wallowing
Yes, the ever perky Ms. Happy-Sunshine-Baskets-o'- Fresh-Baked- French-Bread is wallowing in her misery. Woe is me. Woe. Woe. Woe. Just the other day I was riding high. Laughing. Laughing, I say, at the world. Then came the drop. Like quicksand it sucked me in. Down, down, down I went. Now I wallow.
What caused this wallowness? A mixture of rejection and painkillers. I had a root canal on Monday, then came the drugs. Then the rejection from a what is clearly non-client. I had put hours in to the bid. I drove all over town to get things for them. I was pretty much told it was mine. (Like, you know, they said, we want to work with YOU. I have no idea how I got that wrong.) Then they "went with another firm." The business part of it I don't mind at all. It's just business. I don't take it personally. But it's the less than truthful way they went about it that bugs me. When I asked who else they were talking with, they said just me and a huge ad agency that they couldn't afford. (i.e., we are picking you) So out of no where comes another firm with "a competitive bid." Huh? Why not just tell me that. I'm a big girl. Sometimes.
It hit me when I was already down. I'm drained from dentists and taxes. We have no money now. We made our annual donation to the IRS. Perhaps they'll dedicate a toilet plunger in our name in honor of our gift. And quarterly taxes are due at the same time. And soon the bill will come for the dentist. And my windshield is cracked, again, for the third time in a year. And the dogs need a vet visit. And did I mention that we have no money right now?
Sure, sure, the business has money. But the business has to pay for things, too. Like printers, dues to networking groups, lunches with important people, and fax lines and office supplies, and AMEX bills for software that costs way too much money, but was completely necessary for business purposes Mr. IRS Agent.
Annnnnd, I'm so tired. When I was sitting in the dentist chair getting numbed up from the novocain, I fell asleep. I fell asleep in a dentist chair! To add poop to my potatoes, I haven't had a proper drink in a week. A week! You really shouldn't take Vicadin and Vodka together, or so the bottle tells me so. And I do try to follow instructions. I am OCD like that.
So now I wallow. And whine. Woe. Woe. Woe. Whine. Whine. Whine.
What caused this wallowness? A mixture of rejection and painkillers. I had a root canal on Monday, then came the drugs. Then the rejection from a what is clearly non-client. I had put hours in to the bid. I drove all over town to get things for them. I was pretty much told it was mine. (Like, you know, they said, we want to work with YOU. I have no idea how I got that wrong.) Then they "went with another firm." The business part of it I don't mind at all. It's just business. I don't take it personally. But it's the less than truthful way they went about it that bugs me. When I asked who else they were talking with, they said just me and a huge ad agency that they couldn't afford. (i.e., we are picking you) So out of no where comes another firm with "a competitive bid." Huh? Why not just tell me that. I'm a big girl. Sometimes.
It hit me when I was already down. I'm drained from dentists and taxes. We have no money now. We made our annual donation to the IRS. Perhaps they'll dedicate a toilet plunger in our name in honor of our gift. And quarterly taxes are due at the same time. And soon the bill will come for the dentist. And my windshield is cracked, again, for the third time in a year. And the dogs need a vet visit. And did I mention that we have no money right now?
Sure, sure, the business has money. But the business has to pay for things, too. Like printers, dues to networking groups, lunches with important people, and fax lines and office supplies, and AMEX bills for software that costs way too much money, but was completely necessary for business purposes Mr. IRS Agent.
Annnnnd, I'm so tired. When I was sitting in the dentist chair getting numbed up from the novocain, I fell asleep. I fell asleep in a dentist chair! To add poop to my potatoes, I haven't had a proper drink in a week. A week! You really shouldn't take Vicadin and Vodka together, or so the bottle tells me so. And I do try to follow instructions. I am OCD like that.
So now I wallow. And whine. Woe. Woe. Woe. Whine. Whine. Whine.
posted by daphne @ 8:13 AM
<< Home