In "The Matrix", there's a scene where that agent is holding Neo down on the train tracks. He asks him "Do you hear that, Mr. Anderson? [Cue train noises] That is the sound of inevitability." Neo tells him "My name is Neo" and fights his way off the train tracks.
I'm in this (not) delightful place in my life where I am feeling more frayed and frazzled by the day. Now, granted, some of it has a lot to do with the fact that I am spoiled and am still adjusting to working full time. However, that isn't the whole story.
Even people who work full time get time off every five days, unless it is one of those jobs that calls for a set number of days working and a set number of days off work (like drilling platform jobs or something). I, on the other hand, keep winding up working 6, 7, even 8 days straight with erratic days off.
Since recovery is all about getting into the solution, I asked the woman in charge of scheduling to split up my off days. I was thinking this would give me 3 to four days on and a day off, and I could use the one day off to do laundry, clean house, and maybe rest. You know, all that shit I don't get to do on days I work.
She split up my off days, all right. 6 days on, 1 off, 1 on, 2 off. (2 off because I asked for one week a month to be a four work-day week.)
I smell a full-on thermo-nuclear meltdown coming on. I smell the smell of inevitability.
I have bought all the pants I am going to buy for this job. If I have to continue to give up sleep and a clean house because they continue to schedule me weird hours, I will start showing up in non-approved pants, or no pants.
I am also about to start looking for another job. One that allows me to wear my good pants and real shoes. (For the record, real shoes have at least 3" of heel and good arch support.)
I'm grateful that I have a program today. It means that full-on thermonuclear meltdown should be entertaining rather than heartbreaking. It will probably include a pair of stupidly expensive shades and/or really fabulous shoes instead of enough drugs to kill a fucking elephant.
I smell the smell of inevitability. It smells like hot asphalt, diesel exhaust, unwashed bodies, and bad coffee.
I smell the smell of inevitability. It smells like dirty carpet, sour milk, and unwashed sweaty clothes.
I smell the smell of inevitability. It smells gross. It smells tired. It smells like other people.
I smell a thermonuclear meltdown coming on.
Thermonuclear meltdown has to smell better than the smell of inevitability, right, Mr. Anderson?
It has to. Because thermonuclear meltdown is going to smell like ME. and I smell like Pi by Givenchy. I smell like lavender/coconut styling cream. I smell kind of good most of the time.
I smell the smell of inevitability. Thermonuclear meltdown is imminent. I promise I will try and live tweet the event, with pictures, because who doesn't want to see the mushroom clouds?