One would think that reporting that one had spent hard earned dollars to purchase something that makes me feel depressed when I take it out the microwave and sit down to eat it would be enough.
I hate eating microwaved food. I refuse to eat anything that comes out of a microwave that has meat or a meat-like substance in it. The texture (gag) makes me want to (gag) nevermind what it makes me want to do - you could be eating lunch right now. (I hope, for your sake, it's not chicken.)
See I'm trying to up my whole grains and I've been told to add protein so I'm not chewing on my arm by mid-afternoon. I bought the fancy frozen business, the kind that rhyme with Mashi, with all kinds of good stuff and a little bit of chicken. I'm minding my own business, thinking, this is going quite well actually when CHUNK. My teeth hit bone. A mother clucking chicken bone. IN MY MOUTH. I was eating lunch at my desk and found myself frantically trying to quiet my gag reflex. I quickly instant messaged my husband, he would know what to do:
Me: I think I'm going to vomit at my desk. Just bit down on a chicken bone.
Him: Think about ponies.
Green pastures. Sunny skies. Running. Running away fast. From the chicken bone. It was tough, but I made it to the other side and the crisis was averted. I moved my garbage bin back to it's rightful place and got back to work. So I ate depressing microwave food and bit down on some poor chicken's leg, maybe it was a wing, I don't know, and that should be enough to say it was a bad thing that had happened to me.
At work I refuse to take anyone seriously who walks around talking about how busy they are, because, really, if you are that busy, hanging around and complaining about it has probably added to your delay and you are not doing yourself or anyone else any favors with that kind of talk. Also because, hey, we are all busy. Put your big girl (or big boy, if the brief fits) pants on and deal.
That's how I feel about misfortune. Everyone has it rough. Maybe not today, but perhaps last year was a challenge and if that's not so, you can bet you are on the list for 2011. I never want to write with the intention of complaining about my life, my circumstances, my bad days, just for the sake of doing so. There's enough of that around, no one needs to find it here.
My challenge is to write around that. My 14 year career where I work could potentially be one business meeting in New York away from over. Or not. My finances are tapped, a big bonus that should have materialized didn't. Lots of people are walking this tightrope beside me, their shoes dangle on the wire as as they shift the weight of worry to try to balance it with looking on the bright side while updating their LinkedIn profile. My story is not new or original, but it's hard to carry this worry. Every day.
There was a time when finding a chicken bone in my lunch would have been the worst thing that had happened to me in a long time.