The Moody Writer.

I’ve not really been able to muster up the effort, guts, karma, good juju – that special little bug that sits on my fingers and helps me decide what words to type – I have been unable to write lately. I’m a moody writer. I guess most writers are “moody”. Things have just been off.

I’ve been playing the Hat Game lately. It’s a writing game where you get five random words from someone, or some place, and then you have to write a short story using those five words. It’s a creative writing exercise that I learned and have used for poetry, short stories, randomness, and it’s greatly beneficial. That’s how Junk Mail came about. I decided the first junk email I got that day would provide me with the words I needed. Except, my email was double pinged that A.M. with National Geographic and the “Sale Mail” – the email that sends me all the deets on the fashion world on sale. You’d think that I was an overspending fiend with credit cards maxed out to the T – but you’re wrong. I just like to look.

Junk Mail was the only thing worth posting. <–I originally wrote publishing, but that's silly.

I've been kind of sick lately. I've been stressed out, extremely, and apparently my body decided to create a cyst (don't worry, I found out I'm not dying, hence the stress relief) and its causing my migraines to flare and my body to hate me. And apparently, it's all because of stress. Stress. Stress. Stress. Did you know that stress can be so overwhelming that it can cause heart attack like symptoms? Who knew. WebMD did.

It all started last Monday.

Last Monday, while sitting in my office lunch room accompanied by my nurse friend, one of our doctors walked in during his normal ritual of coffee cup rising when he was approached by the drug representative who had brought us lunch, knowledge, and in general, annoyance. The drug rep of many qualities asked our doctor about our “plans for the office.” Jumping back to December 23rd, we had a doctor leave our practice, so the plans for the office is are you going to bring a new doc on? His answer was “we are waiting to hear if the hospital is going to merge us.”

Needless to say, and without getting into a lot of details, a merger = bad. Super bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. baaaaaaaad.

Then it hit me, if the merger happens, I am royally S-c-r-e-w-e-d with a capital S. Even if I were guaranteed a job, we’d be fighting with the other practice and their employees for our jobs. They’d have to re-evaluate us all. Despite being told I would be safe, the ugly truth is, I wouldn’t. I’ve only been doing this for five years. I’d be the low girl on the totem pole. I’m likely the youngest, and they could completely alter my ability to have my schedule set for college. Gross. Not to mention, I don’t want to deal with the backstabbing, throwing under the bus, female hormone raging women with the intentions of KILL! KILL! KILL!

So it’s come to my attention that I need to do something. I realized that, as I sit here and breathe, I’m 25 and I’ve yet to finish my college education. And it’s not because I’m a dummy, or because I wasn’t good enough to go to college, but because I was given the short end of the financial stick. I was dumped on the doorstep of figure it out for yourself and was left squandering without direction, and a little jaded. I’ve said this all before.

I’m scared. The sudden realization of me without the awesome job that allows me the freedom to do as I please, to have irrational days where new camping gear, or climbing gear, or boots, or dinner, or a random trinket, is smacking me around like a boxer in a ring tiring out its opponent. It’s wearing me out. I’m running myself into the ground.

Have I mentioned that the mint Chapstick is the best? Minty, tingle, freshness!

I’m freaking out. I’m stressing myself out.

What do I do? The merger isn’t happening… yet. The merger may not happen for a few years, or it could happen in two months. Nobody knows, and if they do, they aren’t saying because they don’t want us all to jump a sinking ship like the rats. I feel like I’m sitting on the front porch of a house in the middle of nowhere Kansas. I see a tornado, off in the distance, and it’s heading right for me. I can hope that the path of that tornado changes and it heads another direction, or I can run. Which way? Left or right? I don’t have a degree yet, so trying to get a job is nearly impossible. Do I give up the awesome job to jam out and finish school super fast? Do I just hold on tight, and hope for the best?

What is “the best”?

I feel lost, and without the right answer. I need an education, but I also need to eat. I need to finish school, but I also don’t have anywhere to live if I don’t have a job. Do I take out school loans? Do school loans help with living? Do I go back to waiting tables?

A friend of mine said to me the other day that “in this world, and in this economy, people don’t give two fu*** about you if you don’t have a four-year degree. Even when you do, they only give one fu** about you, but at least that one fu** gets you an interview. And in your case, an interview is all you’ll need.” It’s true. I got this job before the economy tanked, and off a whim, because the woman who gave me the job gave me a chance.

Now, everyone is out of work. Nobody has a job. People are under qualified as quickly as they are over qualified.

I just don’t know what to do. Or where to go. Do I take out a loan? Hope for the best? Do I stomach through all of this and hope that stomaching through it all is the right answer?

The right answer? The best answer. . . the answer.

My side hurts, and I’m already stressed out. I’m a moody writer, and nothing is making sense anymore. I feel like my life is about to take violent shove into “make damn decision already” and I feel like I’ve already made one big decision to last me for the next five years. I don’t want to have to make another.

Sigh.

Minty fresh Chapstick is the best.