Okay, little Miss Sunshine is dead. I killed her today

In my last post, which I wrote a couple of days ago and just posted tonight, when I said I hate noise, all noise (internal and external), I was serious. And, I was all Go Tony Robbins! Basically, I was farting sunshine out of my ass and feeling good.

Today, Friday, after a long week at a job I am still not convinced is for me (I am lying again. I'm ready for the next job.), Miss Sunshine, she's gone right now. Dead.

So, here I am, and now I am talking about how I hate the literal kind of noise. You know how everyone has something that feels like nails on a chalk board to them? Me? My chalk-board nails stuff? It’s noise. I can’t do repetitive noise, like a dripping faucet. I can’t do someone unconsciously tapping nails on a desk, or a boyfriend unconsciously tapping on my leg. I can't do someone else's nervous energy, like the restless leg syndrome people have, where their foot/knee is bobbing up and down under the conference table at a work meeting. I can't do the new up-stair's neighbor's yipping dog barking at me. Yip, yip, yip. Bark, bark, bark. Every time I water my plants, leave the condo, rustle within ear shot of the dog while the dog is peeing outside, the yipping. Even when it is not me, the yipping.

Whatever nervous energy is trapped in me, other people's noise becomes worse, nails-on a chalkboard worse, and it messes with me, BIG TIME. Especially other people’s sounds. I literally feel like it’s my OCD, or my “I can’t friggen stop their noise and I need to get away from that noise as soon as possible” disorder.

What’s the real issue? I don’t want to listen to noisy-throat-guy any more, AT ALL. Frog man, or whatever the f’ I’ve been calling him, is driving me insane. His weird singing, his 10 minutes or longer nail clipping sessions (at least 4x a week), his slurping of soup (almost every day), his humming, his weird singing (I know, I said that, but the singing, F!), his phone calls, his phone ringing, his long conversations on the phone, his speaking in tongues or a different language (I don’t know what the hell he is doing), it’s going to make me lose it. I seriously can’t cope.

The other real issue? The job ain't fer me.

I must be a stress case. That’s it. There is no escaping it. I can Miss Sunshine this all I want, and try to spin this good, but I am obviously stressed, or insane, or both, and incessant noise, Frog man's sounds, they are the kinds of things that tip me over my edge. When these sounds, Frog man's idiosyncrasies, emerge and enter into my airspace, I literally feel like someone has come up and put a freaky, flying, buzzing beetle in my ear. I get noise Heebie-jeebies. I'm all: Get it out! Stop it! Get me away.

Help! No, really, HELP!

I've gotta make more shifts in my life so that a soup-slurping Frog man doesn't raise the hair on my back. I am in for more change while I am trying to realize my dreams. So, bring it on. That's the only sunshine you are going to hear out of me this post, the bring-it-on attitude part.

Sorry, Miss Sunshine. We'll resurrect you later. Miss F' This Shit, she is ready to rumble and ready for more changes.

Ava even said it, in so many words, sometimes you start to care about things that matter more to you and the things that don't work for you, you can't or don't want to do them anymore. I can only take this job as seriously as I need the health benefits. But, beyond that, credits and debits, they are not important to me. I want them to go away.

I've gotta stop stressing over all the other shit at work, though, all the deadlines they are imposing on me, all the white night shit they are expecting out of the new girl. They gotta chillax. (If only I wasn't on a year probation again.)

Bottom line, credits, debits, financial stuff, this job, a job with a Frog man and where I am training financial systems software...NOPE. My eyeballs rolled back in my head as I even wrote those words...words that have to do with numbers and financial stuff and egh!!!!

I am not going to be fulfilled until my life is more authentic.

A good work ethic comes when you are inspired. I am not inspired. I don't want work to be a four letter word anymore. I want it to be a seven letter word: P a s s i o n.