Several months ago I decided that my life needed a mission statement. I was at a crossroads for a variety of reasons and decided that, in an effort to get on and to stay on point, I needed to adopt a philosophy. I toyed with “What I Know For Sure”; but decided against it, as a) I don’t really know anything for sure (other than I have to pay taxes and someday I will die) and b) it was already someone else’s philosophy. As much as I love Oprah I felt that this might be construed as cheating. For the same reason I abandoned several other such slogans, such as, “Carpe Diem”, “No Day But Today”, and, the perennial favorite “Shit Happens”.
I was going through a fair amount of crap at the time, so admittedly I needed a new game plan. What I was really after was something that would validate me in the good times and console me in the bad times. Ultimately I decided upon “Where I am is Where I am Supposed to Be”. I liked it and it fit my criteria.
And, almost magically, things began to improve. My life seemed to be heading, for the first time in years, in the right direction. Wow! I had a decent job, an improved marraige, a little money in the bank, and I was feeling pretty good about my appearance. All in all, things were looking up. “Hey”, I thought, “maybe I deserve this. Maybe I REALLY am where I am supposed to be”!
And then, just as magically, things went into the crapper. Mainly because I lost my job. So, okay. No big deal. I needed to hold fast to my motto! If this is where I was supposed to be then there must be a reason. If truth be told I was somewhat “underemployed”, so I decided to collect unemployment (for the first time in my life) and explore some other options. Sounded like a plan. A good plan. Until I discovered that my previous employer had reported my income under the wrong social security number, the tax guy had not discovered this (nor had I), and I could not find my social security card to rectify the situation.
So, now, here I sit. Blogging away while I await all the documents that I need to obtain said social security card replacement. And the worst part of it is that I will probably have to go out and get some stupid job slinging hash (once again) until I can get this mess straightened out.
Meanwhile, I just had to borrow twenty bucks from my 13-year-old to buy some smokes and I can’t even have a damn cocktail (which is a story for another day). So, I ask you, “Is this really where I’m supposed to be”?