More dreams about getting away, going somewhere.

More dreams about getting away, going somewhere. There is always something that prevents it from happening. The car runs out of gas. Someone catches me. There is more packing to do. I get lost. My mom once chided me about listening to too much music all the time amounting to escapism. In my callow youth, I retorted that her religion was its own kind of escapism. It was an easy thing to say, though it wasn’t really fair or kind. Who doesn’t want to escape? If the default was to be a hardcore realist, then the entertainment industry would vanish overnight. Everything becomes an escape, a diversion. For most people, it’s just about boredom. Or, to be more precise, the problems of the real world for the individual are mundane and mostly not worth thinking about. They are either surmountable, and they get worked through in due course, or they are not, and they are pushed to a back corner somewhere and left to live as monsters in the house with the family.

The problems of the real world beyond the individual are utterly out of our control, and we hate that. We hate that in the end, we have no control over whether Trump decides to push a nuke button or not. We like to think that posting angrily on Facebook will amount to something, even as we know we’ve defriended everyone who isn’t in the choir and we are just posting inside an echo chamber.

Mostly this morning, a feeling of caring so little about work, and running late because everyone is probably running late due to the ice storm yesterday. The two places that looked promising–one of them I applied to–were confirmed by someone I know who had worked at both of them to be absolute shit. Nothing but egos running rampant. So, I will return to my own suboptimal workplace where egos aren’t the problem, but an utter lack of giving a shit about the problems we who are in marketing are facing. It’s hard to give a shit when your boss clearly does not, though he says he does once a month and makes a little noise about caring.

Dream: I was trying to find an open commode to use

Dream: I was trying to find an open commode to use, and kept finding bathrooms that were fully occupied (typical dream). Finally, I found one inside a busy room where mothers were playing with babies and people were coming and going (another typical dream element). MR from MCE, the Chief Editor, came in and squatted beside me and started explaining a project he needed me to work on. I haven’t worked at MCE in over ten years. I tried to go, but was too uncomfortable with all of the people around. I got up, and walked out, and realized that I had taken off my wedding band. Then, I went back in, and the room was completely dark and empty, but the band was on the table. NG from where I presently work walked in, and I showed him my ring–it was monstrous and garish in the dream, but I was proud of the fact that my wedding ring was bigger than NG’s. Some fairly obvious symbolism here, involving a sublimated sense of needing to compete with others. The Chief Editor at MCE was utterly dismissive of me in real life when I started to work there, and slowly gave me some begrudging respect over time.

Where I work now, I hardly feel the need to compete with anyone, but that’s not to say that my old sense of needing to impress and one-up people isn’t still lingering, and others certainly could be harboring feelings of insecurity or something. Who knows. I mostly feel like my hands are tied behind my back by all of the contempt and lack of understanding most of my current coworkers have for Marketing and Sales, but especially Marketing.

That one thing–I guess that’s what I am in search of…that one thing I can obsess over and focus on at the expense of all other things–at least during my free time away from work and family. What is that one thing? When I try to focus on Love or Christ or something similarly religious…I get manic and I suspect I end up doing more idol worship than true worship of Jesus. If I focus on something like Math, I start to feel like a million other truths including Truth itself is getting past me at the expense of being obsessed over something that is intrinsically rigorously true, but incapable of completely satisfying the soul.

That one thing–that’s been my lifelong quest. Find that one thing to obsess over, whether it is banal and trite or profound and increasingly meaningful. Yet, every single “one thing” I ever focus on starts to lose its shine after some short amount of time. How do people who go on to get PhDs manage to do it?

Perhaps I should just pick something at random, instead of trying to be thoughtful about it. Like studying a certain species of insect.

Sunday morning in mid-January.

Sunday morning in mid-January. It was 11:30 AM and I had done a small amount of work and had gone for a walk around the neighborhood. I felt like I deserved a beer, but that would have been a poor choice. The walk was empty of other pedestrians–anyone with New Year’s resolutions to fulfill had either already gotten up early to jog or walk, or the resolution-makers were already making excuses and staying inside. It was cold for Austin–about 34 degrees Fahrenheit–but it didn’t feel especially cold in the sun with no wind. The cars that drove by seemed angry. I suppose it’s stupid to try to tell if someone is driving angrily just by the way a car sounds when it goes by. I mean, sometimes it is more than clear that you are witnessing an angry driver, but you can hardly know most of the time if the person inside is pissed at the world and feeling slightly more than a little invincible at that moment. But, the cars sounded angry, like the drivers were all pissed off that they had to be going wherever they were going. Fast accelerations, quick brakes, loud music or DJ chatter blasting from the spearkers.

