Indecisiveness

So, as I considered what to write about I concluded that all my varied interests have done little to combat, and may in fact be responsible for, my current dilemma.

That is, indecisiveness. I love equally and passionately: travel, food, reading, writing, pick-up ultimate Frisbee at Parc de la Tete D’Or, picnics, dancing with my nieces, breakfast with my parents, a cup of tea, tug of war with Canyon, planting seeds (especially when they grow), monitoring hallways, smelling flowers, making a vinaigrette, being hugged and kissed by good-smelling handsome men, being told I’m pretty (any language is OK), buttering warm toast, sleeping out under the stars, watching clouds, conversations extolling scripture, sitting under a shade tree on a warm day with plenty of watermelon, and jumping in a lake. I may have inadvertently left something out, but that nearly sums it up.

At 31 I’m unemployed. Incidentally I was unemployed at 30, 29, 25, 24, and 22. There maybe was another time or two in there, as well, but that would take some very effortful reconstruction to ascertain.

By this I mean the Monday through Friday, nine to five standard. Prior to these documented years I was working on my education and filling out my time with all the aforementioned activities which I truly enjoy.

What I should document is that I saw this all coming. For some reason schools decide if they can no longer instill fear into (by and large very good) young children through corporal punishment, they’ll resort to ambiguous, unanswerable questions and leave the child to languish in uncertainty with the admonishment to report back.

I remember the blank page with one question written in chalk at the front of the classroom. Pink chalk. Surely everyone remembers the moment when their hope and future come under scrutiny, instilling stress and despair at the years (by my calculations at the time: 90) stretching ahead.

“What do you want to do/be when you grow up?”

Retract that question! Bring back the belts and paddles, the injustices of physical humiliation. Just don’t make me, untrained in sorcery, fill out a page, worse, a workbook, on what my life might hold! (Bloody hell! Blogging didn’t even exist back then!)

“A reader,” I would write lamely. “I want to read.” Forget that for close to twenty years I’ve scoured ‘help wanted’ ads and have never come across a single request for such a position. As a child I had to create and defend this impossible dream.

Wanted: Reader! Someone well versed in reading a variety of genres, including, but not limited to: novels, short stories, poetry, non-fiction, especially biographies, religious works, and editorials. Microsoft Office is a plus, but you only have to have perused the manual, as we much prefer to hear your commentary on Where the Red Fern Grows. Looking for a candidate with twenty years’ experience and expecting a full career ahead as a reader, perhaps even fifty more in the field. Send all resumes to: yahdablahblah@mmhmm.com