A lick and a promise

There’s a reason why I haven’t made it as a writer, and this blog is Exhibit A.

Of course, this is sort of my litterbox where thoughts go to die, rather than the pinnacle of broadcast journalism. I wonder whether it would be better if I could actually say what’s on my mind instead of dancing around like Yosemite Sam shooting at his own feet.

I think my field has finally lost its magic for me. I said yesterday that I lost my passion. I don’t think that’s true. I think I’ve just grown up enough to realize that if I’m not going to get rich off of busting my ass to make other people’s dreams come true, then I want my vacation time and I want to not be stressed to the goddamned hilt every day of my life.

I always say that I “combat edit.” When something comes in that needs a lot of work (multiple times a day), it’s a triage situation. I immediately stiffen up and get to work.

When I launch a broadcast (after editing, laying it out, picking a headline and proofing and doing a thousand other things that can be picked apart by passers-by who don’t spend their entire mental capacity on one article), I have to walk away from my desk and literally go crack my back and rub my own shoulders and basically dump my brain of everything I’ve just had to stuff into it for the past however long I had to spend on said project.

Not to mention the 10 other things people requested of me in the meantime. And then the writers ask me where their broadcast is, not realizing how many technical snags I hit, off-topic requests I received, and basically the extra time I tried to spend making their stuff the best it could possibly be.

Oh I am getting tense just typing about it.

I don’t put a company name on it. It’s just everywhere. I just don’t see people ever understanding how much physical and mental effort it takes to do what I do for a living, and nobody appreciates it at all. Even the other day someone said to me, “Why does it take you so long to edit?”

And I bit my tongue before asking, “And why do men seem to think it should only take a lick and a promise to get a woman off?”

And lo, speaking of promises, I’m hearing some. Of course, I’ve spent enough years working alongside marketers (and to some extent I’ve become one) that I’ve become the Show-Me State. (No, not that my ass is as wide as Missouri — I just will believe it when I see it.)

It got me to thinking why I’ve never had a relationship that lasts more than lick-and-promise land. Because I have zero desire to be disappointed. If I can see disappointment from 30 miles away, I evaluate whether it’s worth it to hang in there and see how it turns out (and resolve to be OK no matter what happens) or just let it go and be happy on my own.

I tend to trend toward the latter. But when there’s money involved, well, I just make sure not to feel too hurt when I feel the “I told you so” bubbling up in the back of my throat … although I mostly only end up saying it to myself.

God, I know You have a plan for me to finally win someday. I just wish You could help me burn calories from all the stress and sadness and frustration I have to endure in the meantime.

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