There was nobody else outside. Not one old guy like myself walking an old dog like my dog. No young people bouncing and tossing a basketball and headed to a local playground to shoot hoops. Not even some old lady walking to her car to go to church, though I did smell an obnoxious amount of old lady perfume, the kind old ladies wear to church on Sundays, when I passed by some houses. So, maybe one old lady from my neighborhood went to church, and a few young adults angrily drove to open fast food stores and man cash registers at various retail establishments.

A job that I’d applied for a month ago has re-appeared under a slightly different title. I’d received a rejection notice almost immediately last time, but I applied again because I could, and because I don’t feel like I’m going anywhere with the current job. The place I work isn’t a bad place to work, but it will never be a great place. The kind of products and services are too arcane, and the competition is way too stiff. Whatever traction I might have made to branch out and be someone/something more than a button-pushing chump has subsided with the person they hired to be the other marketing person. Technically, my boss is also part of our marketing team, but he only shows up to make poorly informed critiques about what we are doing and offer next to no solutions to the myriad of issues we face.


But all of that is just work everywhere. The faces and names change, but the issues do not. This is just work, and I signed up for it.

I woke up from a dream during my Sunday afternoon nap, and I was dreaming that I’d decided to invite a lady I used to work with on a cruise in the Carribean. In the dream, I was single or divorced or widowed or something–I wasn’t cheating on my wife. She is connected with me on Facebook and LinkedIn and works at a company one floor below me. However, the one time she saw me in person on the elevator, she didn’t remember me. In the dream, I set up the invitation by pouring her Dom Perignon champagne into some of our regular small juice glasses we own in real life. Except, the glasses were in the cabinet of the house I grew up in, and she was coming out of a meeting in a room that should have been our basement, but wasn’t.

Anyway, I began a laborious invite of: “I just want to invite someone to come with me and the person who was originally coming on this trip couldn’t go–this doesn’t mean anything other than the fact that I need a friend to accompany me.” In the dream, I was able to preview aerial shots of happy, wealthy people vacationing on the particular Caribbean island I’d chosen to vacation at. She seemed skeptical about the whole thing–as anyone would be–what were my true intentions?

That more or less seemed to be the lesson I was supposed to take away from the dream: that I do a poor job of being direct with others and more importantly, myself, about what my true intentions are. I am good at coming up with stories that gloss over or outright contradict what my true intentions are.

For God’s sake, if I can’t be honest about my true intentions when I am muddling through shit in a craphole journal like this, then I am in real trouble. And that’s probably the entire point–I’ve made a life out of fooling my own self into thinking my intentions are not what they really are, to the point where I get confused, and probably confuse any higher Power that is trying to help me get through life.

The whole dream smacked of mixed intentions–pouring expensive champagne into cheap, everyday-use glasses. Offering someone I barely know champagne while inviting them on a cruise, but trying to oversell that I am only looking for a friend to accompany me.

Maybe I should be completely clear with myself all over again about so many things that I am doing–brutal honesty, though, could prove to be hurtful to anyone who reads this before I am dead and they are dead.

What are my true intentions? How much of what I do is driven by mere ego and a desire to leave a good impression? Am I a good father and husband (when I am good) because I really want to be and truly love my family, or am I this way because I want to have an obituary that reads well, and perhaps have my wife and son plead my case with St. Peter? The answer is never so simple. Yes, I truly love my family. Yes, sometimes I choose to do things that will render me in a better light than whatever I’m feeling or thinking.

Recent random dreams

Recent random dreams:
Seminary had combined with my undergrad alma mater. I was returning to grad school, just to keep studying something. I had a psychology class.

I was mad about my parents keeping me down and not letting me fly. I wanted badly to get in a car and start over in Denver. The old ache to return to Colorado that has never been resolved.

Back at the home I grew up in, and I wanted to tell my little brother that some spectacular test planes were doing stunts in the sky above us. I knocked on the door and told my mom, but they were gone before he came out. A tow truck without a driver in it came crashing down the driveway before screeching to a halt. It was about the size of a large golf cart-type tram like the ones at amusement parks. Then, a large experimental spaceship suddenly came crashing out of the sky into our backyard. Top secret hazmat men were on the scene immediately to cordon off the area.

