No regerts

There’s a commercial for a candy bar, where a punk-rock girl tattoos “No Regerts” on a dopey biker dude’s arm.

It makes me cringe because there are two misspellings on my calendar that drive me crazy. Also, I’m an editor.

At least, I think I’m an editor. I really don’t know how to identify lately. Female, feminist, Republican (at least, I am voting for the Republican in this election — for Democrat Hillary Clinton), daughter, kitty momma, blogger, wine drinker, coffee connoisseur, sun worshiper and goddess.

Note there’s no writer or editor or expert or investing legend in there. I’ve gotten away from those sorts of things in an effort to manage my time better. Way to go, giving up what defines you so you can learn OPP (other people’s processes) instead.

Anyway. Regerts.


I wish I had never just walked out on the job that March morning six years ago.

There, I said it.

I was upset about a lot of things, yes. And I also had a job waiting. So there’s that.

But …

I wish I hadn’t wasted the moment. On people who I thought at the time either deserved it or wouldn’t care either way.

I’m not saying I wish I could do it now. But what I am saying is that I wish I hadn’t burned that bridge, and not for the reason I did it.

I did it in solidarity with another employee (a bunch, actually, but one in particular) who would go on to screw ME over big-time. Like the bitch didn’t learn how it felt to be utterly shafted by people you trusted.

I lost friendships when I picked my allegiance. I lost connections, too, some of whom have actually gone on to do better things — even the people I hoped to never run into again.

Anyway. When I maybe perhaps just briefly for a moment imagine saying exactly what’s on my mind at the exact moment I think it, I reflect. And feel more than just a little regret.

Did I owe them more? Maybe. Did I owe myself — my reputation, my integrity, my ability to hold my head high and not avert my gaze when I see these people on the street — more? Absolutely.

Because nobody would accept it if I said I were simply eating a Milky Way. I shoulda had a Snickers bar … or a damn V-8 … instead.

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