Letter to Crazy. . . .

Dear Crazy,

It is never pleasant to have a day full of good intentions that ends in a total disaster. And per the waterfall effect, it just keeps getting better. One missed item seems to keep falling faster and faster, collecting many additional items on the way down to crash against the rocks of expectation to shatter into a million little glittering shards.

That is a bit much metaphor for a Wednesday morning. Let's just go with the premise that screwing up sucks.

I hate to do it, you hate to do it, we all hate to do it. It is a human desire to strive to be perfect, or at the very least, not cause mayhem because you can't keep all of the balls in the air. I do not mean a catastrophic fail. I just mean a, oops I forgot to do Blah blah blah fail. More of a Shame Shame on you fail. I think it bothers me because I end up feeling stupid, or inept. I ain't the sharpest tool in the shed, but I am not a stupid woman, so the shove towards public humiliation isn't making me your fan even faster.

The constant audience of CRAZY just waiting to plunge the knife into your career at the slightest sign of slipping, OLD. I would shout, but I can't get any air due to the punctured lung from the knife you slipped between my ribs. Well played Crazy, well played.

I have several friends that would tell you I take too much responsibility for things beyond my control. And yes, that would probably be true. What I don't like is the fact that you wait for me to set myself up on the edge of the cliff and charge at me to ensure maximum damage with the largest audience we can find. The humor in this would be that if you really wants this gig, you can HAVE IT. Seriously. I have been a boss off and on over the last dozen or so years. I don't LIKE IT, in fact I believe the proper adjective here would be LOATH it.

I don't like having to make people be responsible adults. Look, the fact of the matter is, I have enough trouble keeping my own reflection working to a degree that I can stand. If someone wants to be over zealous about something, I don't care have to hold their reins. If they wanna be a slacker, I don't care to hold the whip. I DON'T CARE.

At this age, if you can't manage to dress yourself, find your way to work, wipe your own ass when you use the restroom, and feed yourself, I don't know that my dictating your every move or holding your hand is really the answer here. I think your problems are bigger than me, and frankly I don't like you enough to care. And if I did like you enough to care, I might tell you to go ahead and talk to the powers that be and you can have this job. Between the inane comments coming my way, the lack of logic, and the psychological black hole of need that you represent, I don't think I can fill that void for you. Sorry.

Good luck with the plans for global domination, or at least our little group of folks. More power to ya. Oh, and by the way. I am not the only one who thinks you are crazier than a shit house rat, so if you find cooperation falling off, perhaps turn down the crazy knob and see if that helps.



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