Sunday, November 19, 2006

Ah, the joy of missed deadlines.

I am such a loser, I really am. I have missed my Enforced Secret Joy Post Deadlines. They’re supposed to go up on Friday. Ooops. Honestly, I like to pride myself on meeting my deadlines, whether they’re self imposed or not. But we all know what God says about pride, don’t we. Oh yes, yes we do.

But it’s been a really stressful week. Not bad, like here , not rock bottom or anything, but just filled with stuff to do RIGHT NOW. The temp job, the Christmas show, other stuff I can’t talk about because my Mom and Dad read this thing, and I don’t want them to worry (especially since I’m with them right now in Orlando for a week. They’ve already gone to bed. What do you mean, it’s 11:30pm? The clock on my computer distinctly says it’s 8:30, ha ha ha.) Every single second of every single day for the past week and a half has been used in deep concentration on something, and if I’m not in constant motion whacking away at the stack of Things To Do, then I’m in a state of constant anxiety about how I’m WASTING THESE THREE SECONDS TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT TO DO NEXT. I’m snapping at people that I really don’t want to snap at, people I actually like, and I know they’re looking at me and thinking, “oh, so THIS is how you handle stress? My, that’s wonderfully mature and attractive. Please sign me up as your number one fan. NOT.”

Seriously, I’m messed up. I missed Homeless Karaoke this month. I missed my Home Group on Thursday. I only worked out a day and a half last week. My abs o' steel are atrophying at 89 words per minute.

And I think the one thing that’s had a bigger than expected impact is that at this particular temp job, there’s people ALWAYS around me. I’m a temp, it’s not like I have my own office, so I’m sharing cubicle space with a person within six feet of me. Sure, I can turn my back on them and continue working on this monster database of addresses, but I know they’re still there. I need my space, people. My personal, nine foot circle of space that you can’t enter without my permission, or unless we’re in an elevator, a hallway, restaurant, or other public venue, ha ha ha.

And, as what usually happens when I’m super stressed, God feels far away. Because I literally haven’t had the moments to talk to Him. Usually, I talk to Him in the car, but these days, I’m so concentrated on playing Frogger with the traffic, because there simply MUST be a way I can get to the Big Deal Movie Studio in under 25 minutes. There HAS to be. Because I got to the Other Big Deal Move Studio in 17 minutes every day, why won’t it work in the other direction?

And it just feels like ten different ways of stupid to ask God for help with the little stuff like this. I’m still not down with the various prayer groups I’m in, where we go around the circle and list what we need prayer for. I always skip my turn and say everything’s fine, because I absolutely understand needing prayer for illness, either yourself or a loved one, I totally understand needing prayer for grace to deal with co-workers, companies, industries, or various government departments that won’t stop unless they suck your soul out your eyeballs and twirl it around their spaghetti fork.

I understand needing prayer for jobs, because you’ve been unemployed for months, and you’re scared. I understand needing prayer for direction, because you’re stuck in the metaphorical desert, and you honestly don’t know which way to take the next step. I understand all of that.

But I just can’t bring myself to ask God to please send me a job in the arena that I WANT to be in. Not publicity. Not interactive media. WRITING, dammit! Development? Production? Anything like that? I can’t bring myself to ask God to clear the streets of Los Angeles so I can get to work on time. I can’t bring myself to ask God to please help me figure out how to get Mr. Academy Award Winning Actor’s address to send this stupid invitation to, because he’s not an Academy member, even though he’s won a couple, and no, I don’t know why, maybe he’s controversial, maybe nobody likes him, it doesn’t matter, because these people need this list RIGHT NOW. I can’t bring myself to ask God to please help me spot an empty refrigerator box because we need one for the set design of the Christmas show. I just can’t. Doesn’t God have bigger things to worry about, like genocide, AIDS in Africa, the American troops dying on the front lines of the war, etc. etc., ETC.?

And even if you wanna go the route of God’s big enough for that and you, then I STILL can’t do it, because it seems like I should ask God for help with the deeper stuff like I Hate Most People, Please Help Me Learn Compassion. Please Change My Heart So I’m Genuinely Concerned With People’s Welfare, Instead Of Faking the Pleasantries That Pass For Polite Conversation.

But my life seems to be taken up with the Stupid Little Things these days.

Which is why I’m very glad I’m currently in Orlando, at this time share deal my parents got. I have my own bedroom! My own bathroom! Normally, when it comes to vacation with the fam, I’m stuck on a sofa bed in what passes for a living room, and elbowing Mom for bathroom counter space. NO MORE! You know what I can do? I can shave my legs and NOT HAVE TO CLEAN THE BATHTUB! WHOO HOOOOOO!

This place has wireless! There’s a GYM a scant few yards away from the complex! I have PERSONAL SPACE! There appears to be NO PLANS for tomorrow, except to do a bunch of NOTHING!

Well, my parents will do a bunch of nothing. I will most likely write.


Peter said...

I so understand the need for personal space. The other day, I was at an afternoon party where I didn't know that many people. I also knew I was heading to another party after this one. I pulled my date aside and said, "I need about a half hour by myself. I'm gonna go for a walk or something." I'm not good with constant social stimulation--especially when I'm not friends with the people I'm being social with.

Yay for you dirty hairy bathtub! Woo-hoo!

Oh, here's a fun game. Make a sentence using the letters from your word verification code as the first letters of each word of your sentence. Mine is: Some very fat Asians jiggle.

Midlife Virgin said...

God will listen, no matter how trivial your concerns seem. People will listen, too, especially about wanting a job in your chosen field. Trust me, God gets an earful of my triviality on a daily basis and, sometimes, I think he is actually listening.