Serious decision making with the help of Conway Twitty.

Whats this?? Another blog?? You don't say...
This is all I have to keep me sane. As I type I am being serenaded by Eric Clapton.. Before that it was Neil Diamond, before that.. Conway Twitty. I guess I asked for it. I was complaining before about the deafening silence. Now I am spending my days jamming out with the Golden Girls.
I have been considering going back to school to do the Surgical Tech Program. So last night I went to Steven Hennigar's college to see what their program was all about. Much to my dismay you have to take a basic aptitude test to be accepted into the medical program. So there I was in the foyer of a college having an anxiety attack with my eyes welling up with tears, my heart pounding 347 miles per minute and the uncontrollable desire to run as far away from the number 2 pencil they were handing me and the evil booklet of math questions that always make me look a fool. I explained to them that I was a dyslexic and I didn't test well. A lady piped up and offered to read me the exam. I bitterly replied "I can read!!" after a bit of convincing, I stayed. The first try at the exam didn't go as well as the second. But.. I PASSED! For many of you a basic knowledge test is cake.For me.. No. Its more like raw cake mix and an easy bake oven with a broken light bulb. The women were all so proud of me for passing (thanks to my dramatical distress call in the foyer) and not only for passing but getting a rather high score. I never pass tests. Ever.
Shortly after the test another women came in to go over the Surgical Tech program. Two things changed my mind. 1. They only offer it during the day. 2. Colon surgery is a very common procedure. Those of you who know me know I can handle blood, guts, puke, brains, whatever but I can't handle and won't handle Poop. Unless you want to be covered in regurgitated Dr pepper, gold fish and a lean cuisine.
As I thanked her for her time she caught my attention by bringing up Respiratory Therapy. No Poo. Just breathing. They make about $42,000 a year. ( as much as an RN ) with the possibility to make much more upon getting a bachelors. I was intrigued. I can't imagine how rewarding a job like that would be. Saving a persons life by giving them breath. Seems incomparable to bringing through reports on lost bicycles.
But It also costs a shit ton of dough. $ 51,000 buckaroos to be precise. How in the carnations would I ever pay a loan like that off?! And working and going to school from 6am to 10pm does not sound all that appealing nor possible for me to even consider. I know me. And the me I know likes to have a life and also enjoys television re-runs and sitting on my biscuit on my sofa drinking up surd amounts of Dr pepper whilst eating Ding-dongs.. But I know what a positive step this would be for my future. And the life I could have in a year and a half.
In my current line of duty I try every day to have a fresh new perspective on my job. It pays decently well. Its easy. I have Weekends and Holidays off, I enjoy working with the fuzz and I have become a professional quiz taking facebook lurker. But I feel, well, useless. And the company I am forced to keep whilst on the clock certainly does not help with my pessimistic work-funk. And the position I have hoped to move up into is looking like less and less of a possibility given the politics.
I just can't decide. If only I could move into an address on easy street. Maybe then the bills wouldn't keep piling up higher and higher and people never said bad things about others, and if people weren't so petty and spiteful. And feelings never got hurt and people stayed faithful, And jobs paid well and nobody struggled. Actually, Horton hears a Who said it best.. "In my world everyone is a pony, and they all eat rainbows, and poop butterflies"
Its boiling down to this. Perhaps I'll convince all those peeps I hold dear to my heart to hop a flight with me to Mexico. ( after this little oinking infestation is cleared up. Obviously) Build a little shack on the beach, spend all our days in our swim suits, never learn Spanish, sell fruit and trinkets to tourists, and collect Mexican welfare. Then go to local business's and curse at them in English and benefit by pulling the racial profiling card. Karma is a bitch people. ( I wonder how you say karma in espanol? ) Betcha can't tell what experience I got to have today at work!
Anyway.. That's what I'm doing lately just juggling around the idea.. to go to school or not to go to school. Think Think Think. Pro con pro con con con pro pro pro. CON.
The end.