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 159 - Fear of Facebook

Daily Kup (My Life in the Trenches)
A slow day as I continue a project that I call 'triage' -- digging out from the damage done to the house and yard by All Kids/All The Time for the last couple of weeks.

If the weather cooperates, Labor Day Weekend will be consumed in the labor of completing the soffit replacement.

I got a nice inquiry asking if I was interested in a quality job with General Electric ... in Atlanta. Yes ... and no.

Should Have Gotten That Cup of Black Coffee Sooner
I'll quote only the opening of this story because it is well worth following the link to the Reuters copywritten story on MSNBC.

BERLIN — A Polish man living in Germany went about his business for about five years without noticing he had been shot in the head because he was drunk when it happened.


So, the next time you feel a little twinge, investigate more fully.

"Face" the Music
I have birthday greetings on my Facebook Wall and am very appreciative that people took the time to do that.

I fear Facebook. I suppose that it's the same apprehension that I have for tank games in the video arcade; I'm not coordinated enough to use the double joystick controls and always work myself into a corner from which I merely rock back and forth, smashing one end and then the other, until time runs out. I'm not as comfortable as a mentally well-balanced person should be in wading out in front of other people to do something awkward and stupid. (I used to be even more uptight, but then I gave birth in a teaching hospital. Once ever-changing armies of strangers troop through every half-hour to inspect and comment on dilation, the remaining dignity can be stored in the glove compartment of a Matchbox car and still have room for the State Farm road atlas.)

Another consideration that has distanced me from the more 'social' of the social media forms is that it is so convenient to sit here with my nom de plume and cast the occasional dart at the bloated corpse of my former employer as it lays on the beach waiting for seagulls and hermit crabs. It's quite another to have a nom de "real" and both feed the giant database in the sky and risk offending a real employer, particularly when I need to keep options open in finding the so-called "real" job. You know, the one with real money and not just a sense of accomplishment and the sincere thanks of the citizens of Earth.

The final support on the three-legged stool of my Facebook anxiety is that I must not have been paying a lot of attention to my surroundings in high school and college. This is the most trivial objection and therefore probably the one that has held me back the most. Except for a few people, I have a limited idea of who these people are that I seem to have gone to school with. Often the names sound a little familiar. Then I look at the pictures and wonder who these old people are.

Applying my stereotypical solution to almost every problem, I've bought a book about how to use Facebook. Once I find my high school yearbook, I'll be equipped to embrace this new world. If I get too heavily into Farmville, please stage an intervention.

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