It’s the first day of school today. Both children are finally at the same school, since Jamie is now a freshman. I say “finally” with some celebration, but really, it makes me a bit melancholy. They’re simply growing up way too fast, and I find it hard to believe the tradition of baking snickerdoodles on the first day of school, which began when Oakley started kindergarten, has continued as she begins her senior year. Every first and last day of school, I bake snickerdoodles to welcome the kids home. But senior year and freshman year? Just last week they were in elementary school. What happened?
- Admit the need to network. Accept there is no shame in this.
- Make a list of potential networking opportunities. Feel good about this positive first step.
- Re-sharpen your pencil.
- Switch to pen and better paper, with lines. Because this is important.
- Stare at the list, thinking deep thoughts about a better, more polished, you. Picture yourself easily talking with strangers about your many unique skills.
- Start a second list, detailing your many unique skills. Realize it is seriously lacking.
- Curl up into a fetal position and weep bitter tears at the indignity of it all, for no less than 20 minutes.
- Grab a glass and a bottle of spirits. You can do this.
- Sip and scroll through Facebook and LinkedIn for inspiration from people you admire.
- Refill your glass and acknowledge you are not a LinkedIn sort of person. Watch cat videos on Facebook for half an hour.
- Switch over to Twitter. After five minutes, mourn your inability to be as witty as everyone else on Twitter. Moisten your cheeks with a few dramatic tears. Wipe them away even more dramatically. Refill glass.
- Look up “writer” on Pinterest for pretty, soothing images. Attempt to pile hair in “messy bun.” Pinterest fail. Closely examine pores and make mental note to try new charcoal face mask. Take a hefty swig to get over hideously large pores suitable for housing a Fiat.
- Back to LinkedIn to read a few “professional advice” articles. Must embrace the platform used by so many professionals. Refill glass.
- After two articles, conclude you could have written better, even though you are hardly professional or in any position to give advice. Snort and proclaim it all bollocks. Bottoms up. Ransack kitchen for sugary snacks.
- Search Indeed for “writer” and “editor” positions. Realize you are qualified for none of the good ones. If you were, you wouldn’t have to do this.
- Hate yourself and lack of credentials. Refill glass, down in one.
- Expand Indeed search to include remote positions. Seriously consider retraining to teach English as a Second Language from the comfort of your own home! Or becoming a hair stylist. Add Peanut Butter Cap’n Crunch to your chocolate ice cream. Maybe open a restaurant.
- Set up an Indeed alert for any new positions with the word “communications” in them.
- Instantly receive and scroll through 30 new emails from Indeed, for Secretary-cum-Chief Marketing Officer-cum-Editorial Rock Star. Delete your Indeed profile and resume. Lick ice cream bowl.
- Back to fetal position for full-on hissy fit. Fall asleep in awkward position on sofa.
- Wake up and find Dobie Gillis on Amazon Prime. Ditch glass and drink directly from the bottle wishing for simpler times.
- Call up best friend and yell angrily about the lack of benefactors these days. WHO CAN AFFORD TO BE AN ARTIST?? NO ONE!!
- Apologize profusely for accidentally ringing your ex and go back to Dobie Gillis. Empty the bottle.
- Slump to bed and hide under covers until nightmare thoughts of networking go away. Remember you are lactose intolerant. Spend time crying in bathroom due to dairy-induced trauma.
- Crawl back into bed, fall into fitful, drunken sleep.
- Wake at noon, immediately feel guilty. Really, must get act together and put self out there! Make a green detox smoothie, extra kale. New day, new you!!!
- Sharpen pencil. Make a list of potential networking opportunities.
- Lather, rinse, repeat.
In honor of Valentine’s Day, a made up holiday I hate, I invite you to partake in another example of a normal relationship, to counter the Hallmark-induced stupor in which you possibly find yourself as we near the dreaded day of ridiculous heart-shaped everything. You may remember I wrote this post about actual conversations between partners in committed relationships, as compared to those scripted, saccharine-sweet exchanges forced upon you in sappy, overly-romantic movies. I’m just here to help, people. I hope you find this new post equally useful. And remember, love means never having to … Nope. I got nothing.
Friends, rejoice with me! I’m delighted to report that my fear of flying seminar was rescheduled for a later date. Huzzah! One of the presenters fell ill and I now have several more weeks to prepare. Blessed reprieve! I’m very sorry, Airline Presenter Person, that you’re not feeling well, but THANK YOU, sweet baby Jesus.
In my last post, “Fear of … Everything,” I wrote about my all-consuming fear of flying, and how I’m planning to conquer it. Today’s post is more of a list than a post; a selection of apps I’m considering to help me prepare for my upcoming Fear of Flying seminar, and, ultimately, an actual flight in the near future.
I’m not sure when it happened, or why, but I am afraid of everything. My shadow, a tap on the shoulder, a strange sound. In my mind, it all triggers chaos and death by fevered imagination. I’ve always been a bit skittish and jumpy, but now I’m convinced there’s terror lurking around every corner, in every shadow.
Riley: Hello, Hoomen. I see you are making a sammich on this frosty morn.
Heather: Yes, I’m making the kids’ lunches.
Riley: Am I mistaken, or do I smell…peanut butter?
Cutting down our Christmas tree became a family tradition after I divorced my husband. On my own with two little ones, I was desperately searching for a new holiday “normal.” Though I’d never so much as trimmed a hedge before, I had the brilliant notion that I could chop down a tree. We’d never had a live tree, though I’d always wanted one, and I was finally in charge of the decision. It seemed like a perfect new Christmas activity for the three of us. What could go wrong?
I’m writing a series of essays, collectively called “Marriage Conversations,” around the real-life conversations John and I have on any given day; conversations about anything and nothing. These snippets of dialog are common to people in long-term relationships. I felt compelled to do this to combat the ridiculousness of the Hallmark Channel. As much as John and I love each other, we don’t gaze into each other’s eyes and deliver beautifully-phrased platitudes like “love means never having to say you’re sorry.”
First of all, that sentence – that’s complete bullshit right there.
As if Riley weren’t enough, we also have a guinea pig, Timothy, and he hates all things. He especially hates being picked up. This makes it hard to clean his cage. We have a large playpen for Riley – her puppy time out – and a few months ago I had the brilliant idea of putting Timmy in there (without Riley, of course) while I cleaned his cage. Except the openings between bars were too big and Timmy deftly escaped. Today I tried again, only this time I lined the playpen with a sheet and secured it to the sides, keeping the piggy safe within. I could then clean his cage quickly and easily, and Timmy had some time to exercise as he frantically searched for his Pigloo. I put Riley on her lead in the backyard so I could do this unfettered. And while I was patting myself on the back for my ingenuity, Riley was in the backyard, digging a hole to China. Sigh.