Became so sick of worrying about crap that's not under my control yesterday, that I entered into the "crazy zone." The aforementioned music running through my head sped up and ran at Alvin and the Chipmunk speed. Thoughts? Ha!
Thoughts came and went so fast they were more impressions that what you'd call a thought. But the brain did slow down long enough to process two important facts.
1. Worrying myself sick over whether or not the Chief will call is ludicrous. He'll either call and ask me to come in for a talk, or he won't. If he doesn't, I'll schedule an appointment, just so I can explain what he'll be losing if he doesn't re-hire me. If he says "sorry, can't take you back," I WILL BE ALL RIGHT! I WILL FIND ANOTHER JOB, A FUN JOB, AND I'LL LAND ON MY FEET SOMEWHERE. The possibilities are endless.
2. I don't have to stay in this damn town anyway. Roads lead out of town, and not everyone in the nation is unemployed, and there are still places I want to go and see. I'll sell everything I have to so I have money to LIVE, (as opposed to SURVIVE) on. I WILL BE ALL RIGHT.
Damn, that felt good! I was in my crazy zone, singing weird songs, (NOT Christmas music) and yelling at the world and talking to God and smiling and laughing for no apparent reason. Maybe I'll become a comedian. I may be a better communicator in written form, but I'm far, far funnier when I talk. That's a good thing as far as I'm concerned. I have trouble taking life serious anymore. It must be the Irish in me. The Irish traditionally treat life as a funny story - it must be all that rain.
Won't you join me in the crazy zone? It's sort of like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory without the Oompa Loompas. ;-)
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