I’ve had a quasi-bloody nose all morning. I was about to explain what a “quasi-bloody” nose is exactly, but then realized that this is a gross subject, so I won’t go into more detail than that. Just felt like mentioning it.
You: “Why even bring it up then, Teri?”
Me: “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
You: “Fair enough.”
Misery loves company. Or whatever.
I never mentioned this before, because I didn’t want to make it sound important or make me sound important, or whatever the hell people are trying to do when they do things like this but with insincere motives, but I need to give some back story so bear with me.
At the beginning of December, I read a news article about all these letters pouring in to Santa Claus from families hit especially hard due to our struggling economy. I was touched by the story and decided I would go to the post office and get one of these letters and help out a needy family or kid. It didn’t seem like enough, so I talked to some people at work and instead of doing a Secret Santa for ourselves, we decided to answer these letters.
So I went to the post office and got a dozen or so, and yadda yadda yadda, we delivered gifts to these families. One co-worker [we’ll call her Co-Worker Lady] really felt touched by one letter in particular – a family consisting of 8 kids, a recently deceased father, and a mother in a wheel chair. Co-Worker Lady kept in touch with the sender of this letter, an 18-year-old girl. She tried inviting the girl to church with her and stuff like that.
Just the other day the girl contacted Co-Worker Lady and started talking about how there was this great NYE party she wanted to go to but had nothing to wear. She never came right out and asked, but she was hinting that Co-Worker Lady should buy her a party outfit. It really made me mad.
All of the other families seemed really grateful, so I’m trying not to let it spoil the endeavor or decrease my desire to do it again next year, but this really bothers me. In my head I picture that one-armed guy from Arrested Development bleeding all over the place and yelling, “And this is why you don’t help people!!”
In slightly more educational news, I used my college degree today [a B.S. in B.S.] when I had to write a “personal goal statement” about why I want to pursue an MBA. I don’t oft use my college degree, and felt the moment should be documented. In what might have been the speediest application and approval process ever conceived by man [the whole thing took 2 days], I am now a grad student. It seems like it should feel a little more important than it does. Mostly it just feels scary – a “holy crap, what the hell did I just sign up for?!” kind of thing. Oh hey! I can defer my student loans! Bonus.
Happy New Year, everyone!