Nothing brings a frustrated tear to my eye faster than being micro-managed. I can’t stand it. If there was a way to not have to deal with it I totally would. But life being what it is at this time I am forced to suffer under the cruel and microscopic management of my current employer. The more I am told what to do the more I become resistant. It’s the rebel in me. I cannot stand being told what to do, especially when I know what I’m supposed to be doing. It’s like telling the rain that it is not getting things wet enough.
It makes me wonder what I might have been involved with in my past lives. (If there are such things as past lives). There is a deeply rooted rebellious streak in me that I often struggle to keep under control. You say it’s blue, I say it’s azure. You say it’s nice out I say it might rain. You say things are pretty bad, I say they could be worse. There’s something of a contrarian in me. I do try to keep it under wraps though with a fun loving sunny disposition but underneath I’m a roiling, boiling crock pot (crack pot) of disgruntled rebels.
I didn’t make any investments in my future. I had simply assumed that life would happen whether I was prepared for it or not. I’ve been proven right so far but it certainly hasn’t paid off as well as I had foolishly imagined. I think I was still pretty optimistic in my 20’s. I was still vibrant and relevant and everything revolved around my demographic. It was the late 1990’s and everything seemed possible, so why bother to make any real investment. I was going to be an artist. Either a writer or an actor or a writing actor or an actor writer; it was all possible and any job I had was just that, a job. It wasn’t anything serious.
The dividends of that sort of thinking have not paid off and now I’m middle to late thirties and I’m being micro-managed by a nearly blind, bad typing Napoleon. So I rebel like a 20-something. I pout and I complain and put off dealing with this little Elba resident until I can calm down enough to complete the task as requested. It takes a lot of my soul away. It adds to this feeling of being defeated and harnessed to a cart full of boulders, destined for the troll mines.
I’m told there’s always time to change. Change is what people do when they have money; or at least enough security to change their station in life. I’m broke and not so secure. I wouldn’t survive a month of unemployment. My life would certainly change then. This blog would change to a Minute with Homeless Michael in no time. No longer would there be stories about seeing pretty women on the train. They’d all be about that awesome piece of bread I found in the park that was unfortunately taken away by pigeons and my archenemy, squirrels.
I feel a certain amount of regret I wasted so much time dealing with micromanagers instead of doing things that could make my life better. Of course, what would I write about if my life was perfectly happy? How boring would that be? I’m sure reading my complaints about my crappy job aren’t all that entertaining either, but at least I get to write things about Troll mines and epic battles with bread stealing squirrels.
I’m still going to try though, to get out of the doldrums of this micromanaged life however. As Popeye famously stated, “I can stands what I can stands but I can’t stands no more”.
Is it wrong that I occasionally rooted for Bluto as well as Dr. Smith on Lost in Space? See, Rebel.