I took a break from writing here and a lot has changed. I lost a lot of time. But I needed to find the why. That was important. Why is writing important? To me, to you, to anyone that gives a shit? Why.
Answers don’t come easy, especially the ones that matter. And my answer came in the form of stupid fucking dual computer monitors.
For over eight hours a day I stare at a computer. I input data and I make phone calls. I annoy the hell out of people and others I can hear them smiling over the phone. Head hunting in the most boring sense of the words.
It taught me a little about people. The experience taught me that there are two types of people; the jumpers and the squatters. This was important.
Now, I call people and pitch them different job opportunities. Real, honest-to-God, better opportunities that could enhance their own lives. Half of the people I call think I’m some B.S sales a-hole, telemarketing dickhead; and they politely tell me to pound sand.
I am a dickhead, no doubt there. But the jobs exist, our clients are good, and our product is some of the best shit around. I’m talkin salaries, bonuses, matching 401k’s, the works and that usually gets people interested enough for another phone call.
The next phone call talks specifics; the actual stuff I couldn’t tell them until they send a resume over. AND BOOM. You get it all, and people respond well to more money, security, more time at home, working from home, etc…
But then something happens going through the recruiting process. When it comes time to sign offer letters and resign, people piss themselves or they flip the bird and stroll out of that office feeling invigorated.
The pissers (as you can probably guess) are the squatters. They revel in the safety of knowing what to expect. No guts, no glory? They don’t give a fuck. They see that offer to leave what they know and they freeze.
The jumpers smile through their resignation and take a mini vacation before they start their new opportunity.
I was staring at those dual monitors going through a list of potential candidates and it hit me. I was a fucking pisser. A squatter, afraid of my alarm not going off at 6:14 AM.
I had a revelation. I had rolled my eyes back inside my head and flipped on auto-pilot somewhere down the road. And I never even knew it.
Comfy chair that only started hurting my back at 3PM, real paychecks for the first time, and I was never hungry (in a completely physical sense.)
I had my head shoved so far up my own ass, I forgot who I was. But then my ass started to itch. This itch became insatiable and I became ravenous. I needed to eat, I needed to bathe myself in the blood of my ink again.
Sorry to sound like a cannibalistic, dramatic weiner, but I absolutely needed to get back inside my own head in the right way . I needed to put something down again. And it starts here.
I’m going to write again. If I forget that, if I forget who I am…then I really am the biggest piece of shit I know.
So stay tuned, or not, I really don’t care. This was more for me than for you but the why was answered for me when I got lost staring at a computer screen.
I don’t want to write. I need to.