No, really, this isn't me.

What ever made me think I could continue to work in a corporate environment? How the hell have I survived this long, for the last 17 years, without throwing myself under a bus?

Man, I wanted to be so sweet in my last blog, and I wanted to be such a good girl in this one, but I can’t. Because when I say this to the VP, “One of the ways that I remain effective and available to the people I support is to make sure that they know that I am not management. That said, it’s imperative that I not communicate decisions and information which management should directly communicate to their staff, such as providing the details of why some employees have been fired and why many others have left the company,” and the VP translates that into telling someone else, “She’s right. She needs to remain close to the support so she can spy on them and tell us what they do wrong,” I can’t help but to blog about it.

My gangster wants to play. I want to tell the VP, “Listen, bitch, you’re making me want to bounce even more. But you’re doing me a favor, yo! Reminding me, I wasn’t made for this fool’s game. But check it. My fists are up. I ain’t gonna show you my back and tuck my mug in the corner like I’ve done before with other power trippers. You’re play’n me? You can’t play a player.”

I’d also like to know how I could think (even for a second) that I could get comfortable enough to forget that it’s not my destiny to work for someone else. It’s wickedly obvious that the universe is done tapping me on the shoulder. The last two years have been the smack in the face I needed. I’m not supposed to be comfortable.

I’m supposed to be afraid, every day, that if I don’t take action, if I don’t keep moving forward and doing whatever it takes to work it out with my art, with my writing, with making money from my creativity, I’m going to die. Either corporate life will be the death of me or I will kill myself. I will find my own fucking bus and figure out a way to drive over myself whilst I’m throwing myself at my bus.

I have a new prayer. Please God, Universe, Gus, Frank, Sally, Wendy, whoever, help me find the energy to make my dreams come true. Please guide me to be an inspiration, to be the story that worked, rather than the person who complained too much and did too little. NO, REALLY, please help me fight the propensity to be a part of my own problem. I want to be my solution.

Please let me be fabulous and not the stinky (complaining) kid no one wants to sit next to.