I once worked as a recruiter for an advertising agency. I got an application from a guy, who had “I’ve Got Balls” as a headline. To prove his point, he had attached a picture of his scrotum.
Me – I seem to have lost my balls. They were there once, now I cannot find them.
I look at what needs to be done; I stare for hours. That is all I do.
Well, no.
I also analyze it, talk about it, and cry, piss and moan about it.
I DO nothing.
I am paralyzed. Stuck. And this is an extremely painful place to be. Not only because it prolongs the state of being ”in-between” but because this weak, pissy, underconfidant behaviour contradicts how I like to see myself. Cognitive dissonans.
A gal with moxy.
Moxy.
Schmoxy.
I loose the perspective of things and everything is distorded. Things are way out of proportion. I know nothing. I have no real talent. And I have to decide everything ultimately.
I try to see things 1:1. It is what it is. I am what I am. No more and no less.
…
You eat an an elephant one bite at a time.
A journey of a million miles begins with a step.
In a hundred years it will all be forgotten.
This too shall pass.
…
If you find my balls, please give them back to me.
Reward given.
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I’m putting out an APB (all points bulletin) for Cinda’s balls. Without them, we’re all doomed. 😉