I'm Too Plugged In

No really, I’m not dead. I swear. Nor undead. Fear not… in fact, the truth, the awful, hideous truth behind my electronic absence is as mundane as can be: the TV.

I’ve allowed myself to be sucked into the void for days now, just watching, vegetating, bonding with my Friends.

Allow me to explain my transgressions:

Work sucks.

Having no work sucks more.

Having no work, knowing you need work, having no money and attempting to bide the time while a tsunami-sized wave of depression washes over you, forcing you to ruminate on the fact that yes, you do indeed have lots of skills and education, yet the dude down the street drying off cars at the drive through car wash has more disposable income than you, and possibly far less stress, can kill any sort of urges – creative or otherwise – that might attempt to manifest themselves in your cerebellum.

Thus, I have taken up temporary residence on the ground floor and parked myself on the couch, in front of the tube, while attempting to get through a book my ex-roomie Lydia suggested to me: What Should I Do With My Life?

Of course, in my poverty-stricken state, I well could not afford to run down to Borders and purchase such a frivolous waste of paper when the question I need to be asking is What Corner Should I Stand On To Make Enough To Pay The Rent?

Ironically, though, I’ve had it in my possession – a leftover from my newspaper-editor-free-deluge-of –crap-in-the-mail-on-a-daily-basis days. So, I’ve drug it out, cracked it open… and learned nothing except I cannot fill out the book meme, as Mags requested, as, well, I’m an idiot and do not read books.

But, hey, Will & Grace don’t seem to mind…

I should confess, however, that I am actually working as a temp, which is somewhat entertaining. Especially today, when I was asked to photocopy a bunch of things. I smiled, said sure, and laughed all the way to the copy room at the fact that the woman who handed me the stuff has no idea the company’s paying an outrageous sum of money, the cost of a good pair of shoes, per hour for me to walk down the hall and press “Start” for her.

Ah, yes, the master’s degree means your temp agency makes a bigger profit on your coffee pouring skills…

But, back to the important stuff. The quest: it goes on, and on, and on, and quite frankly, I do not want to have to go through arthritis, menopause or a broken hip while still looking for the proverbial thing I want to do when I grow up.

I swear it’s the one steps forward two steps back rule, and at the rate I’m going I’ll be taking the SATs again before too long.

However, I’m getting closer, a combination of reasons, a bunch of stars aligning, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit to do with the stupid book forcing me to remember why and how I started on this crazy so-called non-traditional journey in the first place, how I’d always imagined myself when “I got older” (ah yes, that phrase is starting to get as outdated as my wardrobe and should probably be replaced with “no time like the present”), what I wanted to do, what I love to do, and how I can make it all work without uttering the dreaded BFA-holding worker bee line, “You want fries with that?”