You can call me Bull

My email exchanges with friends oftentimes read as journal entries.  Here is the latest from a friend who left corporate america around the same time that I did, and who was sharing her current state of mind.  I should warn you that she just broke up with her boyfriend & the job hunt isn’t going so well.  I edited out incriminating information (i.e., stalking and, well, other things…).

Anyway, I thought it was hilarious, probably because it so mirrors my own life; well, not the Louboutins. 

You gotta fight for happiness.  I use to be an idealist and think that the universe, in her almighty excellence, brought you exactly what you needed at exactly the time you needed it, and that your own role in this life was, somewhat, effortless.  I was the one hollerin’ down the corporate corridors, “Follow your passion! Save yourself”, as I ran out in a cloud of indignant righteousness. 

I was an idiot.  Save your paycheck, not yourself.

As a newbie realist, I watch as the stack of unopened bills on my antique foyer table mount up, and feel my unemployed spirits fall down as my Louboutin boots click along my restored hardwood floors, singing “good-bye” to my impending bankruptcy.  Hello foreclosure, good-bye future.

As a romantic realist, I’ve found that love is not really everlasting, no matter how great and real it seems that first week; and that even though the sex is mind-blowing in the beginning it, like my orgasms, fade.  

Oh, sorry, I forgot to introduce myself.  I am that Pit Bull in you struggling to be unleashed, yet who has absolutely no where to go.  You know, that feeling you get after a discontented day in the office that tells you that you’re so much better than these losers you’re working for/with and should just quit to do your own thing.  That moment of clarity when you see that he is never really going to change, at least not for you; and you play the Fuck Off conversation in your head a few dozen times as you head to his house, unannounced.  

But, if I were you, before giving in to this reckless abandon I’d think to myself, “Why the hell would I follow a pit bull?”.

You can call me, Bull.  Nice to meet ya.

 

I love my friends!     -i

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~ by EclecticEnigma on June 9, 2009.

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