She's come undone

Well, not completely. But I'm definitely not...right. I haven't been right for some time now and I feel like I'm slipping farther and farther into...something. I don't know what. Maybe it's depression. Maybe it's menopause. Maybe it's another mid-life crisis. I dunno. I thought I was done with that, but maybe not.

You have no idea how difficult it is for me to talk about this. See, when it comes to myself...my psyche...my inner self, I'm the Queen of Control. At least, I always have been. Up until this point.

I think I need to get a job. I need it for several reasons. I need to feel productive. Gawd knows, I haven't felt productive for a long time, either. And I guess I need a purpose. I always thought that the only true purpose to my life was to be happy, but I think I need a little more than that. I'm deliriously happy with my personal life, but something's still missing. Last but certainly not least, I need to feel like...less of a drain on Ziggy. Bless his heart. He's supported my dead ass for far too long without complaint.

I have a nursing degree, right? And nurses are in high demand, right? So what am I whining about when I know I could walk out the door and come back in an hour or so with a job that pays 25 bucks an hour?

Just do it and quit bitchin, right?

Well, there's this little Catch-22 thing. I'm not "right". I'm fuzzy...lethargic, almost. My concentration is shit. Seventy-five percent of the time, I'm so fatigued that I feel like I can barely drag myself to the grocery store. Yea, I'm in the process of having it checked out. But all these tests and studies...all the bullshit...takes time, ya know?

Frankly, it's just not safe for me to be a nurse right now. I mean, I sure as shit wouldn't want someone like me taking care of me or a loved one. In nursing, there are very few things you can get away with with an "Ooops!".

The other thing is...and I know this sounds...I dunno...selfish or something...but I just don't want to be a nurse anymore. I don't want to be that responsible for another human life. I don't want to be a pharmacist, a social worker, a mother, a confessor, a nutritionist, a respiratory therapist and an asswiper to ten sick patients, five of whom would just as soon spit on me as thank me. I don't want to put up with managers who haven't taken care of a real patient in 20 years, yet try to tell me how to do my job. I don't want to deal with the mountains of paperwork that nursing has become. And last but not least, I don't want to work weekends and holidays anymore. Been there, done that. Plenty.

And it makes me feel even more like a horse's ass to say it, but I don't want to take a job that I've grown to hate.
I know people work their whole lives at jobs they hate. My dad absolutely detested his job at Cat...but he never missed a day. Ziggy hates his job...but he never misses a day.

So what's a semi-intelligent, peri-menopausal, discombobulated Jill of all trades and mistress of none to do? When she does manage to get her shit all together, I mean?

I think it's safe to say exotic dancing is probably out.

Himalayan yak herder? Nah. Altitude sickness.

Nuclear physicist? Probably not. Hey...I thought the formula for "squared" was 4, remember? Well, hell..."squared" means 4 sides, doesn't it?

Female alligator wrestler? Awww...I'd hate to hafta compete with Steve Irwin.
Besides that, they have...like...big teeth and stuff.

Hey. Anybody know what you'd hafta do to become a private investigator? Seriously, I'd love that. Spying on cheating husbands or wives...catching moronic disability insurance scammers in the act. You know the ones? The ones who insist that they're sooooo disabled...they're blind, deaf and paralyzed, but are later caught hauling 80-pound bundles of shingles up a ladder onto a roof in 104 degree weather...while chatting on a cell phone and eating a Big Mac.

How great would that be? And I'd be like the perfect cover for a job like that. I mean...who'd suspect this fat, middle-aged grandma of being a private investigator? Besides that, I have an extremely devious mind...takes a deviate to catch a deviate, ya know?

Plus, I kinda like the sound of it...Pammy, P.I..

I think I'll have some business cards printed up.