Humans are odd creatures.
I mean, this isn’t a noteworthy or earth-shattering realization. But I’m always intrigued by the degree to which some people exercise their weirdness.
Like the bizarrely huggy gal I met at a social event I organized last week. Who, quite seriously, hugged every single person she encountered, and then debated with me about the potato-ness of a particular bag of chips.
HG: “THESE ARE NOT POTATO CHIPS!”
Me: “Yes, yes they are.”
HG: “NO THEY ARE NOT.”
Me *in Yodaese*: “Chips, they are.”
Or a researcher who’s determined to follow through with a batshitcrazy study, despite push back from so many professionals, one of whom is a dear, dear friend.
DF: “And then, he’s going to ——– and have them use ——– to measure their ——– response to ——–.”
DF: “I know. It’s nasty.”
Me: “Are they at least going to clean it first?”
I can’t really talk.
I mean, I’m weird by nature.
I have plenty of neuroses, of which all too many people are aware by sad happenstance.
Like being in the room when I spy an unopened jar of Nutella.
Or standing beside me when I botch French toast with the last of the eggs.
Or having a conversation with me when I see a differently abled dog puttering along on wheels or hopping on three legs. (And if there’s a bandana or a sweater. Watch. OUT.)
But it seems that unemployment has had an odd effect on my own neurotic weirdness factor. I mean, I figured that I’d be cleaning the floors every other day, or screaming down from the window at random passersby about no more goddamned wire hangars.
But I’m actually a bit more subdued than usual.
Sure, that doesn’t mean much when I’m still OCD-ADD fabulous every single day.
The floors are clean, things are in order. And I don’t accost passersby.
Still, it’s sort of interesting that I’m not freaking out to the excessive degree to which I supposed I would. I guess it’s because Andy and I have a few plans in the works, and we’re in limbo right now–waiting to see which one works out, or if one isn’t in the cards this time around.
I guess I’m strangely optimistic that, even if things don’t pan out according to our plans, we’ll still be fine. We’ll soldier on and still be fabulous.
Because if unemployment and the road to it have taught me anything, it’s that a little optimism can be spread far and wide.
Like new asphalt on a pothole-marked highway.