But the thing about me is that I have a tendency to be a touch slow about processing things. So while the rest of the world camped out in front of Walmart or whatever, I started having profound thoughts about thankfulness (maybe because I was at work, and hadn't slept much, and things just feel profound when you're sleep deprived).
Wait! Work?!
Oh, yeah. That's right. When I last left you I was desperately, but not very actively, seeking employment. I had made a snarky resume and everything. So I guess I owe you an update. I haven't written in almost a year because we've been a little busy. In case you've been living under a rock these last few years (or just don't know us that well), I should let you know that the Bureaucrat has been extra busy pursuing the pinnacle of bureaucratic careers, and is now a card-carrying (literally...he has a literal card that looks just like a health insurance card...classy) member of the Bar. Bureaucrat, Esquire. Or, as the Dictator dubbed him, "Esquire Daddy." He now is a hardworking attorney and we're all very proud.
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| Back Row Left to Right: Esquire Daddy, Aspiring Trophy Wife Front Row Left to Right: Anarchy with a Blanket, the Dictator |
I, at the same time, have been actively pursuing the pinnacle of liberal ed major careers and am currently working my dream job as a (bad) barista.* It turns out that clumsiness isn't an asset when your job involves working with piping hot liquid at 5:30 in the morning. That's okay. I consider this a transition career. I am really an aspiring trophy wife, and I have the credit card debt to prove it.
Generally, we're all very happy with this arrangement. Despite three years of a family dynamic that would have made most marriage counselors' "What Not To Do If You're Not Interested In Divorce" lists, our family is still very much intact. Granted, most of my conversations with the Bureaucrat involved a bunch of Latin words I didn't understand (mens rea just sounds a whole awful lot like something discussed in a chapter of What's Happening to My Body?, for example). But I feigned interest while looking at the top of his head bent over a book every night of my life for three years straight. If that's not love, what is?
And now he's graduated, I'm working, he gets the kids off to school, I pick them up from the bus stop, we see each other at night, and all is well...that is, if you consider our children going to school looking like characters from Lord of the Flies "well." It turns out the Bureaucrat, while usually having an eye for detail, fails to notice if the Anarchist has dreadlocks or the Dictator has decided that a shirt, see-through tights, and tennis shoes are a complete, school-appropriate outfit. The price we pay for success!
The Dictator is still a good student, despite her continued lack of concern for handwriting technique. The Anarchist is a card-carrying (not literally) kindergartener. The Fat Assassin is still fat and ornery. I am still neurotic (albeit, less so). And we're all very busy. So that, of course, completely explains why I haven't written in over a year. (And also, I was trying to spare you, but I've decided I don't care anymore...tough. You're the smart one who clicked the link, and now you have to live with the consequences).
Okay. That almost completely explains why I haven't written in over a year. As it happens, it's a little more complicated than that. It turns out that there had been something that had kept me writing, compulsively, week after week (besides, of course, the very gratifying ego-boost of watching the little graph chart all the hits each post would get...mostly from my mom, I'm sure, but gratifying nonetheless). And I thought that the something was gone/over/completed. And so I didn't need to write anymore...like...ever. But it turns out I was a little bit wrong. Things are never all the way gone. The things that happen to you reach out in a million different directions, spin off out into years and years later, touch everything and everyone you come in contact with, whether you want them to or not. You don't just get to be "done" with things. That's not how it works. And for that, I am thankful. Which is what I was originally going to write about. Which is what I'm still going to write about. Later. Maybe tomorrow.
Right now, I'm going to be a good American and get back to my online shopping. I have my future trophy wife image to think about.
*At what other job could I find a copy of Orthodox Psychotherapy in the men's bathroom and spend 10 minutes a day reading it? (Okay, maybe the library; but librarians don't get tips...and I like tips). Also, I should mention that you'd better not ask where I work, because I had to sign a lengthy legal-sounding document promising not to reveal too much via social media, and I have no idea what "too much" is, but I felt like I was signing on to work for the CIA, and I think that means that if I told you, I would have to kill you, so let's just pretend it's Starbucks ('cause it's not), and move on with our lives.
