What Color is Your Passionfruit?

I've started reading "What Color is Your Parachute?" to help in the job search, but I still haven't gotten to the part where it talks about my parachute, not to mention the color it's supposed to be. But I have been noodling on the question of passion. I've been asked a few times, when talking about what sorts of careers I might want, "Well, what's the thing you're really PASSIONATE about?". It stumps me every time. See, I'm not really that passionate about anything. There. I said it. Whew! That felt good! I know its not a popular idea -- Pinterest is just stuffed with passionate pursuits. But I'm just not someone who has a particular focus on one specific thing. I enjoy a variety of interests, but I can honestly say none inspire passion (well, other than passionate love for MDH!). So I'm going to stop obsessing over figuring out my "passion" and how I can find a job that feeds it, and instead turn that energy into finding a job that isn't soul-sucking, that pays me enough money to enjoy the non-job parts of my life, and that (hopefully) doesn't require me to commute on Highway 26. Or 405. Or I-5. Or 217. Because if I have to traverse any of those routes regularly, I can tell you what will become my passion -- tamping down my natural urge to murder every other driver on the road. Can Road Rage be a passion?

To Sleep...Perchance, to Dream...of Sleeping

I miss sleep. I miss it so much. This was going to be a long post, but I'm too tired. I'll just post this instead:

Regrets...I've had a Few

I don't spend a lot of time dwelling on regrets, because I don't really have that many. Or rather, I don't have that many small, insignificant ones that occupy a space in my fretting box. But I have a couple of biggies that come up from time to time. The one I take out and examine most often is I wish I would have stayed in college when I was young and finished at least a Bachelor's degree. Two things happened to cause me to veer off-course in that regard -- one, I was never an enthusiastic student. I did enough to keep my grades above a D, but I never pushed myself -- especially in the classes I didn't like or that didn't come easily. Put another way, I got "A"s in any English or Writing class I ever took, and was thrilled when I was able to pull a "C" in math or science. When I was about to go into my Senior year of high school, my advisor called me in and said, "I'm not sure how this happened, but you've managed to get through 3 years of high school without having taken a single math class. You are going to have to at least pass Freshman Algebra in order to graduate!" So I, grudgingly, took and passed the class (and, to my knowledge, have never once used anything I learned in that class!). So when it came time for college, I signed up for academic classes like a good girl, along with the theater classes I was really interested in. Soon, I was blowing off boring academic classes and spending all my time in the theater department, cultivating my dramatic identity (which mostly consisted of smoking long, brown More cigarettes and developing mad crushes on every gay guy in the theater department (aka -- every guy in the theater department). Fast forward a couple years and I have given up the idea of going into the theater and have gotten a job, which was reason #2 I didn't make school a priority. I got a really good job as an office manager for a computer supply company and it paid me WAY more than I should have been earning at 21 years old. My friends were all in the college trenches, living on Top Ramen and washing clothes in the bathtub because no quarters for the machine. I was buying a new car and getting myself into all kinds of credit-card debt (another cautionary tale for another time). I half-heartedly kept signing up for classes at the local JC, but always found reason to blow them off -- mostly because I had never developed any study discipline and found it too easy to procrastinate and do a half-assed job. Fast forward to now. I am going through a self-guided course to prep to sit for the CAPM (Certified Associate Project Manager) exam. Before I began, I developed a study schedule for myself with specific goals and methodology. And, although I am following it to the letter and it's working, I still struggle with that discipline, with focusing on the study and content retention -- the 50-year-old-brain is simply not as nimble as the 20-year-old brain. I have been thinking a lot about that long-held regret of not getting a degree and wondering whether I should take the leap and go back to college now, in the latter half of my life. I know it's not too late, but its such a big leap. Especially since what I REALLY would love to do is to go back and get a law degree. Oy vey, the very thought both intrigues me AND makes me nauseous. Doable? Yes, probably, but not without a huge upheaval in our lives and budget. Daunting? Oh yeah. Exciting to consider? Oh yeah.

