May 19, 2010

Other Things Are Wack, Too, Whitney

From an unnamed production office for an undisclosed television show in an address-withheld building in LA where the elevators are shockingly slow...

It would be hard, really, to explain in this moment how much I wish that my boss would, on this very night, become one of those people that you hear about on the news as simply disappearing with no sign that she was kidnapped, no sign that she was seriously hurt, and with the possibility that she just walked away from it all.  I would very much like her to walk away from me.

It is also hard to describe the current issues that she and I are having because- after a 30 minute meeting with just the two of us yesterday wherein she spoke in the circles and contradictions of someone who is just excited that their audience, me in this case, did not have the option to leave the meeting of their own free will- when she tried to sum up the sort of shift that she would like to see in me at work, she couldn't find the word for it, and I sure didn't know what she was getting at.  When I pointed out to her that it seemed that she wanted me to be both completely dependent and also fully autonomous she stopped and said that she just wanted us to, "find our groove."  Oh.  That.

But, I would say, the hardest thing of all is trying to find my groove all day while I have to do things like constantly re-up my homeopathic anti-anxiety medicine doses and fix my resume to go out into the world where no one would suggest that we treat our work relationship like Stella and all those guys on that island or wherever it was that Whitney Houston sang about her Shoop-ing.  But yes, Whitney, I am waiting to exhale.  I am waiting until I am stricken with a plague of some sort that I can pass along to my boss in one big, sick breath. 

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