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 7 - Kasual Thursday

I put in half a day on the Job Quest and then took the afternoon off. Tomorrow is Good Friday, the kids will be home tomorrow and, if I were employed, I'd take the afternoon off and make it a long weekend. I figure the same rules ought to apply now.

I am so tired. Perhaps the next few days will be about regaining my strength. I worked 60+ hours per week for so long and have kept up the pace this week -- all of a sudden, I am soul-wrenchingly tired. It's like my brain and body got together behind my back (sounds like something from Mummenshanz, doesn't it?) and decided that it OK to rest.

I'm sleeping very deeply and having colorful dreams. In one, I'm taking a crocodile with me everywhere but I need to be sure to remember to keep a fist around his snout. If I loosen up, he'll get his jaws open and bite me. It's all very casual -- as though everyone is commuting with a large reptile. Strangely, other people around me also have crocodiles but theirs have a hole where the snout should be. Yes, K., you were in the dream, too, though I don't remember what you were doing. Singing "Gentle On My Mind"? I wonder if that will become less frequent over time. See you later, alligator!

I went to the Arboretum this afternoon to trade my gift card for a membership. The early Spring has the bulbs erupting while the surroundings are still grim and gray. This statue could be a metaphor for Porkus. Working there was like standing naked in the cold while a frog spits on you for eternity.

What could the artist have been thinking?

No comments:

Post a Comment