I had some dreams ... they were klowns in my koffee.

(With apologies to Carly Simon)

This is my journey through job transition from a toxic environment to a better life. Join me for a few thoughts and a few laughs along the way.
What are "klowns in my koffee"? They are the factors large and small that make you less than you are. A "klown" can be a grossly incompetent boss,
a short-sighted policy or a moronic coworker. They won't kill you, at least not immediately, but they abrade the soul
as you scrape past them to get through the day. Sometimes it's best to dump them out of the cup.


Day 28 - Happy Earth Day to You

I spent most of Earth Day driving around in my SUV. This seems terrible on a number of levels until you realize that Plan B was to continue the work in the back yard of cutting down trees.

Since I've become a sandal-wearing, granola-eating drain on society, I did spend some time at the Co-op of which I'm a member. As a shareholder, I think I made four bucks last year. They were giving out some kind of mock chocolate cake for Earth Day. It was the right color but somehow managed to proclaim its soy-ness in the aftertaste. I also made the rounds of the thrift stores to get clothes for the kids. I used my own reusable bags in two stores and the library. And I bought plants for the front porch. Beat that for green cred.

My husband is starting to politely question if I will ever complete my resume. It's embarrassing since I routinely work on other people's resumes with no hesitation at all. I obviously will have to buckle down and finish it tomorrow or at least by Monday.

The outside world is much different during the workday. Bad drivers abound. If one does manage to arrive at a destination alive, people are generally very pleasant. I sneezed in a thrift store; from aisles away came a chorus of "God bless you's." People smile, chat and tell you how high their poppies have grown and whether they think there will be a frost.

Being surrounded by a blanket of quiet for much of the day had reengaged my interest in listening. I've never been a good listener. Now, I'm starting to have my antennae up for the conversations around me whenever I'm in a public place. In Target, an elderly British couple navigates the store. The stooped husband steers the cart as the wife marches five feet ahead and shouts to him comments on every item that they pass. A few aisles later, a mother explains to a child that, because her shoes had cost more than anticipated, the little girl's sister will be getting shorts but that they can't afford shorts for her on this trip.

So when my husband asks about the resume, I really am listening. It's irrational but I'm afraid of finding another job that will have me leaving the house in the dark and getting home in the dark and once again missing the Spring Concerts and the T-ball games, not chatting with gentle people in stores, not having any time to write or draw or play music, and not hearing all the small, soft sounds of the sunshine and the soul.

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