I remember waking up from the Denver dream with some curiosity that I still had this issue rolling around in my subconscious–as if my parents were still responsible for me never returning there.

I drove home today depressed at the thought of how bleak my prospects for a halfway decent job at a modestly exceptional company have become. The drive to and from work is depressing, and so is all of the crap at work I have to do, and get excited about, and I can barely muster the ability to care most days. I am beginning to see how washed up and tired my brain is as it pertains to coming up with new ideas for anything, and how I will probably die remembering less math than I once knew when I was 18.

I still have the family life to look forward to, but there’s that crazy itch to leave a novel mark on this earth that never completely goes away. But, I get home from investing all of my brain energy into work, and I’m too tired to do much of anything at all…

Dream where I was so mad at my dad for getting more out of life than I have, that I tried to kill him by throwing a bunch of bricks and rocks on him.

S from work was at my high school, but was also working for their HR department. I hadn’t graduated yet, and S was a year or two younger than me. I told him about TM killing himself (in real life this happened), and how the school used to have a day of fun where they attempted to make people feel good about themselves and more connected with their peers as a preventative. I was mad that apparently the school had forgotten about this in the time I’d been away. Like a lot of dreams, it was as if I had been away from high school for however many years in real life, but I’d never actually graduated, and was back to finish my senior year properly.

Dream of trying to get through the end of some kind of race with my little brother, who was apparently always getting leeches on him. He started screaming at the end, and I saw he had another leech on the back of his hand. He was suddenly a baby, and my son, and I grabbed him and took him to my wife who told me that the nurse’s office at the nearby school would be able to help get the leech off of him.

I’ve had a lot of uneasy dreams lately where my son and little brother, wife and mother, tend to go from being one to the other. It’s uneasy for the obvious Freudian reasons, but I don’t necessarily think this is Freud so much as wishful thinking that perhaps my little brother has reincarnated as my son–though in the waking world I find this to be patently absurd…my son is nothing like my little brother outside of the ways one little boy might be like another one (ie, triggering memories of my little brother as a baby, toddler, etc.) As for my wife switching back and forth between my wife and my mom, I think it’s just an extension of the above triggering that my son sometimes does…nothing sexual or deviant…just the person who is the proper female caretaker of son or brother.

I’ve been slowly drifting away from the math books again, and I can see that this was just another passing flirtation with the subject. I don’t think that I ever will have a true subject that consumes me enough for me to become the authority on that subject. Sure, there are the things at work in which I am more or less the SME, but I know enough to do my job and I am thoroughly dispassionate about them to the point where I try as hard as possible not to think about my professional knowledge base when I’m not working.

I’ve made it through a full season plus the first episode of the second season of a show called Falling Water on USA–probably the best show I’ve gotten into since Orphan Black. As someone who pays more than a little attention to my dreams, I am naturally a good target audience for a show like Falling Water. I’ve learned to just let myself be entertained by these kinds of shows without being overly critical about them, so I tend to get an hour of entertainment and nothing more out of them.

Two dreams of vacuuming up stuff and not able to completely get it vacuumed up…one room was in my Aunt and Uncle’s house and my Uncle was still alive, but it wasn’t really like their house in real life. However, I was very pleased with the cleaning work I’d done, until they moved aside all of the furniture in a room, and I saw that there was still much work to be done. Very similar dream again last night, but this time it was a hotel room, and my wife was dedicated to helping me get everything vacuumed up.

Also reminds me of a dream I hadn’t recorded. A cake from my son’s first birthday had been saved, and was sitting out in the living room of the house I grew up in. I think there may have been some correlation between this dream cake and the cake my parents made the first year they were down here for my little brother on his birthday. The dream cake was festering with all kinds of ants and I was talking to my wife about whether or not it was worth saving.

At some point, the cake bloomed into a full ecosystem of mostly vermin and other creepy-crawlies–a huge spider hung from what appeared to be the cage that the cake was kept in. Some squirrels lived there as well. I decided that the whole mess just needed to be killed outright, and grabbed a can of bug spray that looked like one of those cans of air people use to clean out their keyboards. I sprayed the cake cage heavily, and everything just foamed up and died. However, some fleas had escaped and were invading the carpet. I had to spray those as well.

The cage kind of reminded me of the large crate my dad bought to keep his dog inside the house, since he generally has a fear of letting his dogs run loose everywhere. My dad’s house has been at times just completely festering with fleas. You could also describe it as a house where my dad really doesn’t allow much of anything to get cleaned up or change from how it was when my parents first moved down here some seventeen years ago. It’s not quite a hoarder house, but it comes pretty close in a lot of areas.

