This is not my point - although, it is the reason I'm blogging, again. One, meetings always get me fired up and I am a ball of energy when I get home. At 10 pm, when I should be winding down. Two, it takes me back...
(Enter way back machine... and Wayne and Garth sound effects)
Once upon a time, I lived in this house with a boy, named PRex. It still blows my mind that he lived here for three years. And that we slept in the same bed. Every. Night. For. Three. Years. And he snored. We went to Home Despot on the weekends. We watched the garden channel together. My god, I was boring back then (and fat to boot).
It was back then that I started getting involved in neighborhood politics. You might have noticed that I have opinions on just about everything. And I sometimes even make them known. This fact did not escape the actual adults in the neighborhood (I was only 24 or so) and I was asked to be Secretary of our Civic Association.
The President stopped by the house when I was on travel somewhere to ask me if I would do it. PRex told them I wasn't interested. When in fact, it was PRex who wasn't interested. I was all for it and was horrified when he told me that he told them no. WTF. I speak for myself, you.
So, I became Secretary. And maybe, just maybe, PRex was right, because what a colossal pain the the ass it was. It made my blood boil every meeting. People bitching at each other. The President acting like an illiterate jackass (maybe it wasn't an act). Me knowing that it would all be better if only I was in charge (eventually, I was in charge. And it was better. And all was right with the world).
I would come home late at night, all amped up and pissed off like I am tonight, and he would encourage me to quit.
Not to change my tactics. Not to control the situation better. Not to lay off a bit, but to outright quit.
That's not good advice! That's not encouraging me to make myself a better person, to stretch my limits, to contribute to society... That was him telling me that he was tired of hearing me bitch about it. Well shit, if I wasn't bitching about the neighborhood, we wouldn't have had anything to talk about!
Eventually, I took his advice and quit. And I was happier. Then I was happiest when PRex moved out. Then I was bored - then I got involved again. And that brings us back to now.
Is there a point to this, besides me trying to tire myself out? Maybe. I think my point is that one of the things I am looking for in a man is the ability to encourage me try new things (not those things. Dirty.) and to reach my potential, without selfishly pulling me back because its easier for him if I'm fat and complacent.
Now, just where would I find one of those?