Yay For Me

So first of all, I just need to say that I already wrote this fucking post.  Yesterday I wrote the whole thing and saved it as a draft.  Earlier this evening I was simply taking a final look at it before pressing "publish post," but then I decided I wanted to alter one image, so I selected the image and hit "remove image."  However, instead of removing that image, the entire post deleted itself and then saved itself immediately in its new, completely blank form.  I guess I should have specified that "remove image" meant "remove this particular image that I have clearly selected" rather than "remove image, and by image I mean the entire fucking post."


FUCK.


Okay, time for the recreation process.  Have you ever written an entire paper, lost it somehow, and then had to go through the mental exercise of deciding that the next draft would be better?  Yeah, I never believed it, either.

Today is If Satan Were Anal Retentive's one year anniversary.  Fweet!  Let the party begin.


The last year has been eventful.  I returned to kickboxing after a yearlong hiatus.  I became a volunteer dog walker at a local shelter, making the transition from volunteering with humans, which I did for 10+ years, to volunteering with dogs.  This was a stellar move.  Plus, I became an auntie.  All of these things have been quite cool.


I have also come to a couple of critical realizations over the past year which may or may not have serious implications.


Realization #1:  I am currently that adult who, when entering a classroom after being away for a brief period of time, causes an immediate hush to fall over the room as students quickly and guiltily return to their assignments.  Yup, that's me.  It is so disturbing.  Students also ask me if they may be permitted to go use the bathroom.  I cannot even begin to explain how weird that is.  I have been granted the authority to dictate if and when young people relieve themselves.  That makes me feel like this:

Sit down!  Shut up!  Memorize your multiplication tables!

I am not a teacher, but apparently I impersonate one at my workplace.  I suppose that, through the eyes of students, any staff member at their school is a "teacher."  All school-dwelling adults guilty of the crimes of attempting to impart knowledge and maintain some semblance of order and productivity are smacked with the label "teacher."  However, I'm not a teacher.  I've never wanted to be a teacher.  Hmph.


Historically, whenever I've left a job, it has been with a list of prerequisites for my next job.  For example, when I retired from the domestic violence field, it was with the understanding that none of my future job titles could contain the words abuse, violence, or assault.  My latest requirement for future employment is that I will in no way, shape, or form be responsible for other people's toileting practices.  You wanna go pee?  Go pee.  I don't want to be involved.


Realization #2:  Despite the loveliness and many fine qualities of this city, I am not a Portlander.  I know one of the things that attracted me to Portland is that it has a dark edginess about it which I appreciate.  However, what I've realized over the past few years is that my darkness, which is anger-based, actually isn't a fit with Portland's darkness, which is melancholy-based.  And while I do realize that anger is something people use to cover up uncomfortable, gloomy feelings like overwhelming sadness, I think the reason people do so is because sadness is...well, a total bummer and really fucking depressing, while anger generally feels, if not particularly good, at least pretty powerful & cool.


In short, currently I feel like a Pantera Girl living in a Morrissey World.  For you visual learners out there:

This is me

...and

This is Portland

Well, there's my year-in-review analysis, folks, and I'm stickin' to it.  I look forward to bringing you all plenty of additional non-magnanimous ranting throughout the coming year, or at least until 12/21/2012, the world's scheduled date of implosion.