You always here stories of “other people” who, for one reason or another, completely quit one career and start something out of the blue and are happy as pigs in shit. You know, the corporate raider who decides one day he’s had enough and becomes a florist. And, then, boom!, his blood pressure drops, he pays off his mortgage, his marriage is happier and fairies now sing him to bed at night. Okay, maybe the fairies part is stretching it, but you get the gist.

You read the stories and think “Wow, how brave! I should do that” and then continue to grind day in and day out at a job that’s, quite frankly, a job. I mean, it’s one thing to read about Joe Smoe doing it. It’s quite another when you’re staring a car payment and several credit card bills in the face. On the other hand…. what if it works?

I’m facing a bit of a crisis in the career department. After about two years of job luck only breaking several thousand mirrors can bring, I have a job. I have all the skills and nothing is outside of my range. It’s a year under a contract, but because the project has a completion date of December 2008, the chances are quite high I’ll be employed until then. I make a good salary and have insurance.

I hate it.

Loathe it. Hate getting out of bed in the morning… that kind of hate. And, I’m not sure why. I mean, I’m don’t agree with the politics behind particular project, but I’ve done plenty of projects in my previous stint in government work I thought was moronic, at best. There is a woman who heads the project who obviously got the job because she’s a woman, not because of any helpful skills…. like managing a monolithic governmental project. Or, you know, understanding how to work with people. Everyone – I mean, everyone – in this office has faced her stupid rants, including myself. However, when you understand it’s not you, just her inability to cope with any kind of setback or minor bit of stress, you don’t take it personally.

So, I’ve turned it over in my head a million times and tried to figure out why the stuff I’ve loved doing for nearly 17 years suddenly has become tedious and unfulfilling.

I think I’m simply burnt out. Burnt out on writing presentation materials, working the “message,” dealing with the media, teaching people how to talk, developing procedures, learning programs, organizing workshops and listening to people talk about how easy it is to write a news release that makes sense. ‘Cause trust me, one more person whose only “communications” skill was stringing together a poem in high school telling me how to write and the building is going up in flames. Really.

Problem is, I don’t know how to do anything else. This is all I’ve done. I can write, research, proofread and organize. That’s it. I don’t have the skills to do anything else. So, looking at the “new start” for career options is scary as hell for me. I don’t know what else to do.

I don’t know what the point of all this was except to just get it out there…. to admit I’m at a crossroads and have no idea what to do.

Maybe that’s all I have to do at the moment. Maybe that’s all I can do. Dunno.

*bimbles off*

Bumper sticker reading “BADASS” on a pickup doing 50 mph in the fast lane.

*bimbles off*

So, Albus Dumbledore – a fictional character not based on any living person we know of – is gay. Not because it was so noted in any of the Harry Potter books, but because J.K. Rowling said so… months after the last of the series was issued.

*blinks*

Um, perhaps I’m in minority here, but is there a REASON for this postscript announcement? More importantly, does it matter? At all?

Methinks Ms. Rowling is wandering into George Lucas-esque territory – unable to leave story the fans have come to know and love alone, tinkering to the point of making the original script obsolete, simply unable to walk away from the characters they loved enough to bring to life.

Because of Lucas, the greatest villan in the history of moviemaking was reduced to being an whiny teen-ager with bad eyeliner. A beloved story was stripped of its heart and turned into nearly 10 hours of plot holes, bad characters and CGI affects. Storylines altered, mysteries clumsily explained away. All the reasons those of us who so loved Star Wars in the first place.

So, on behalf of fans who love these stories enough to buy them, talk about them, write about them to the point of providing them immorality – stop altering the characters and stories we hold near and dear to our hearts. Let us, in our own heads, endlessly fuss over their private lives, their personal longings. It’s what makes a good story an unforgettable one.

*bimbles off*

Contrary to popular belief, I’m not being held against my will by the Shrub administration in some third-world prison, being forced to drink urine until I confess to wanting to drive a plane into a tower. Or, a bullet to Cheney’s head. Not that I’m admitting to anything.

My reason for absence is quite dull and I won’t bore everyone with a “woe-is-me” tale. Suffice to say, after some serious huddling with my doctors and chiropractor, the culprit for my lack of giving-a-shit has been generally agreed on as my unhealthy Ambien-chewing habit… as in, for nearly six years, I can’t sleep without it. Turns out the sunny long-term effects of Ambien and its sleep-related cousins are fatigue, sleepiness, depression and, in severe cases, suicidal thoughts, etc. The next sound you hear will be me climbing to the roof of my house, armed with my shotgun, and generally maintaining a grumpy attitude until I have successfully weaned myself off the medication. Please refrain from unannounced visits.

So…. aside being unable to string together ONE glue-sniffing sentence in the past two months (I’m out of lavendar bath fuzzies, NDT! I’m expecting a package ANY DAY NOW. *drums fingers*), some minor blimps occurred:

I. Turned. 40.

*pauses to take deep, cleansing breaths and regain my inner calm*

Our kitty hero Coby seems to be maintaining relatively good health. His weight has stabilized, he’s eating well and all his blood work is in good levels. He asked I send warm paws to everyone. And, if someone would be so kind as to show him out to use a can opener.

I finally read the Harry Potter series. I know, I know… I’m SO behind. But, with the job I have now, I generally take lunch alone, so I needed reading material. I went through the whole series in about a month and I have to say, aside from being generally entertaining writing, I was disappointed. Not because of the usual snobbish literary reasons (You simply cannot be a literary snob and own every word Stephen King put to print.), but because around Book 3, Harry Potter as a character started to annoy the shit out of me. Seriously. Annoying little fucker…. thought he was better than his friends, thought his ideas were better than Dumbledores, thought he was king shit because of his scar. I guess I made the mistake of expecting what we are presented in the movies. I mean, Daniel Radcliffe is a cute kid and, aside from the small amount of angst in the most recent movie, he’s a tortured but kind soul brimming with inner goodness. The book character made me want to slap the taste of his mouth. And, all you Harry Potter fanatics, remember – I’m sitting on the roof weaning an Ambien habit. Tread lightly here.

I bought “300″ on DVD and have probably already worn out the disc. Two words: Gerard fucking Butler. Sweet smoking jesus.

My dearest buddy Army of Mom and I have, in our mature years, become gentlemen’s revenue club snobs. I mean, serious sniffing snobs. On my birthday, AoM and I trekked it to LaBare. Because nothing helps dull the pain of turning…. *gasps*.… 40… like drinking heavily and watching almost nekkid men. (See aforementioned “300″ comment.) So, after settling in at a good table and kicking off the night with our traditional first shot of Buttery Nipples, we sat waiting to be shocked and awed. *blinks* Dulled and drunk sums it up. I mean, when the best you can drum up about the hottest guy up there is “Yeah, he’s okay, but he really needs to wash his hair,” you’ve reached a realm of snobbery unknown to those outside of, say, Donald Trump. We’re trying a new club soon. Something more in line with our refined tastes.

I’ve officially reaching the outer reaches of geeky gamer-land. The words “For the win” came out of my mouth in public at work. And, I have to forcibly refrain using the word “noob” in situations outside the realm of my computer.

I’m still working. That’s all I’ll say, as any words, good or ill in the past regarding my employment on here seems to doom my current work situation to the state of a dying comet.

And, last but not least, I’ve learned if someone killed Britney Spears in her sleep, I would not, in the least bit, be sad. At. All.

More bulletins as needed. Carry on.

*bimbles off*

P.S. I’ve missed all of you, too.