Old lady grumbling about work

Happy October! May the leaves change colors in glorious autumn fashion and may you enjoy a tasty pumpkin spiced latte or donut this morning. I am here at my desk with a Maxwell House coffee brewed out of the cheapest coffee maker on the Walmart shelf. I like it. One button and will brew the cheapest coffee on the shelf. Good. I'm broke and I'm cheap just like my coffee maker.

Now let me get to the great venting session as cranky old ladies love doing. I'm basking in my mediocrity as I wipe away the tears for my beloved cat who ran away. I'm celebrating October and decorating for my favorite holiday Halloween, even if the cheapo Dollar Tree decorations make me the laugh of the neighborhood. I'm sitting at my computer desk looking at the stains, smudges, and cigarette ashes that need to be wiped off with some Windex or Pledge or some cheapo bleach concoction that I pour together. And finally, I'm thinking about the focus of this venting article which is supposed to be about my frustration regarding self-employment, job hunting, and financial stress. Obsessive-Compulsive-Disorder? Well, if the younger generations can blame their lack of ethics and their greed on A.D.D. (Attention-Defecit-Disorder) then I am feeling very proud of my mediocre doings or beings as an OCD flag carrier with an official membership card.

Yes, this old lady is frustrated. And don't blame it on my petunia garden or the price of Bilbos. This is not some stale tuna in a can rant. This is about how I've been a dedicated and unrecognized accountant since I learned how to add 2 plus 2 equals 4 in Kindergarten --- for those of you allergic to math that's approximately 49 years of accounting. Were you under the impression that all accountants were driving new cars and living the glamorous dream life? I hate to burst your bubble, but I am living and aging proof that illusion is a bad advertisement. My monthly budget on my social security would give you a case of permanent GAD (General Anxiety Disorder) and the coinish crumbs left after bills are paid would give you a case of PS (Paranoid Schizophrenia). So by listening to an old lady rant and vent, you might be saving your health insurance company or your savings account from the bill of visiting the CSU (Crisis Stabilization Unit). You're welcome. I thank you for the peanuts accumulating in my Squirrel account as you read this article. Genuinely.

Have you heard of the "Ticket-to-Work" program? It's a great program designed to help you get off of Social Security and into a job that pays better so you can improve your quality of life. Big sigh. (I'm thinking maybe a shot of Vodka might improve my life instead of this cup of coffee.) So the powers-that-be send me emails about Job Fairs and online sources to research a new and improved "job". There are so many opportunities that I feel like I'm having a nervous breakdown worse than the one depicted of Vladimer Ivanoff in the film "Moscow on the Hudson". Do I want to be a receptionist? Earn like a burger flipper, but sit on my butt with less stress? Um, maybe, but I have no car to get there and trying to figure out how many busses it's going to take is probably not a great idea. Do I want to take a high powered job working for some government agency or lawyer's office? Doesn't sound bad especially the part where they recognize my intelligence and credentials, but what if I make a mistake? That would be one high mountain to fall off of and at my age I don't think I know how to open the parachute anymore. I'll blame that on Alzhiemer's Disease. So while I'm sorting through a bunch of websites and emails showcasing all of the opportunities available (which of course entitles other people to say that I'm lazy and not a victim of circumstance - yes that was sarcasm) I'm also thinking about writing another article for Vocal, running 4 contests at Allpoetry and entered into about 20 contests with a new original poem, and doing crafts like making cards and decorations, while planting fresh vegetable seeds in the backyard garden, washing dishes, laundry, and the toilet seat, and selling some of the crafts on the Listia website. Phew! And you thought Wonder Woman or CatWoman were under 50? Hahaha. LOL. Lonely Old Ladies Rock! With or without your paycheck.

So if you want to criticize my cheap outfit, or my bad hairdo, or my yellow stained teeth, or my cheap coffee pot, or the dust and grime in the areas that my schedule and arthritis didn't get to, you can point those critiquing fingers back at yourself with the age measurement stick. Are you over 50?