I was amazed at the amount of shit I took this past weekend for not having updated my blog in the past several months. Well, assholes, as I tried to tell you as you mocked some of my more memorable posts and just generally made me out to look like a complete fucking douchebag to anyone within earshot of the hotel bar last Friday night, there was that small task of that exam I had to study for this past summer and just generally being caught up in the hustle and bustle that is my life raising a young boy. But we all know what they say about excuses, and quite frankly I need more and more breaks from the monotony that is my current job, so I figure it's time to bring the blog back. We'll start with the most recent news that just a select few people know about.
I turned down a job this morning. And I'm fucking bullshit mad about it. Not so much that the timing of the offer was bad, which it was, or that the job wasn't my view of a dream opportunity or even a great opportunity, which it wasn't. But it was a better opportunity, no doubt about that. Sometimes I hate all these goddamn bullshit adult considerations that factor into stuff like this such as the "timing" of putting a house on the market, whatever the fuck that is all about. I just want to get up and go, but as I look at this chance I just closed the doors on (or, for the anal English majors out there like me who still don't feel right about ending sentences or clauses with a preposition, "on which I just closed the doors"), it's more about the part of me that still wants to go back. Back to the north, back to New England, just back.
Three years ago I fucked up. I fucked my career up by changing professions on nothing more than a whim and I fucked up by blazing out of a job that while not ideal, was pretty low stress and could have given me some solid experience, vested me in a goverment pension plan after 3 years, and just generally have been a good way to do something I was content with while searching for the next thing. I what pisses me off to no end is that all of the poor decisions were ultimately my own. And for as pragmatic and logical as I like to think I am when it comes to making big decisions (appliances don't stand a chance of entering our home unless they are ranked in Consumer Report's top 3), I just fucked up. There's no other way to put it. And while it hasn't all been gloom in doom in the south, my skin absolutely crawls when I think about that month or so leading up to the big move, where I worked for a boss that was the most miserable fucking prick I've ever met in my life doing something I really didn't know much about, and being away from my family (just wife and dog, at the time) for 3 months. It was just such a fucking waste that I haven't really forgiven myself or accepted what a dumbshit thing it was to do. And the only reason I put the blinders on and didn't really think about what I was doing is because I was too hell bent on running away from my problems in Vermont, a place where I wasn't perfectly happy or perfectly content or perfect in my marriage so I thought if I extracted my life completely from that scene, all would be well. I wish I had an older brother or a much bigger close friend to just beat the living piss out of me for that, because I'm not doing a good enough job of being hard on myself. Nearly 3 years later, and I'm still looking back at that time in my life wanting to correct it somehow, wanting to make different decisions. And so to turn down a job this morning, in Vermont, it's like all the scabs just get ripped off again. "Ha ha, fuck face," the bad decision-maker in me is saying today. "You can't go back."
There was a guy I met here about a year ago when I started my current job. One of these guys who has to immediately be your best friend as soon as he meets you. Double-handed handshake, first of all. Big no-no if you're meeting someone for the first time. And by double-handed handshake I'm talking about the ol' regula shake plus simultaneous left-handed wrist grab. Seriously guy. So if that wasn't enough this guy is all in my face wanting to know not only my life story but my life plan. "So are you looking to join the partnership in 5 years or move on to a bigger firm?" "Ever think you'll go back north?" On and on and on. I wanted to punch this guy right in the fucking mouth, it was that obnoxious. "You know what?" I said, "I'm here now." It was probably the most polite way I've ever told someone to go get fucked in my entire life, but I think he got the point: I'm here now, go get fucked. But I think about that interaction a lot because it's times like these I need to heed my own advice: I'm here now. I don't necessarily like it and it certainly isn't perfect, but I'm here now. And truthfully I don't have all that much to bitch and gripe about, despite my propensity to bitch and gripe. I'm hung up on all the time, effort, money, and stress I've had to deal with in trying to get things back on track for the better part of the last 3 years, and I'm not yet ready to just say what's in the past is in the past, move on. All that fucking bullshit is my own fucking fault and there should be some punishment that goes along with it, and maybe this it. And maybe I'm only adding to it in a way, applying for a job a couple of weeks ago that I knew was nothing more than a silly way of giving myself a taste of being able to go back, even though I couldn't. And I can't.
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