2002-07-16 - 12:15 p.m.
Do I have issues, or what.

Been pondering a career move again. I really wish the economy was up, there's nothing in the paper that pays same/more that I qualify for, just now.

I wonder how I'd do in the newspaper industry. Writing ... mmm, fun. I don't think, however, that the reporter's life is for me. (Least, not unmedicated, and shh, I didn't say that). I get up to enough trouble as it is, I can't imagine me unleashed to roam the streets with this unpredictably dyselxic brain of mine.

Eeep, I meant to type dyslexic. I was going to avoid the old "lysdexic" joke, and look what came out anyway? "dyselxic." Riiight. 90% of the time I never notice, the backspace key on a keyboard is really handy that way, and given that I type 60wpm, my fingers know where to find it before the mixed-up spellings really register.

Days like yesterday, though, really drive it home.

I was meant to be doing an inventory at one of our offsites, so I took note of the address, glanced at my map, and took off. I have to take Portland Road to the connecting road where the site is; no problem. I know where Portland Road is, right? I've only driven it, what, several dozen times, and it's a major feature of this city.

No, wrong! I couldn't find the damned thing; something had gone haywire in my mental map. (Today I know where it is, but yesterday I got lost on Broadway and Salem Parkway). So I thought, OK, OK, I'll do the OTHER offsite first, on the OTHER end of town, because I remember how to find the connecting road from that end.

So. I make it to the other offsite just fine. I inventory it, then take off again. I find the connecting road, cruise down it, and check for the address. My jottings say: 2845. La-ti-da, no big. I know which side of the road to look on, and I know vaguely what the building looks like.

Except, of course, that it's not there. I finally park in the 2900 block, walk all the way down to the 2600 block in my dress shoes in the blazing heat in a long dress with denim jacket, and then sweat my way back to the 2900's, where I fish in my purse for my cell phone and thank God I remembered to charge the thing earlier in the week. Then I call the office and ask the receptionist to tell me where I went wrong.

Ha, ha, ha. The address is 2485. Of course. Of course! And that smacking sound is my palm bouncing off my forehead. I get back in my non-airconditioned car, crank the windows down, and cruise down the five blocks to where I was meant to be. Then I do my thing and go back to the office.

At the office, I'm met by a disgruntled supervisor who wants to know why the hell I wasn't back 30 minutes ago. I tell her most of the truth: I got lost because I got the address wrong. So why didn't I call her, she wants to know. Um, well, I called the receptionist, I said. But you should have called me to let me know, she said. I need to know where you are, she said.

I just blinked at her. I was so busy getting unlost and cursing myself for being stupid again, that it never occurred to me that someone might be wondering where I am. Because it feels NORMAL to me to waste time backtracking over myself due to blindingly stupid mistakes.

You know, I hope I'm never in a position to be watched by detectives or spies or what have you. I read about this guy once, during a war, this scientist who knew lots of important secrets. He got rated as a major security risk because when they watched him, he was constantly backtracking himself over things he'd forgotten or overlooked. That would so be me.

Anyway. No reporter-ing for me, the very idea is frightening; it wouldn't take long for me to really foul something up. But being an editor might be fun. Wait, no, strike that. I'd probably completely overlook something heinously awful and lose my job for it. So, time to retreat back to my best idea for freeing myself from the cubicle life: being an author. Set own pace, write own ideas, submit to someone else for checkover. That's the ticket.

... I went to post this, but I got summoned by a Person With Problem before I could. So I wandered off to the office of the CEO's assistant, where her temp help had noticed a dysfunctional mouse, and replaced the mouse. While there, the aforementioned assistant came in and said, Oh, [Shell], when you're done with that are you coming to the (important) meeting?

My response was, Oh, of course, forgot there was one. My thought was, Shit, I missed a step in my morning routine! If I don't load up Outlook first thing I get here, I don't get the little "Ding! In 15 minutes you have [X Meeting]" messages, and of course I seldom remember on my own. *kicking self*

Anyway. Blessings. Hope your summer's going better than mine.