don't think twice, it's alright

First things first. Let's clear the air. I might kid around, but if there is anything I have learned from helplessly watching a car careening off a cliff (figuratively), it's that it is worth listening to the warnings of those around you. So, give me your honest opinion, and maybe, just maybe (I have commitment issues, and therefore will never promise) I will change some aspects of the aesthetics of this site. You know what P. Diddy says: Vote or Die, b*tches!

Your thoughts on fonts:
	for the sake of our eyes, please super-size.
	since your blog is rarely short and sweet, at least leave the font petite.
	of the many flaws we discern, your font is the least of your concerns.
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Okay, so now that we have that sillineses out of the way, let's get to the usual- whining du jour. Okay, not really. After my head nearly imploded last night when I picked up SP, after I scared the living daylights out of her by speeding down Rte. 280 like the Tazmanian Devil, I calmed down some and took stock. Certainly, I have worked much longer hours than I did yesterday. When I worked in the lab with all the cowboys, the hours I outlined yesterday would have been cause for scoffing. And I am not really an opponent of stress either, as I often work best when pressed for time. Anyway, most people have demanding jobs, that require them to work hard. The crux of the problem remains the actual work. If you enjoy what you do, being in meetings for 8 or 9 hours might seem fun, even energizing. But unfortunately, such is not the case for me right now, so I have my little meltdowns and get on with the business of living.

We headed down to RR's, and after a glass of pinot noir each, we started talking about things. SP bitterly blurted, "Who isn't unhappy, anyway?" Out came the admission that I am, by and large, happy with my life. RR & SP stared at me in disbelief. It is fair to say that my job is the one thorn in my side, but I refuse to believe it is a permanent predicament. If I believed that, I might truly be blue. But I do believe I can pull myself out of it. And so, why should I be unhappy really?

RR said, "That's kind of cool, since you hate your job. Either you're lying or you have a pretty grounded outlook on life." I am going to choose to believe the latter. In so many ways, how lucky so many of us are, to be able to ask the question at all of whether we like our jobs or not. My parents certainly never thought to ask that question. And certainly, it drives my parents a little batty that I am on this quest for job fulfillment.

Yet, at the same time, my mom has betrayed a begrudging respect for this unwavering dissatisfaction of mine recently. She has always been one more likely to resign herself to reality. She raised me to believe in that resignation, but somehow I bucked the imprint. If that is not enough to give me hope, I do not know what would be. Maybe what happened next-- this afternoon, in yet another marathon meeting, a colleague who knows of my predicament turned to me in his uncle-like manner. By the way, apparently Jewish doctors serve as really good stand-ins when you're missing the Indian uncle tendency. He leaned forward, seeing that I was out of steam, and said, "Hey, you know, I've heard plenty of Cinderella stories this year. I'm thinking good thoughts for you." From anyone else, it would have been condescending, maybe revolting. Coming from him, it was all warm fuzzies, and an added spring in my step.