so what’s the big secret?

I quit my job last week. I’ve never done that before. In a strange coincidence, Roomie also did the same thing a few days later. It’s a complete relief that I can stop spending all my free time on this job hunting process, which is nobody’s favorite pastime, but actually quitting a job for the first time is surprisingly complicated and awkward.

Every time I would ask someone about resigning from a job, they would answer with something like, “Don’t worry about it, people do this all the time. As long as you give them enough notice, they can’t have anything to complain about when you tell them.”

People, that is the answer to a question I did not ask. When I ask how to quit my job, I mean literally, How do I start that conversation? Should I do it in the morning or at the end of the day? What do I write in the resignation letter? Should I answer if they ask what company I’ll be working for? Do I have to tell both bosses or just one? Why am I having a heart attack about all of this?

The only person who really seemed to understand my conundrum was Roomie. But she was, unfortunately, no help at all because she was asking all the same ridiculously nit-pickey questions that I was. I kept texting her for moral support anyhow: “Man, they need to write an instruction manual on How to Quit Your Job. I would totally buy that.”

Except now that I’ve done it once, I’m an expert and I guess I don’t need the instruction manual anymore. But I would have given anything for it a week ago.

don’t forget to scrub your knees and restock the shampoo every once in a while

Hey there WordPress. I haven’t seen much of you lately. My bad. I’m back now, and I’ve had a good reason for not having time to write. And I promise I will explain what I’ve been up to next time. But in this post, I have something much more important to discuss: Why I hate taking showers.

It happens every day: I walk in the door covered in gym-floor dirt and dripping with sweat, I flop down on the couch next to roomie, and start whining about the horrible chore standing between me and the rest of my night.  “Auughh, I don’t feel like showering.”

“Yeah, you say that a lot. I can’t really help you with that.”

Why? Why do I have such a trouble with this normal thing that other people apparently even ENJOY doing? Little freaks. But really, when I apply my brain, I can come up with several, only slightly questionable, reasons why showers are just about the worst thing ever.

1. You have to get wet. I know you’re wondering where I’m going with this, but hear me out. See, getting wet means you can’t just sort of halfway shower and then take a break to do other things. I may not feel like doing the dishes, but I can talk myself into doing them by telling myself that I’ll just wash a couple and then do something else. There are no breaks allowed in a shower. Such. Work.

2. You cannot eat in the shower. Well I guess you could, but it’s not really practical. Roomie and Kate (it’s confusing now that I have two roommates, but we’re just sticking with the original naming scheme here) can verify that I do indeed spend most of the few hours between arriving home from crossfit and going to bed shoving food into my face. So a whole entire FIFTEEN MINUTES spent without a snack is a comparative century.  

3. Showers are boring. You cannot see the TV from the shower. There is nobody to talk to in the shower. (And no, I’m not looking for offers from my male friends to fix this problem for me.) I cannot even sing in the shower when somebody else is home because it’s totally audible from the living room, and nobody except me really wants to hear me sing. This is the one chore that cannot be improved by the presence of an ipod and a pair of headphones. It’s SO boring.

4. Showers require too much preparation. I’m not a planner; I’m a doer! I like to think that anyway. But this means that I spend a good five minutes before every shower walking up and down the stairs between my room and the bathroom to get the towel I forgot, or the pair of underwear I dropped, or the razor that I carried out of the bathroom last night for entirely unknown reasons. And God forbid that some essential soap or lotion runs out mid-shower. This is when you find yourself developing your powers of improvisation: “I can totally use conditioner to shave my armpits, right? It’s white like shaving cream.”

5. It’s easier than you think to mess up the showering process. There are just too many steps to keep track of. I assume that this is less of a problem for men, but I cannot count the number of times I found myself standing gormlessly in the shower holding a bottle of shampoo and wondering if I just washed my hair or if I was just about TO START washing my hair. Or the number of times I notice AFTER getting dried off that only one leg seems to have gotten shaved.  

I think, based on my quick once-over reading of this post, that I may have a mild but undiagnosed case of ADHD. And yes, I still stand by my moderately confusing statements that showers are both too boring and too complicated. I have the worst case first world problems. The. Worst. 

injury, sunburn, and I clearly need to be bubble wrapped for my own protection

I currently have a tissue stuffed down the front of my pants to protect my poor sunburned stomach from the scathingly scratchy waistband of my burlap dress pants. The pants may look like cotton and nylon, but I can assure you that they are definitely made of burlap. Or possibly bailing twine. Normally, I would not have had time to get properly sunburned without a trip to the beach or some such excuse to lay around and completely ignore sunscreen, but after recovering from being deathly ill all winter, I’ve managed to manufacture new reasons to lay around by the pool and be a lazy bum.

A couple of weeks ago, I decided to liven up the wod at Crossfit by falling off a 20-inch box with a 95lb barbell on top of me. These tactics met with smashing success in the attention whoring department because every person in the gym had to stop working out so they could come over and see whether I had broken my neck. It transpired that I had not (also a great success), and that I was now permitted to complain at least eight times as much as usual because my neck hurt, and my back hurt, and my ankle hurt. Sadly, I had to chill out on the self pity when Coach broke his ankle three days later and couldn’t compete in Regionals that weekend.

Well, I just stopped complaining to Coach, actually. Everyone else was still fair game.

My neck and ankle are pretty much back to normal, but my back still feels like somebody took a sledge hammer (or a 95lb barbell) to it whenever I try to lift any real weights. Since I’m exercising about half as much as usual but refuse to stop eating like a house, I’ve decided my best tactic is definitely to just cover up the resulting pudge with a beautiful tan. Or a scalding sunburn that will shortly turn into a beautiful tan . . . if I put enough aloe on it. The tissue in my pants will be worth it in the end.  At least I was actually IN the sun when I got burned. Kate was at the pool this weekend too, but she sat her red-haired self in the shade and fretted about whether or not she was wearing enough spf 50. 50!?! I was wearing spf 8 that I had stolen from Roomie and feeling proud of myself for it. Based on this test group, I’m willing to guess that one’s IQ has some sort of direct correlation with the number on the sunscreen one chooses to wear. I don’t care. I WILL be golden brown.

P.S. Don’t worry, I’ve made an appointment to see a doctor about my back this week. My track record of having problems that doctors can actually fix is not good, but I have not given up hope that there is some sort of quick fix for this. Random thought! Do you think they call a doctor’s customers patients because you must be patient for medicine to work? If so, I’m a lousy customer.