Well anyway, moving on…Creative Me is currently pummeling Professional Me with looming mid-life crisis updates. Creative Me is largely irresponsible, love-hates everything, and pretty much considers Professional Me as a sell out. Professional Me is smug, thinks Creative needs a reality check, and has generally accepted membership in the sell out club: Chez Adulthood.
The dichoto-Me’s are in need of reconciliation.
I blame all of this on the Adderall shortage. That’s right Pfizer, this is all your fault. Make some more pills dammit! MORE PILLS!
See! I can’t even get the tangents under control. I am in need of tangent management.
So the Me’s got together and decided on a role model. Someone with an admirable blend of creative and professional. I like many but let’s face it – I’m a little sparse with the admiration, so for me to decide someone is a superior creatiprofessionalitive, well, it’s high honors. Now mentor me dammit.
Only, this person didn’t exactly apply for the job. But I’m so used to people becoming instabuddies with me; it never occurred to me that my new Mr. Miyagi might not want a grasshopper.
But here’s where I really eff’d up (which finally gets back to my opening statements) – I ended up trying AND caring what self-imposed mentor thought. So much so that I backed down from several witty and/or assertive things I would’ve put anyone else on blast about. Yeah, I know – gross.
Or maybe it’s not all that gross and just part of being a grown up. Or “adult” is what you use in place of “sell out” once you’ve hit 30. I’m leaning toward the latter. Being a grown up makes you lazy and non-confrontational. I don’t want to argue. I just want to watch the news and see what the weather will be like tomorrow.
Now that, my friends, is gross.
Anyway, I’m withdrawing my admiration from this person. I’m fairly sure they don’t want it and I’m a wee tired of giving it. I’m entirely too opportunistic to play patience. Politics, tact, and bullshit are for sad grown ups that put a positive spin on selling out by spelling it a-d-u-l-t.
I’m sorry Mr. Miyagi. It’s not you; it’s me. That is…it is you; not being like me. Visa-versa la fin.