"What's my motivation, here?"
My train didn't just derail short of the Motivation Station, it crashed into the side of a mountain, burst into flames, and was reduced to ash in a matter of seconds.
That pretty much sums it up, y'all.
I don't want to be at work. I seriously have reached the point of no return burnout. I just plain don't care. I don't care about the cases, I don't care about my role in them, I don't care about anything I do on a daily basis. And considering much of what I do here involves organizing cases and pushing paper, that's pretty significant.
I've been feeling strangely nostalgic lately, and I blame everyone's favorite social networking website (we'll call it MyFace, or SpaceBook, just to keep things simple). To say the least, the whole SpaceBook experience is very Big Chill. Curious as to what ever happened to the boy who rejected you and made you weep for hours sophomore year? Chances are, he's on SpaceBook, and just a click of the mouse away from being in YourFace.
The problem with this is that in cyberspace, people don't age. Sure, you can post photos of yourself that prove you've had a life since your last in-person encounter. You can post notes about yourself providing a brief (or not-so-brief, in some cases) synopsis of your past 20 years. It doesn't matter. You're still the same person you were to them the last time you parted ways.
Which, if you were a drunken psycho-whore, can be problematic. I know I shouldn't give two shits what some dude who broke my heart in 1992 or some bitch who spread nasty rumors about me in 1987 thinks about me today, but I do. I want him to look at my photos and wistfully wonder what might have been, had he not been such a complete dick. I want her to think "wow, she's done really well for herself," and feel bad about telling the entire freshman class I blew the gym coach under the bleachers after homecoming.
What's even more bothersome is how those people don't seem to feel the same. They appear--and I know appearances can be deceiving, but still--they appear to have grown up and moved forward and had no trouble at all reconciling their past with their present. Any Major Life Changes they've experienced have been regarded not as a change of character, but merely part of growing up and growing older. They really haven't changed, and they appear to be just fine with that.
Which is great, and good for them, but I don't feel the same way. The person I am and the life I've lived for the past few years don't seem to mesh at all with the me and the life of years past, and I can't really seem to connect the two in my head. I don't know what changed. It wasn't so simple as "I met the right guy and we fell in love and that changed everything," there was more to it than that, because I don't buy all that "The One" crap and feel like Old Me could have met countless right guys and immediately dismissed them (or become involved with them only to use them to create self-inflicted trauma drama). Indeed, Old Me would have (and damn near did) dismiss Ben for being "too normal" after just a couple of dates.
So maybe it's not so much validation and accolades I want from these ghosts of a life past, maybe it's an explanation. Where was I, where am I now and how the fuck did I get here?
Or maybe it's just a midlife crisis and I could solve all my inner turmoil by running out and buying a Lexus. Or whatever car people in the throes of MLC are buying these days.
That pretty much sums it up, y'all.
I don't want to be at work. I seriously have reached the point of no return burnout. I just plain don't care. I don't care about the cases, I don't care about my role in them, I don't care about anything I do on a daily basis. And considering much of what I do here involves organizing cases and pushing paper, that's pretty significant.
I've been feeling strangely nostalgic lately, and I blame everyone's favorite social networking website (we'll call it MyFace, or SpaceBook, just to keep things simple). To say the least, the whole SpaceBook experience is very Big Chill. Curious as to what ever happened to the boy who rejected you and made you weep for hours sophomore year? Chances are, he's on SpaceBook, and just a click of the mouse away from being in YourFace.
The problem with this is that in cyberspace, people don't age. Sure, you can post photos of yourself that prove you've had a life since your last in-person encounter. You can post notes about yourself providing a brief (or not-so-brief, in some cases) synopsis of your past 20 years. It doesn't matter. You're still the same person you were to them the last time you parted ways.
Which, if you were a drunken psycho-whore, can be problematic. I know I shouldn't give two shits what some dude who broke my heart in 1992 or some bitch who spread nasty rumors about me in 1987 thinks about me today, but I do. I want him to look at my photos and wistfully wonder what might have been, had he not been such a complete dick. I want her to think "wow, she's done really well for herself," and feel bad about telling the entire freshman class I blew the gym coach under the bleachers after homecoming.
What's even more bothersome is how those people don't seem to feel the same. They appear--and I know appearances can be deceiving, but still--they appear to have grown up and moved forward and had no trouble at all reconciling their past with their present. Any Major Life Changes they've experienced have been regarded not as a change of character, but merely part of growing up and growing older. They really haven't changed, and they appear to be just fine with that.
Which is great, and good for them, but I don't feel the same way. The person I am and the life I've lived for the past few years don't seem to mesh at all with the me and the life of years past, and I can't really seem to connect the two in my head. I don't know what changed. It wasn't so simple as "I met the right guy and we fell in love and that changed everything," there was more to it than that, because I don't buy all that "The One" crap and feel like Old Me could have met countless right guys and immediately dismissed them (or become involved with them only to use them to create self-inflicted trauma drama). Indeed, Old Me would have (and damn near did) dismiss Ben for being "too normal" after just a couple of dates.
So maybe it's not so much validation and accolades I want from these ghosts of a life past, maybe it's an explanation. Where was I, where am I now and how the fuck did I get here?
Or maybe it's just a midlife crisis and I could solve all my inner turmoil by running out and buying a Lexus. Or whatever car people in the throes of MLC are buying these days.
posted by Mitzi Green at 8:54 AM
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