I suppose the obvious interpretation of the dream is that my brain sort of looks like the inside of my dad’s house, or some other ecosystem where something has been allowed to fester and spoil.

I imagine you might be able to tie this dream back to the vacuum cleaner dreams and other dreams where there is always a bunch of stuff that needs to be packed or cleaned before I can leave.

The question might be, as it has been for too many years: is the stuff that needs to be cleaned up merely crap that I should let go of, or does deeper cleaning need to be done?

I’ve been waking up with the vaguely uneasy feeling that I am not spending my time devoted to the right things when I am awake, nor am I preparing my mind properly for the right things when I am asleep.

Almost everything I pursue seems to be flecked with specks of real or fool’s gold, but the true gold is not to be found in any of this stuff.

There are also plenty of piles of fool’s gold for fools to pursue–the things of the world that a completely materialistic person pursues, the love of mammon, etc. but I don’t really have the patience for going down another rabbit hole, anymore. I don’t think I have the time left in this life, either. I can’t go get involved in learning about the stock market in hopes of great wealth, or learn a new coding language. I suppose I would immerse myself in one of these things if it meant putting food on my table for my family, but I’m not going to go pursue a new field of worldly knowledge in hopes that it will one day morph into being a greater truth or path to real gold.

Monday is the nineteen-year anniversary of my little brother’s death

Monday is the nineteen-year anniversary of my little brother’s death. Briefly, I was concerned that the 15th had already passed, and I’d completely missed it. However, I suppose that it wouldn’t have been such a big thing if I missed remembering the actual day of the year. I tend to think about my little brother almost every single day. I probably think about him more than if he’d lived and become an adult with his own family someplace far from here. Maybe next year, having been a full twenty years, will be the last year I devote so much brain space to what happened, and maybe I will finally invest all of my energy in the present.

The present consists of me taking a sleeping aid at night in order to get at least seven hours worth of sleep, and be semi-productive and not crabby the rest of the day. It destroys most of my creativity and I suspect that my IQ level goes down about ten points due to the fog from this sleeping aid that moves with me throughout the day. I am unmotivated to wake up before I absolutely have to. The tradeoff is whether I want to be more productive in the short term before crashing into an angry, depressive mess or be more smoothly productive over the duration of the day, but not have as many smart guy kinds of ideas. I only feel like I can be the smartest guy in the room if I don’t take the sleeping aid, but I also become the biggest asshole in the room.

I work for a company that I can forget about when I’m not there. The type of products/services they sell are also the kinds of things worth forgetting about. I think this was by design. I grew weary of trying to mix my passions with my paycheck.

Now, my passions lie mostly in seeing my son grow up, and spending some time with him so he at least sees me as a fairly stable father figure through the years when he might resent me most. I would love to have a closer relationship with my son when he becomes an adult–closer than the one I’ve had with my dad, but I know that a lot of this is completely out of my control.

The things that I do have control over seem to continue to shrink with each passing year–ie, most of them were mirages to begin with.

Maybe that’s the main reason I sit here and do what I’m presently doing. It’s one thing I sort of have control over, even as I am happiest writing when I can let go of some of that sense of being in charge and just let the words flow as they will.


Mind. Freedom. Giving someone the illusion they are more free than their ancestors while actually enslaving them more. Enslaving them by leading them down the path of ceasing belief in a soul, spirit, etc. First generation of non-believers will claim they can be good without God. Second will find their parents’ half-baked ideas of love for others quaint, but more or less hold onto them. Third generation will be completely removed from any sense of morals, grounded completely in a mode of social Darwinism and pure materialism.

But, immersion into pure Mind is as enslaving as immersion into pure Matter. Neither represent access to a complete truth. The soul lives in a place we sometimes call intuition, emotions, a sixth sense, etc. The soul is palpable, tangible, but not physical in the carnal sense. Nor is it rational in the mental sense. But, all three not working together under the auspices of Christ results in chaos. Social norms tend to keep the chaos-attracted soul from displaying egregious evil ways, but stripped of the social norms, only the Christ-protected souls refuse to give themselves over to pure evil.

