I lost my job a while back and became a full-time (unpaid) writer. I work mostly from home which has been nice. But with no paychecks coming in and no accolades from bosses or supervisors for doing a good job, I don’t know how to appraise my self-worth. I feel underappreciated and have lost all drive.
I find myself wanting credit for doing things I should be doing anyway – ordinary things I do every day that go unnoticed – like obeying traffic signals and refraining from putting inedible things in my mouth. I work hard at keeping it together, and I don’t think a little recognition is too much to ask.
It’s a crazy, mixed-up world, full of infinite possibilities for screwing up and I get a ton of crazy impulses, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t get credit for doing simple, reasonable things, like keeping my mouth shut instead of spoiling the ends of movies, or not bringing up awkward topics during dinner parties, like my aggressive athlete’s foot or politics.
I want credit for eating appropriate-sized portions and being only fifteen pounds overweight. And how is it that no one has ever offered me compensation for jogging almost half a mile when I walk the dog up to three times a week? If not a Klondike bar, I feel like that’s at least worth a peanut butter cup.
I want credit for refraining from taking my shoes off on airplanes and long bus rides. I want credit for cleaning my toilet bowl twice a year. Where’s the acknowledgment? Where’s the love? Where’s my ticker-tape parade? (Is that still a thing? Ticker tape? I don’t know. I don’t get out much.)
I want credit for asking store clerks how their day is going, and for not stealing Ring Pops, even though it’d be super easy to get away with because they’re right in that sweet spot on the corner display behind the potato chip rack.
And I want credit for showering daily and putting on deodorant and clean clothes that aren’t terrible. (Like nothing with offensive writing, colors that hurt your eyes, or anything that exposes my thick, lustrous chest hair or hugs my mammal toe too snugly.)
I want credit for eating salad because it’s really not that great. And I want credit for drinking La Croix because, while it’s pretty good, it doesn’t quite measure up to Coke, Pepsi, RC Cola, Sprite, Fanta, Mountain Dew, Dr. Pepper, root beer, ginger ale or any other beverage loaded with a bunch of sugar and artificial sweeteners.
I want credit for reading books because I could have just as easily spent that time rewatching old Seinfeld and Family Guy episodes. (It only took me a year-and-a-half to read The Goldfinch.)
I want credit for turning my phone off at the movie theater and not just throwing my Starburst wrappers on the floor. (I admit that sometimes I just throw my Starburst wrappers on the floor but only because, like, it creates jobs. The theater has to pay someone to sweep up those wrappers.)
I want credit for not stalking ex-girlfriends online. (Especially not Tara, who is still really hot and recently single and who posted a pic of herself by the Rocky statue on Wednesday.)
I want credit for not disciplining other people’s kids at the mall, supermarket, or department store. It sounds obvious but it’s actually really hard. Some of the biggest assholes on the planet are less than three feet tall.
I want credit for not rear-ending cars whose drivers don’t use turn signals or don’t turn them on until coming to an almost-complete stop. (I cut out the page of my driver’s manual that details proper turn-signal etiquette and glued it to my visor so I can scream it out the window at people as I drive past. And I want credit for that too.)
Lastly, and I think a lot of people can probably relate, I want credit for being able to make really sweet paper airplanes. You know, the kind with neat pointy flaps that look really cool and can do wicked loop-de-loops. I feel like I haven’t been given adequate props for this for close to 30 years! Frankly, I think that’s bullshit!
It sure would be nice if somebody somewhere gave me credit for some of this stuff. I promise I’d pay it forward or something.
