When I grow up...

Boss of buttons. Controller of Floors.

Boss of buttons. Controller of Floors.

I think I'd like to be a lift operator.

Forget I'm a century too late and half a planet too far away*, I still imagine it's the kind of job that would suit me because of the:

  • short, oft non-repeated personal interactions
  • being in charge of buttons
  • having a finite job description

*There are a few elevator operators working in the New York City Subway system. (see Wikipedia)

Title your blog post you stupid loser

I'm feeling like I'm about to lose control of everything.

Not that this is going to be a bad thing. I mean, I'm not in charge of anything or anyone important. No children are going to be taking away from me; my patient isn't going to die on the operating table; the wheels aren't going to fall off my Space Shuttle.

It'll probably manifest itself in strangers walking past me in the street with a glance at best. "Look, I saw this woman crouched in a doorway on Anzac Ave last night staring into space and yeh I did get to the Adidas shop before it closed, don't you love my new trainers?"

This isn't my first rodeo nor is it my first break down. I'm pretty sure that if I put some of my obligations into a calendar and go to sleep at a reasonable hour all will be sorted. But I am in that place where I haven't yet opened that calendar so I'm going to let myself feel bleak until I do. I am not, however, going to let myself talk smack like I just did in the title of this post.

Title your blog please so the search engines can find it

Much better. 

Now put some hand cream on so your dry cracked hands have a chance of feeling better over the next few days.

Awesome. That smells better, doesn't it? Good.

Now take another step to feeling better and eventually you will.