Throwing Poo

When last we left our daring crusader, his archenemy, the fetid bitchtard Supervisor, had trapped him inside her evil work-piling-on machine and then, as usual, went home early for the day.  CB Commando was rapidly losing strength and had collapsed on the floor beneath a crushing mound of manila folders.

WILL THE EVIL BITCHTARD DRAIN OUR HERO OF HIS WILL TO LIVE???

IS THERE ANY HOPE FOR ESCAPE BY 5:30PM???

COULD THIS THE END OF CRUNCHY BLUE COMMANDO'S PLANS FOR THIS EVENING???

*ahem*

Anyway, after a lengthy bout of procrastination, it’s time to delve back in to the process of figuring out my career path.  For several months, the conspicuous absence of stupidity at work had lulled me into a false sense of contentment.  Well, the last two weeks have more than made up for it.  In any case, if I presume to have more sense than a frog, then I should get busy hopping out of this pan before the water starts boiling…again.

The first thing I need to do is to build a framework for making a decision.  An effective approach might be to layout my long-term goals alongside my short-term needs.  Then, taking a birds-eye view, try to find a healthy compromise.  Hopefully, for your sake, hilarity will ensue.  Before I do that, though, I want to remind myself of the pitfalls or distractions that always seem to side track this process and/or affect my decisions-making.

In the end, the one with the most toys wins!
This is only true if one of those toys is human cell Re-Animator  or a Cherry 2000.  Otherwise, in the end, everyone just dies.  The more shit you have, the more time you have to spend polishing your shit.  And time is the only real asset anyone has.  Besides, wealth and accumulations can always be lost, get stolen, or be spontaneously combusted when placed in the microwave to dry. 

Wax on, wax off, Daniel-son.

Keeping up with the Joneses.
While similar to the previous pitfall, all I need to remember here is that Mrs. Jones keeps trying to bang the paperboy, and Mr. Jones listens to Huey Lewis and the News.  In other words, the Joneses are total shitbags.  And a bag of shit tied off with a big, fancy ribbon is still a bag of shit. 

Social climbing and blind ambition are bright, shiny ideas that attract people with the insight of a moth, and to the same end. 

There is always tomorrow.
Time is the only thing of real value I have.  It’s constantly diminishing, and there is no way to replenish it.  Every hour I spend doing something I hate is an hour I could’ve spent enjoying my life.  More free time is more gooder, so move your ass, old man!

Isn’t my life good enough as it is?
According to Abe Maslow, I’ve got it pretty good.  All my Physiological, Safety and Love/Belonging needs are being met (though, in my opinion, you can never have too many Chinese throwing stars or blow jobs).  Still, it is not like I’ll get second shot at this.  Life is like the Superbowl of, well, life.  Except the commercials suck.

That settles it!  I’m going to make a change. But first, the garage could sure use a fresh coat of paint.
I’ve got to figure out a way to avoid getting sidetracked and bogged down in tasks that provide immediate gratification and little else.   It’s not like spend my days touching doorknobs or counting toothpicks, but I definitely have some strong obsessive tendencies with a little anal retentiveness sprinkled in.  I don’t think I need therapy, but I could certainly benefit from someone coaxing the paintbrush out of my hand and talking me down off the extension ladder.

I’m going to have to figure this one out.

Opportunity is a whore.
Most of my career has been spent chasing good opportunities.  And while those opportunities may have afforded me a pretty nice life, in and of themselves, they haven’t gotten me any closer to what I want to do/be.  Or knowing what I could do/be.  Or having the faintest fucking idea what I want to do/be.  Do/be, do/be, do.  

My point is that, like Jehovah’s Witnesses, opportunities don’t care whose door they knock upon.  And sometimes undercover DEA agents can look a hell of a lot like Jehovah’s Witnesses.  So unless the opportunity is one I clearly recognize and am expecting, I need to just pull the shades, flush my stash and hide quietly in the closet until it goes away.

That’s it for the pitfalls I need to avoid.  Oh, and I should also avoid Blockbuster, internet porn, YouTube, my bellybutton (don't ask), poker sites, and Bob, my stupid neighbor who likes to tell me stories with no end when I’m trying to move the fucking groceries into the house.  If I can navigate all these obstacles, then hopefully I can focus my full attention on…hey, what time is the Democratic debate on tonight?