I WROTE A LETTER…

I’m a futurist. It’s one of my worst qualities. Or maybe it’s my best. I haven’t decided yet. In any case, I have a black belt in it. I can spend hours imaging what will come next, borrowing trouble like it’s an Olympic sport and saying things like, “Of course it can be done – it just hasn’t been done yet.”

I’m also completely crazy. That’s my best quality. Well maybe not according to my husband, but I’m not crazy enough to ask him to weigh in.

I’m not the certifiable type of crazy but I’ve definitely been told I’m on the road to wacko.

For example, when I have to get on a plane, which I would rather eat pig brains than do, which is only crazy if you knew how much that grosses me out, I always survey the people on the plane to determine if they are worthy enough of living.

I look for adorable babies cradled by new moms. I look for unaccompanied 10-year old kids traveling to their grandparent’s house for the first time on their own. I size up every last person and wonder if the world would be okay without them.

I imagine what the newscasters would say and who they would pick out from the flight manifest to do a story on. I wonder if my story would be worth telling.

Are there enough cool people lining up like sardines to get on board?

Great. We might not crash.

Sub par passengers? Yes, this sucker is probably going to turn into a cruise right over the Pacific.

By the way, please don’t ask me how I decide whether or not someone is a sub par passenger. My method is too flawed to even converse with me about it.

When I land, I’m always a little bit shocked and momentarily happy until I realize that my odds of not crashing some day just decreased; so, the next time I get on a plane, I’m even more insufferable.

And, if I see you lining up for my flight and you have one hair out of place or you’ve matched your shoes with your belt and your necklace, then watch out because I’ll probably try any number of things to make sure you do not get on that plane!

I’ve also been told I’m a freak because when I watch home improvement shows and they start demolition or when there is a scene in a movie when utter destruction takes over the screen, my level of anxiety rises like a volcano. All I can think about is what a pain in the ass it’s going to be to clean that up. My husband is talking about gutting our house so I’m stockpiling happy pills to get me through it.

So when my career direction was recently up for discussion (I’m pretty sure I was the only one game for that discussion) my futuristic self met up with my crazy self and they had a field day.

The only way I knew how to make sense of it all?

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The 5 {CRAZY} Letters I Wrote When My Career Was Falling Apart
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