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Did you know that when you’re in a bad way and need to ugly cry, but can’t, and you feel that pressure in your throat that it’s science?

It’s science, people.

All this time, I’ve pictured all those ugly things I’m feeling and want to say but can’t, just kind of jamming up like the 405 at 5:00 on a Friday. I picture them sitting there, congested, and thought that was what it was. But last night, over cookie dough and a bottle of wine, my 12 year old girl child randomly told me that those are your throat muscles or your neck or whatever (I may have had more than my share of wine and not nearly enough cookie dough), just spazzing the eff out, because you’re putting so much stress on them.

Like I said, science. And not bottlenecking emotional hoopla. Who knew?

Well, I’m feeling that science all of the time lately. ALL. OF. THE. TIME.

And I don’t think I’m doing so great with it.

I have this tremendous commute, but it’s awesome. Especially on the drive home part, where you can go 65 on cruise control and there’s no one there but me, with no signals or stop signs and I feel myself decompress. And I can think. So today, I was driving home, and I was trying to figure out this feeling that I’m feeling. And I realized it’s desperation.

God, that feeling blows.

Because I have this job that is amazing, with amazing employees who hug me and thank me and gracias a Dios that I am there. But you know that movie? The Devil wears Prada movie? That’s basically where it’s at. And because I live in the middle of nowhere, where you can have a commute home literally by yourself, there aren’t exactly a million jobs to choose from.

And I’m going to date myself here by putting it out there that I remember applying for jobs through the newspaper. Remember that practically obsolete thing that we used to get on our front steps every morning? There was a section there devoted to employment, and my Dad taught me well. You got a special notebook, and cut out every job you applied to. You’d tape that little ad in your notebook, with the date and the method you’d applied. And you’d follow up. And guess what? You got to talk to a real live person, and they actually offered you an interview, and most of the time, a job offer! I was kind of amazing at this whole process.

But now it’s through the interweb. And if you don’t happen to use the magic words in your resume, you go right to the trash. And even if you’ve used those words and make that first cut, you will probably get that canned email with, “you’re great, but not quite great enough and there are just sooooo many more people in this world that are greater and we like them better”, email.

So that is where I am. Slick with desperation and pulled out hair and a perpetually furrowed brow and a recent review with “just doing enough to get by” stamped on it in at least four different areas. And I am KILLING myself for this place.

So that’s it. No quirky ending where I tie this up prettily and everything is right again. Just a little science, a lot of bottlenecking, and this post.

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