Overachievers Anonymous

More tales from the temp job ...

I am in serious need of a 12-step program and it's not for alcohol, drugs or overeating. Nope. I am an overachiever even when I would rather not be. I am well trained from my childhood to give everything my best shot.

At my little kindergarten job, we have daily contests. Sometimes it is the number of "sales/commitments" you complete. Other days it might be referrals or something else. I want to scream, "I am just here to do a job -- I do not want to participate in these insulting and ridiculous activities!" But, I don't. I go about my business, stay on the phone, and keep my head down in my little stall, trying to remain incognito.

For two days in a row, I have won the daily contest. Monday I won a coffee mug. (Don't you get jealous now!) Yesterday, I completed the most sales anyone has ever done on one day. This resulted in the director doing some kind of fat girl cheer. Other people in my position pretended to clap along but they're not fooling me. One of them says my name in a very snarly tone. I am convinced she's going to jump me in the parking lot. ("Jump" might be a stretch -- she is also a rather large woman/child.)

My prize for yesterday's contest is .... drumroll .... I get to wear jeans to work today. This is a reward concept I have never grasped. But, I am a team player so I am wearing my good black jeans.

"I've tried relaxing, but -- I don't know -- I feel more comfortable tense."
Hamilton

Drugged Out

Just one of the many fun things about returning to live in my childhood home is running across relics from the past. The book above is just one of the many I have discovered. I remember reading it in the early 70s and I remember my oldies discussing it with me. In fact they continued to have the good drug v. bad drug discussion with me through my college days.

My father is still on the sick pillow. The doctor said he may continue to feel lousy while his body recovers. So, even though the antibiotic pills (usually a good drug) are done for now, he still has trouble sleeping which he needs for his recovery.

For sleep aid, the doctor prescribed something heavy duty. The kind that the pharmacist scans your eyes and your face trying to judge if you plan to sell these on the street. The kind that would not just make you forget to feed your baby -- you would forget that you had a baby.

This may be a good drug for some people but it was a bad drug for my father. He was hallucinating and having horrible nightmares. He had trouble breathing from the panic. One pill did not a good night make.

Obviously he requested a different medication and it seems to be working. Good drug! He slept well last night and has been dozing all day. He already looks better thanks to some well-needed rest. The only side effect from the new drug (other than he might not stop sleeping for the next week) is he's grasping for the proper word. He asked my mother what one of the dog's name is. When he's awake, he's grinning a lot. I attended a gathering for a friend's mother's recent death. When I came home, my father asked me, "How was the furniture?"

Then he gave me a hug and said, "See you at dinner." My mother's theory is as long as his appetite remains constant, she's not worried.

Dogs on Meds

Apparently, it's a new trend to put your pet on daily tranquilizers. Maybe they jump or bark too much. Maybe they suffer from "separation anxiety."

Maybe we're all getting lazy.

Some people have legitimate needs for mood-altering substances. In college, we called this, "Friday night." Some children may have autism, ADD or ADHD. But what if we tried some alternatives before drugging them for life?

My maniac dog could probably do well with some drugs. Meanwhile, we've got a generation of children who can't face a test, a job interview or a nervous situation without a pharmacy.

Drugs and Needles

This is floating around the Internet. I couldn't resist.

If you are young and someone says, "I have a fun idea," my advice is to run like the wind. Drugs and needles can only get you in trouble.

This woman had a little too much fun in the 60s.

It's a Signal

Idaho Senator, Larry Craig, is in the news for his shenanigans this summer in a men's room in the Minneapolis airport. According to his statement, he plead guilty to avoid further publicity. Wrong choice! Now, like a child, he says, "I take it back."

He's not in my state and frankly, I don't care about his sexual orientation ... although I do feel sorry for his wife. I'm not one of those people who thinks you can't make wise decisions in the business realm and make foolish choices in the personal life. It happens every day. But, if the allegations are true, the hypocrisy bothers me.

It was a sting operation. (What is going on in this restroom in Minneapolis?) He gave "the signal" to an undercover police officer. The signal involves tapping ones foot under a stall and according to the way it's been explained to me, it means, "I'd like to engage in sexual behavior with you." I had no clue. If someone did this in a public restroom to me, I would think she needs toilet paper. Is there some website or blog out there that teaches the signals? How do they know?

A few years ago, I noticed a laced pair of tennis shoes hung over the light at an intersection in an iffy part of town. It's a signal for drugs available in the area. One of my friends in the judicial system explained that to me. How do people know the signal?

I am so blatant. You will always be able to tell if I'm happy or sad. I laugh and I cry with uncontrolled abandon. (This is one of the reasons I will never run for office.) I've told a few (ok, a million) fibs and white lies in my life but I could never look someone in the eye and lie to them. My expressions and my eyes would give it away. Just ask the husband or the oldies. I get away with nothing.

This is probably why I'll never be good at card games, especially poker.