My friend Steve used to fuck words up on purpose. He’d say ridunkulous or ricockulous and make any number of filthy, expletive infused conglomerations. He was one of the funniest and most depraved people I’ve had the pleasure of knowing. When I moved to FL in 2014, we’d reignited our 20+ year childhood friendship, cemented in 4th grade when we decided NOT to be boyfriend and girlfriend on the playground. Instead, we became a safe place for the other to discuss the trials and tribulations of life, including suicide, drug addiction and adulting. Sounding boards for all of those things you can’t tell anyone without getting strange looks. I could use his advice right now. He had a way of seeing my life in a way I couldn’t.
I just got word about the interview I was hoping I didn’t bomb last week. The Las Vegas job, in my field, that I’m about 60% qualified for. I rambled and stuttered and fell flat AF when discussing my limited managerial experience (I’ve managed a team of 6, not 4 teams of 20+). It’s not a ton of money, but enough to be comfortable, enough to feel lucky as hell to get paid to spend every day doing something that makes my soul sing. This organization is legit trailblazing initiatives and incentives never before seen in animal welfare. Programs that only the most progressive shelters are implementing, with astounding success. This would put me in a position to be pioneering quality of life plans at one of the largest no kill shelters in the US. On par with HSUS and Peta, but in a boots on the ground role I could really sink my teeth into.
I’m headed to the little FL town next week to look at places and check out the area. Officially turned down the job that would’ve (in theory) allowed me to stay in the area. They lowballed me by a lot and frankly, if I’m going to do a job I hate, you need to be prepared to pay me for it. Even this beautiful beach is not enough motivation to do that every day at that rate. Que sera sera. Feels like things are moving. What will the future hold?