Squad Goals

I know that I said that I was going to take the month of May as the sabbatical I was eligible for, but didn't take. But I also know myself. If I don't set a few productive tasks for myself each day, I will quickly devolve into a disheveled couch creature, binge-watching shows I never got around to while they were popular, whilst subsisting on nothing but grilled-cheese sandwiches and Little Debbie Swiss Rolls. So I've resolved to make sure I have at least 3 achievable goals set for the day. If I achieve them, then I get a reward. Like a nap. Or a Little Debbie Swiss Roll. Or 6 episodes of "Boardwalk Empire". Or all three (Ha! One for each goal achieved!). And the goals can't be wussy like, "Take a Shower!" or "Put on real clothes!". I have already achieved two goals today -- (1) becoming a member of the PMI (Project Management Institute)and (2) signing up to take an online course to prep for my CAPM (Certified Associate Project Manager) certification exam. A little something to punch up the old resume. Don't worry that I'm getting TOO productive -- I'll probably take a nap later!

As Long as the Dog is Happy

I've started (sort of) acclimating to unemployment. I no longer obsessively check my phone or ipad for emails or instant messages. I'm looking over the house, making lists of projects that have been put off for too long as, "when I have the time". I've got nothing BUT time now, so I have to eat my own dog food, I guess. Speaking of which, our Big Golden Dawg is quite happy having me home so much. She and I both need to take weight off, so she is getting lots more walks. In her case its less of a "walk" and more of an extended "sniff". MDH and I call it taking her for a smell. The world is one, gigantic olfactory nirvana to my dog. Like I browse Facebook, she browses her P-Mail, sometimes just glancing at it, sometimes catching a whiff of something much more intriguing. She will place her nose down and linger, huffing and chuffing, taking it all in. I'd love to see a computer readout of her brain waves, what information these scents are imparting. "Male Boxer. 6 Human Years. No Balls. Last ate a bowl of kibble and some cat poop." "Female Chihuahua. Scared of the vacuum. Recently tried to hump a garden hose. Not too bright." Or maybe, she just really loves the smell of pee. Hard to know.

Size the Day!

As a Woman of Size, it really bugs me when stores do everything they can to hide their plus-sized clothing section. I had to go to JC Penney today (not a store where I normally shop) and thought I'd check out their selection of blazers (need a nice look for interviews). The entire ground floor is all clothing and accessories -- for either regular-sized woman, teenaged girls, or "petites". When I asked where the "women sized" clothing was, the saleswoman sort of gave me a pitying look, pointed up, and whispered "that section is upstairs". It was like I had asked her where the adult diapers were. I took the escalator up and there, shoved into the back corner, behind housewares, was the "Women's" section. Like it was only there because it HAD to be. The selection was crappy, and so I just left and picked up what I had gone in for in the first place. But it really pissed me off. Other stores manage to merchandize their clothing in a way that appeals to all consumers (and they also understand that the majority of women in this country are a size 12+). It's astonishing that a retailer would marginalize a population of consumers in such an egregious manner. Ah well, I can just spend my money elsewhere (and I think I'll send a little tweet to JC Penn-Ay and let them know why they are on the brink of extinction as a company!)

Cleanliness is Next to Impossible

What to do, what to do with the time I have between taking a nice little breather (sort of looking at May as the four-week sabbatical I didn't get to take) and dedicated new-career-seeking activities? Well the first thing is a top-to-bottom cleaning of my house, something I haven't done in...ever. I'm not an enthusiastic housekeeper. Instead of cleaning the dust-bunnies from under the bed, I give them cute names and personalities. I only have 40-watt bulbs in the house ("mood lighting"). I purposely bought a really deep sink because from a distance it looks like there are no dirty dishes! The thing is, I would LOVE having a clean house always -- I just don't want to be the one to have to clean it. I loathe cleaning, but I enjoy throwing things out and organizing (somewhere My Darling Husband just felt a grave disturbance in The Force). Cleaning makes me tired. the thought of cleaning makes me tired. I became exhausted just thinking about beginning to make a list of the things that need to be done around this house. Calgon, Take Me Away! (If you are old enough to recognize that, then welcome to the Over-The-Hill Gang). Hey, wanna come over for a cleaning party? I'll buy the pizza!!