My friends are professionally accomplished, and have big important jobs. Using classic Under-Achiever logic, I feel I don’t need to do more with my life, because they are doing so much. It’s kind of like I’m achieving by association. (Keep up the good work, guys! I like feeling important.)
The big important jobs happen in the big important city. Super Achieving friends have major commute. Months-without-sleep kind of commutes.
They never whine. I never hear about freezing at the bus stop at 3 am or the four hours a day some friends spend driving back and forth to their jobs.
I’m only on day three of driving back and forth to San Francisco. (I do not get to call it a commute: by the time I hit the freeway, everyone is finally up to the speed limit, I have an “ish” arrival time, and I do not have to apply mascara at an ungodly hour.) Annoyingly, I still want to whine.
I don’t have to be functional when Tokyo comes online. I just have to stay in my lane.
The Under-Achiever in me feels super important about how well I stay in my lane.
Re-wiring issue #1: No Whining. I think we all understand why it’s imperative to keep Jane from whining about the drive. She’d like to keep her friendships.
Re-wiring issue #2: Because my usual commute involves a short hallway and bunny slippers, my brain believes driving to San Francisco is a Road Trip. If you regularly follow this blog, you immediately know why this is a bad thing. If my brain continues to send out Mayday “Road Trip” signals, I will never fit into my skinny jeans again.
Yesterday I needed more caffeine to keep up my excellent lane-management skills. I stopped at a gas station for a diet Coke. Twenty-seven seconds of aisle-frenzy later, I was sitting in my car staring at a candy bar (love), vinegar potato chips (hate), a pack of gum (?) and a diet Coke. All for the low, low gas station price of fifteen bucks.
Amend the above: if I don’t stop the Road Trip mentality, I will be fat and broke. I yell at my brain.
Jane: This is not a Road Trip!
Brain: I know. Sheesh. What was THAT all about?
Jane: Um. Shouldn’t you know what that was all about?
Brain: Nope. Sorry. Take it to a shrink. Not my job.
Jane: C’mon! You’re the brain, you’re in charge!
Brain: Hello. Obviously I am not in charge. Look down. Vinegar chips. 9:30 am. I rest my case.
I have to concede the point. It knows I don’t like vinegar potato chips. In fact, I can’t remember my brain ever suggesting I buy them.
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