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February 7, 2009


I always like to think that I was independent. "No thank you", I'd say in reply to passersby inquiring if I needed a hand picking up and moving a Volkswagen Beetle. (it was in my parking spot.)

I'd climb the shelves to reach the Cheerios in the grocery aisle.

I'm needier than I thought.

I have succumbed to that little ditty that's been circulating the Blogosphere ~ "Linda Needs"

Go to Google and put in your name and "needs" in the search button.

Linda needs to be a part of a loving, committed marriage.

I'll stick with a loving commited partnership TYVM.

Linda Needs Mental Help.

The one who denies it the most strongly is always the one in the most need of help. I'm fine. I'm fine, dammit. Fine fine fine.

Linda needs a new best friend.

Do not either. My BFF will do just fine. Even if she's a foot taller, blond, gorgeous and we're polar opposites. It doesn't matter to me that salesladies waiters and men swarm her when she walks through the door trampling me in their eagerness to get there first.

Linda needs help (more than usual).

don't we all.

Linda needs to be bright

stick a light bulb in my mouth and plug me in. Bright enough for you?

Linda you need a shrink

opinions expressed in this post are not neccesarily those of the author.

"I would give anything for $40,000 a month,and Linda needs more."

I'm willing to take less.

Linda needs to flatten her chest

Gravity is taking care of that.

Linda needs to think real hard and pray.

Did that. Thinking gave me a headache.

February 2, 2009

Thinking is Giving Me a Headache

Pass the Tylenol. Pass the Xanax if you have one to spare. I'll pay you back. Promise.

Once again I'm on the merry-go-round. Should I go back to work? Should I not?

I used to once upon a time work at a nursing home. I loved it there. Loved my co-workers or at least some of them loved most of the residents.

The problem is with loving who you work with or work for is that they do eventually go away. To Heaven. I really got a little tired of losing friends that way.

After one of my best 104-year-old nursing home friends decided that it was high time to clock out and go on a permanent vacation I thought maybe I should get a job elsewhere. Like in a hospital where the patients don't call their room "home." Where they would get better and walk out the door. The hospital was a good place to work, if only because patients DID get better and left the hospital in a more or less vertical position. Hospital politics? Meh. Let's just say five hospital presidents in the five years I worked there.

We started a business while I was working at the hospital. Initially the business was meant to be a little project but it kind of took off and turned into a real live j.o.b.

I was working two full-time jobs. Work/home became work/work at home/work/work/work.

The best thing about working at home? You don't have to get up and get dressed and get in the car.

The worst thing about working at home? You don't get to get dressed and get in the car and go to work and come home. Work is there right outside the bedroom door.

Then Hospital Politics reared its ugly head and all of the LPNs were let go.

"Fine" I said. "Business is good" I said. "I'll just work one freakin job and sit in my jammies all day not worry about juggling work/home/work/home/workhome.

fast forward a year....

Can you say r-e-c-e-s-s-i-o-n? Business is OK. Kinda. But I'm anal about the bills. Kinda.

The nursing home I worked at just opened up two new buildings.

I loved it there.

I should go and apply for a j.o.b.

What if they say NO?

What if they say yes?

Please come kick me off this fence I'm riding. My butt is getting sore.