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.
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