The deal that you make with the devil is this–send me back to this earth, and I will do your bidding. You, of course, hope to double-cross the devil by using your second chance on earth to find Christ and get as far away from the devil and his minions as possible. But, this becomes more and more difficult with each passing generation. Inevitably, most of you end up returning and doing exactly what you promised the devil you would do. Sometimes it’s simply to get the next quick meal or fix, and sometimes you do it thinking that fame and riches will be yours perpetually. But then, in the end, the devil does come to take his toll. You must accept that you’d abandoned Christ a long time ago and there is only one path left for you now…the one that you will be on for all of eternity. The point is that you made a deal with the devil prior to being born in this world.


There are a lot of days where my brain starts to go in that direction. I become more and more convinced that I should become the staunchest of conservative Catholics. That I have been headed down a road to hell with my “it’s all good and relative” liberal’s way of thinking, which is born out of a desire to be liked, to be seen as compassionate and caring of others, but may inevitably be simply an overly permissive way of thinking. I start to think that perhaps what the world really needs isn’t more love of the 60s variety, but more tough love of the much-maligned Catholic school kind–the tough love that builds character and forms respect and yields forth real men and women instead of soft-headed sops who now populate both sides of the political aisle. The world needs more fire-and-brimstone preaching, more policing of morals, not less. The world needs a Catholic sort of crusader who is not cut from the cloth of our current pope or Thomas Merton, but a lover of the old Latin Mass and an apologist of any Catholic who was strict and unyielding as it pertains to matters such as divorce, birth control, homosexuality, etc.

Obviously, swinging hard in such a staunchly conservative direction doesn’t do anyone any good. Out come the hypocrites. Anyone who opens their mouth to condemn others will inevitably be exposed for the true hypocrite that they are.

However, I think that the real issue isn’t other people’s morals, but my own. I need to become stricter about my own choices that I make, my life and my own way of being. I need to read more religious books and pray more. I need to check my lust and my temper. I need to spend time with my child forming his religious and spiritual character. The business of lashing out at others and trying to force them to think a certain way is a terrible business to get into, and shouldn’t ever be one I find myself in. But the business of letting my own self lapse into complete depravity is just as terrible. I know I am a better person than the one I’ve been over the past year, and no amount of writing about being a better person will change anything, though a constantly vigilant journal that is devoted to reminding myself to be a better person might be something I need to participate more regularly in keeping.

I begin again slowly.

I begin again slowly. I take small bites of things I once consumed in large quantities. I don’t aim to impress anyone with correctness, greatness or novelty. I don’t aim to entertain and please. If you are bored with me, then I may be doing my job. Or perhaps not. I am not bored with me. I am not bored with life. Life can be profoundly interesting when you study the tiniest aspect of a single thing. Your brain fills up with new insights while focused on one particular concept. The space for the mind is like an endlessly reforming fractal. You can never exhaust the detail of what you are inquiring into even as you probe deeper and tighter and closer.

This is not the way of the world. The way of the world is to greedily consume and spit out, taking ever large bits and being constantly convinced that the key to happiness is to take a bite that trumps the last bite you took.

I have lived this way, and I have lived this way mostly unhappily, which is to say that for me, the way of the world is not the way to happiness. A neighbor may be sitting yards away from me in a similar home consuming large quantities of entertainment, knowledge, food, booze, drugs, sex, or something else. My neighbor may go back to work on Monday and describe his efforts at large consumption of experiences to his coworkers who will nod appreciatively and try to one-up him, or keep their mouths shut if they know they can’t compete. I will not go back to work on Monday and tell anyone that I wrote this down.

I won’t talk about how I’m trying to get back my Hebrew and Greek as it slips away, and retain some basic math so that it isn’t lost. I’m not going to mention that I’ve been considering dyeing my hair again, and pretending I’m ten years younger.

It is 25 degrees outside

It is 25 degrees outside. It feels like 14. I’ve long since abandoned my winter self and winter clothes. The dog gets a walk so that I can justify laying around doing nothing, because that is what I’m going to do. This week, starting tomorrow–more busy BS at work and with contract work. Side projects, home projects, all kinds of things that need to get done, get wrapped up.

I sort of want to make NY resolutions, but I completely know how futile these usually end up being. I am, however, having this urge to do more, be more, than I have been. In other words, since I’ve become engaged to be married, I’ve stopped taking exercise seriously, taking my appearance seriously, with the exception of a few flare-ups where I kind of got into running/biking.

The urge is to be out doing something–running, biking, etc.

I am feeling for the first time in a long time a strong desire to set aside the past and focus solely and wholly on moving forward. This makes for boring content in my journal.

This is supposed to be a day of rest, but I’m a little edgy knowing how much needs to be done, and how much work lies ahead of me over the next month.

