Something else that sucks about being single

Tuesday night and its raining like cats and dogs, or whatever it is that cats and dogs rain like. I've heard rumors (all unconfirmed) about where that saying came from, but nothing concrete or provable. Whatever, the rain is the least of the single girl's worries.

What is of paramount concern is that I hate my job. Maybe I'm naive and I don't realize that every other person in America gets up and goes to a job that makes them either 1) want to vomit, 2) burst into tears, 3) break down into a screaming and incomprehensible rage for no visible reason, or 4) laugh like a loon for long hours at a time. Take your pick as to which one actually manifests itself. Sometimes it's a combination platter... what a treat.

What it comes down to is that if everyone gets up in the morning and goes off to a job feeling like one of these four things might happen then I am truly and profoundly sorry for the state of the entire nation, and I don't understand why there's not more spousal abuse and killing sprees. If they don't then that means I'm in the minority (read: outside the norm) and therefore I should be happier. Well, I'm not. And the more often I feel like succumbing to number two (crying) the more I feel like I'm actually sliding into number four (lunacy). Not a comfortable feeling at all. I'm not hot enough to carry off being bat-shit-crazy.

Well, at least I feel I am relatively sane - as long as I recognize the edge of lunacy approaching; so that's something.

So here I am, hating my job, and I have to ask: Logically speaking, what is keeping me there? Well, I have a house payment to make. Regardless of everything else going on in my life, the mortgage must be paid. Which means I must pay it. Which is when it occurred to me that now, right now, this moment in time, right this minute, I wish to the depths of my core that I wasn't single. That I had someone else to share this burden with. That I had someone to lean on who would say, "You shouldn't be so unhappy, my love. Quit your job. We'll make it work while you figure out what you want to do." Or even to say, "I know you hate it, but we have a plan... and it's a good one... so stick it out for a while longer." Something. Anything. Because the only thing the dog says is, "as long as there's food in my bowl and you have plenty of time to pet me then we're good."

The other problem is that I no longer have any real savings. I invested my "take a year and do whatever you want" money in my brother's business. (Again... what was I thinking?!?!?!...... Oh, I know, that I believe in his business plan and that it will eventually pay off to a lifetime of dividends. That's right. Sorry. I had a moment of hysteria there.) So realistically what I have in the bank is three month's worth of mortgage. You may be surprised how quickly you'd burn through that if you stopped having an income right this moment, but trust me - I've done the math - it's blazingly fast.

So what is a single girl to do? Well this girl, for one, has cried all she wants to, vomited... well, never, but just thinking about it is enough..., and screamed more often than any one's neighbors should be willing to put up with. (Thankfully the guy kitty-corner from me ran over his wife - really - with his car! - so they're a bit jaded to random screaming fits and/or drunken yelling at the walls.) What else is left? Logic. Blessed logic. The refuge of the indecisive.

So I asked myself some questions.

1) Why do I feel trapped in this job that I hate so much?

Because I have to pay the mortgage.

2) Would I be willing to take the house out of the equation?

I love this house, and I love my neighborhood, but it is just stuff in the end. So, yes, I'd be willing to consider it.

3) If I take the house out of the equation, then why am I keeping the job that I hate?

And since it's only just me making this decision (not man who either will support me through finding another job or who I am supporting through his own career crises; nor any kids that I have to put through college or even buy new shoes for this summer) and I eventually want to give up most of my worldly possessions and live in a camper for a few years anyway, then I came to the only logical conclusion: Give up the house and quit the job now.

Fuck it. If not now, when? (Yeah, I had a plan. Three to seven years. That's when. But things get in the way of plans now and again.)

And if then, why not now? (YES, I know! The reason I had a plan was so that I had a solid place to come home to. But, REALLY!! WTF!)

F U C K ! ! !

It's too much for one person to deal with. Or at least too much for me to deal with.

Don't be surprised if you see me in tattered clothes with tales to tell of strange Tuesdays in Kansas City and average Saturday nights on the Aleutian chain because I think that could be my life for a while. Maybe because I didn't have anyone to lean on when I needed them. Maybe I would have chosen the same path, but I'd at least have a partner to walk it with. Maybe Bin Laden will convince some earnest young Muslim to crash a plane into the Simnasho rest stop just when I decide it's safe enough for a white girl to stop and pee while on the res. Maybe...

But instead it's just me. And I can't do it any more.

Equal Opportunity

I used to date this guy who once foolishly tried to argue equal opportunity laws with me. He was one of the many people who are under the completely mistaken impression that the government is trying to make you hire or promote under-qualified people simply because they aren't white men. There are two things wrong with this argument; 1- discrimination is discrimination, even if you're a white man; and 2- if you hire the most qualified candidate your employee base will, by default, resemble your community. However, the sad fact of the matter is that there are an alarming number of people who still allow color of skin and/or the presence of a Y chromosome dictate their hiring decisions, which is why we still need these laws in place.

One night we're chillin' at his place, chit chatting about this and that, and it comes out that he's totally prejudiced against blacks. He tells me that he doesn't see how they've contributed to the cultural make-up of this country. (And he claimed to be a musician!!) My eye started twitching, I think I might have blacked out for a minute, I was in complete and utter shock. Stuttering through my anger, but persevering nonetheless, I stammered out a few hundred ways how non-whites in general and blacks in particular had contributed to American culture. Finally he conceded enough ground to not only calm me down for the moment, but to make me believe he was open to at least enough change to keep me in the relationship for a little longer.

But on the other hand he held a very firm belief that everyone deserves a second (or third, or even fourth) chance. He owned a small business and was active on the "Felony Friendly" list. This was something else that made my eye twitch. Not that I'm anti-rehabilitation (the differences between rehabilitation and prison may be explored later, but it's too much to go into here). I do think your personal history of decision making needs to factor into any hiring manager's decision. If you were fired from your last four jobs as a waiter because you refuse to charge your friends for their meals, why should I believe you would start now? Either way, that's not quiet the heart of the matter. After calming down I had to ask him to explain to me how it is that he was comfortable discriminating against people based on an accident of birth, but was still open to hiring people with a proven history of disobeying the laws we all live by.

That was the beginning of the end.