A Professional Problem
I am a baby.
A big fat fucking baby. I complain, I whine, I am generally a bitch to be around.
Of course, this is only at work. Outside of work, I am amiable, and likeable and, by most accounts, a good -- if excessively loud -- guy.
But work makes me crazy sometimes, and it is in those times that my temper flares to childish heights. I am well aware of it, and I can always feel a tantrum coming on, and I always feel bad when it's done. But normally, I feel like it was somewhat warranted.
I am an even-keeled guy, for the most part. Sure, maybe a bit too emotional at times, maybe a bit too stoic at times. I try too hard to make people laugh, and sometimes, especially in writing, I tug at the heart strings a little too much. But in all the most important categories (not wanting to kill people, not being a pedophile, having a decent sized vocabulary and general knowledge of the U.S. electoral system and a past history of U.S. presidents), I am at least around, if not above, the average.
Faults? I got 'em. But everyone does. Dreams? Well, they are being trampled by the newspaper business, and I certainly feel that my current employment situation isn't helping that cause much.
I apologize for this opening rant. Tonight, my thoughts are on my job. To explain any further would be unfair to my employers and my coworkers. I don't like to bitch in public too much. But just be aware that there are people I work with who think I am a stark-raving lunatic, and I can fully understand why.
It's a curse and a blessing at the same time. I am passionate about my work, and I am passionate about the product I help build every day. I am proud of that passion. Trouble is, I don't always express that passion in the best possible way. I think I know more than I do, and I am wrong a lot more than I think I am. But I also think that's what makes me decent at my job. Look, I think I am an effective writer (but of course, you have to judge that for yourself), and I think a big part of that is passion. I see people in my business who have no passion, and it shows.
I never want to be someone who doesn't care. I never want to be the guy sitting quietly at his desk. But the further and further I get into the real world, the more I realize how quixotic it is to strive to be the passionate guy.
We're sinking to the middle, people. Well, at least I am. Of course, I make more money now than I ever have (though that's not saying much), and I am as happy as I have been in my post-college life. But I have this passion that can't be quenched, and on some days, like tonight, it turns me into a miserable bastard.
I'm not a know-it-all. I don't think I can do my job better than anyone else. I just care. I just want to make sure we're using the correct tense, or the right photo. Of course, I can easily be accused of laziness, too. Damn, I am a fucking paradox.
So how do we spin this into losing weight? How does my current frustration with my job translate into this whole endeavor with my body?
That's a tough one, and I really have no clue where I'll go from here with this entry. Let me take a minute to clear my mind, and then I will just write whatever pops up. I am sure it will relate somehow. Ok, ready?....
Deep breathing....
Deep breathing....
Deep breathing....
I came to this country in 1914 on the boat from Italy, the home land. My father struggled to find work early on, but eventually he found a job in the factories of Philadelphia and managed to support me, my two sisters and my mother on only $14 per.....
...Wait, that's someone else's life. Sorry about that. Let me refocus.
Deep breathing....
Deep breathing....
Ok, here's the thing. Life is good. Honestly, it is probably as good as it has been since I got to California. So how can I really complain? I can't. And any complaining I do is just a lazy outlet for whatever problems I have to handle.
So what if I had a bad day at work? So what if my job is changing before my eyes? My whole life (Hell, everybody's whole life) has been a series of obstacles. I was teased for being fat my entire life. I got over it eventually. I made the best of it by adopting the identity of the big fat kid.
Eventually, I got sick of being fat, and that led me here today. So this will eventually work its way out. I've dreamt of being an attractive man. And goddammit, I am not far off from being a pretty attractive man (Oddly, the only part of my psyche that wasn't wrecked by being the "fat kid" was my ego). I have more than one dream in my life. And while I am striving for one, I certainly should not ignore the other.
I've learned from this weight-loss experience, though it may be still in its general infancy. There really is only one course of action in problem solving, and that is to meet the problem head on and do something about it.
I've spent too much of my life complaining. I always complained about being fat, about getting turned down by the hot chick because she couldn't see through the lipid layers around my face and body, and into my soul to see what a beautiful person I really am. But you know what? As much as I complained, the hot chick never came around (actually, I should recant that. I did have a pretty hot girlfriend back in college, but I met her when I was a relatively slim 265. But for the record, she loved me for me).
I spent night after night in college bars, waiting for some ideal girl to come up to me and offer to touch my private parts because I was a swell guy. But those girls? They just laughed at my jokes, told me how sweet I was and touched the private parts of my better-looking roommate, Bryce Thornton.
I never really did anything about it, outside of the occasional failed weight-loss plan, until I got to be nearly morbidly obese. So I slimmed down, and yes, started to attract some women into my life. And that was definitely nice. But it still wasn't enough for me. As I've said, my goal wasn't to be less fat, it was to be not fat at all.
So that's why I am here. Right now, I am less fat. At the end, hopefully, my fatness will be a thing of the past.
Can we relate that to my current job situation? Sure. The moral of this story is simple: Things won't get better unless you force them to get better. One of my favorite lyrics of all time is from a Blues Traveler song called "Stand." It goes like this:
"If you accept what you have lost and you stand tall/you might just get it back and you can get it all."
Yeah, it's a little bit corny, but I heard it when I was 16, and I happened to be in the market for corny lyrics back then. But it is clear and concise and more than a little bit true. It's the accepting what you have lost part that always gets me. It's the first step to any rebuilding. I had to accept the fact that chicks just didn't dig fat guys. And I have to accept the fact now that my job must be done with due diligence, without my constant, passionate outrages. And that, if I want to achieve the goals I have long held for myself, I just have to excel mightily at the things I don't want to do now as well as the things I love doing.
That way, I'll get past all this, and force the change to happen.
So, did that make sense?
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