Once upon a time, I was convinced that something exceptionally meaningful, usually a move to a new place or job, was bound to happen every six years. Along with this came an important decision that stared me in the face and I would usually make the wrong choice.

This went back to the age of six. Now, I am upon my seventh hexade of life, as I turn 42 this year. Of course, many meaningful things, moves changes, and other important choices made have happened in the past six years, and in preceding years that were not in the year of the hexade. At 36, I was newly married, and we moved to Waco. We moved back from Waco two years ago, and moved to our house this year where I expect to live until I die.

Whatever choices come to me this year will probably not be the most significant ones I will ever make in my life–nor were the ones that came to me at 36. But, I also think that once you get past the age of 30, unless you are someone who perpetuates chaos, you have settled into much of your way of being and you are not going to make many radical, life-altering decisions, or have such choices even be available to you.

For whatever it’s worth, I really did expect something momentous in 2012, since I was 36, the product of two sixes. Something momentous was also expected to happen in Y2K, where I was 24, the summation of three sixes. Stuff did happen, change took place, choices were made and some of them have impacted my life for a long time to come, but the real change that has taken place for me is independent of any mysticisim associated with numbers. Frankly, I don’t change nearly as much or as often as I should in certain ways that could really be for my betterment, while I constantly remain inconstant in areas that sustained focus and steady holding to that way of being would also benefit me. For example, I am slow to move away from old grudges and past problems that I use to convince myself I am incapable of learning or doing anything new. But, I am quick to leap to some new book or area of study to avoid the hard work required to actually noticeably improve my understanding of a subject.

The stuff I’ve done that I’ve actually put in my 10K hours:
Writing crap like this
Surfing the internet, especially the news
Reading emails and responding to them
Fantasizing about the future or past, and how it could be/could have been different

Obviously, aside from the stuff required by work to get a paycheck, I’ve done very little of note in the 10K department–running happened mostly in my teens and twenties and early thirties before I was married.

I got up off my ass after writing this and went down to Town Lake and sort of ran. I shuffled along in the 30 degree weather, stopping frequently to walk. I feel better for doing it, especially knowing that most of a twelve pack of beer from last night awaits me.

There were more people than you might think down there, but not very many. Mostly the hardcore jogging types, with a handful of old people walking their dogs. I was the anomaly–a middle-age guy with a white beard who wasn’t just walking.

I’ve been thinking a lot about shaving my face every day and keeping my hair dyed. It’s sort of a vanity thing, but not the kind of vanity that cares what other people think so much as how I feel about myself when I look in the mirror and see my dad staring back at me.

Most of the time, though, I kind of forget that most of my hair is white now. I get absorbed in work and life, and my three-year-old son doesn’t know any differently about how I’m supposed to look. I’m sure he’ll say something when he gets a little older, but it’s not something I’m too hung up about. I really just like the idea of feeling as if I artificially paused time for a few years and became someone closer to my real age or even younger, instead of the age I see looking at me in the mirror.

I like the idea of an opportunity coming out of the blue–an opportunity that invites me to do something that utilizes my aptitude and talents, my passion and my natural willingness to give and work for something that is truly special. The opportunity isn’t just another round hole for my round resume peg, but a whole whose shape is yet to be defined for my full stack of lifelong experiences, passions, skills.

I think that I am more open to this sort of opportunity than just another job schlepping away at a computer, pushing the button to send an email to thousands of prospects who couldn’t care less about the company that’s sending the email. And, I’m the one who is the designated button pusher simply because others think they are too good for this kind of work, or they are too scared to push a button on sending emails that are as close to being spam as the company can get without being nailed for spamming.

I’ve been open to this kind of opportunity for a long time. Maybe I’ve been too pessimistic about my prospects of uncovering such an opportunity, or perhaps I am too fearful of how this kind of opportunity will ultimately change the direction I’ve been headed with my so-called career.

I don’t know. All I know is that every single person who invites me to do some kind of work for them sees me as a grunt, a button pusher, a yes-man, a real peg and cog. The idea that I could/would be a strategist, big picture thinker, ideas man, C-Suite member, VP, etc. is ludicrous to most people if it occurs to them at all.

Maybe it’s my own mindset that has to change. I tend to sell myself to get the lowest common denominator kind of next job, instead of thinking huge, and patiently waiting for something huge. I look for lowest common denominator next jobs. Well, I’m qualified for this one, so I’ll apply for it.