopefully end up kicking their a$$) I have to take my part in it. The discrepancy is due to my later than it should have been Cob-ment (Cobra payment: with the amount of bills I have, you'd start abreiving them too). Little do they know, or maybe they know a lot and just don't care, I felt like I was picking all the right things during that time; paying what I could, taking full advantage of their generally lax style of collecting my bartending/unemployment skrill etc. A month and a better rack later, I'm possibly on the line for ten grand. And so far, they haven't fallen for my communicative plea.
And so, with vague attempts to be profound out the window, my reasoning behind yesterday's little "gift" to you is out on the table...or just on your computer screen or smart phone.
Be well.
Thanks to a loyal reader and friend, it was brought to my attention that my previous post was the equivalent of a 20-something male pretending he doesn't like you...confusing and sorta stupid. The last thing I want to do is be one of those vague writers (yea I just called myself a writer, deal with it) that thrives on making everyone guess what the frick she's talking about. Not about that.
So, I will now clarify. See, you even know the next move, that's never happened.
There are two life sitches going on that lead to my deep (like I should've been wearing a long cardigan and converse while writing) post on controlling situations...aka picking noses.
The first is that while I am as blessed as ever to have my current occupation (benies, PTO, and all) I still would have never guessed, or even chosen with the knowledge I thought I had, to end up out of a classroom. I loved being a teacher, it's a part of my being (it's who I am to sound a little less smug). The situation with my most recent employer (Seriously what is up with hag principals impeding on my life???) left me without options as far as furthering my career in that particular school (over specifying here seems like it's breaking some sort of law, hang in there). I have theories on what was going on, but not enough time or energy to muster up putting them into written form. If you were in my world between May and July of this year...you've probably heard all you can handle about it...I'm an external processor, poor schmucks that have to listen to me all the time. God Bless 'em. All that to say, I was left without a choice in the matter. No matter how much I had accomplished, articulated, and attempted to get what I wanted, I was left without a job and one of the things I love the most. Most days in current "big office" position (whoa) I am okay with it all. Then something strikes, either that makes me absolutely loathe things like Excell spreadsheets, or that makes me miss smelly kids, and I am reminded of how little control I have in life. Like literally picking my nose is all I can be in charge of.
Sitch number two is a little bit more of a costly one. You can always find a job (with the help of 'Bauma bucks for a few months and determination) but you can't always find a spare $10, 000. Long story short, I had an "insurance covered" procedure (not exactly a face lift) and am now battling good 'ol Cobra (more 'Bauma in my life) to make them actually pay for it. While I want to make it sound like they're Goliath and I'm sweet little David (who will hopefully end up kicking their a$$) I have to take my part in it. The discrepancy is due to my later than it should have been Cob-ment (Cobra payment: with the amount of bills I have, you'd start abreiving them too). Little do they know, or maybe they know a lot and just don't care, I felt like I was picking all the right things during that time; paying what I could, taking full advantage of their generally lax style of collecting my bartending/unemployment skrill etc. A month and a better rack later, I'm possibly on the line for ten grand. And so far, they haven't fallen for my communicative plea.
And so, with vague attempts to be profound out the window, my reasoning behind yesterday's little "gift" to you is out on the table...or just on your computer screen or smart phone.
Be well.
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