I told mah sistas today that I’m selling out. I’m tired of the ups and downs of Corporate America, the endless cycles of re-orgs, mergers, acquisitions and the associated beheadings. I’m tired of the lies, the platitudes and the BS. I’m gonna find me a sugar-daddy, a millionaire.
WANTED: Impossibly wealthy, motherless lost boy to transform me into the SAH-Princess I was born to be. In exchange for being the only adult in the room at all times and attending to every minute detail of your existence, you must agree to participate in the hunt for seashells, be willing to provide shoe budget and support my blogging habit. DVC* a plus. Contact DoNotSpamMe@gmail.com
Wouldn’t it be lovely if it really worked that way? 😉
Don’t mind me. I’m just grouchy because I had to work late and I’m being re-org’d again. Same old, same old.
But actually, this reminds me that I did scrawl a sort of a “want ad” to the Universe late one night several weeks ago. It’s here on the desk, somewhere. It’s on a piece of paper from a yellow legal pad. Ah ha, here it is:
What Do I Wish For?
I wish for my True Companion. With him, I feel safe and special and loved. There is a euphoria in his arms that is unmatched by all else. There is completion in our connection, a fitting-together of puzzle pieces that have long called out for and are now made whole by one another. There is laughter and healing in his company. There is fearless joy in my unabashed expression of love for him and there is gratitude for our union.
I don’t know that I’ve ever written anything before that was quite so… so sentimental and MUSHY, even. It was late. I was tired, yet sleep, that faithless, two-timing, backstabbing SOB, was not putting out for me. I guess there’s a vulnerability to late-night scribblings. But I’m pretty shocked that something like this came from MY pen. Hmmm, food for thought…
*Disney Vacation Club