Every Friday in our office we have “Fancy Friday,” a day for finery.

Last Friday I jetted into work just having gotten off the set of a Lenny Kravitz video, obviously.

I keep lots of toys on my desk at work. That’s because I work in accounting. No one really wants to come into accounting. People don’t like math. People are scared of math. Hell, I’m frightened of fractions myself. I can’t do shit without my 10-key.

Paperwork makes most people’s brains shut down. And that . . . is why I keep things on my desk like little plastic frogs, a glowing bloodshot bouncing eyeball, a book called How To Lie With Statistics, and a little bulldog that pisses water. (The bulldog is for when people turn in crappy invoices - I squeeze; he pisses on the offensive bill.) And I love, love, love to force big manly teamster-type dudes to hold my light-up Winnie The Pooh pen in their greasy fingers when I need them to sign something. Fun stuff distracts and makes folks forget their belief that math is hard.

Yesterday, a stand-in came into the office to get a time card. She needed a pen. I told her, “Use my Winnie The Pooh pen.” And she left with it. I stormed out into the production office screaming, “Hey! Stop that stand-in! She bolted with my Winnie The Pooh light-up pen! Unacceptable!” Immediately the office PA took off in hot pursuit.

I got my pen back. Shew! I’m sure glad that we didn’t have to call the cops for any Pooh larceny.

My typical day this week has gone something like this:

I nearly get blasted by fire by a chef who’s flipping bananas foster and brandy under a big white tent in the high desert in Santa Fe.

I’m drinking Arnold Palmers and watching well-muscled men in metal angel wings walk past my office door while eating gourmet chocolate dipped strawberries.

LuLu the accounting dog hides under my desk whenever she gets in trouble.

And, last but not least, I’m forcing people to sign papers with a light up Winnie The Pooh pen.

No, I’m not at Burning Man, although it sorta feels like it. Life is good when work sort of feels like Burning Man.

Well, I started a new job today (yeah, already!) on a different movie, this one in Santa Fe. I’m working with people I’ve not worked with in seven years! And I had the best day!

I really enjoy crunching numbers, solving problems, speaking the language of numbers. It was nice to remember that.

And I was thinking all day about how perfect my weekend in Los Angeles was last weekend. I quit my job on Thursday, flew to LA on Friday, flew back to ABQ last night, Sunday, and drove to Santa Fe this morning and began working again right away. Life just constantly wows me. Highlights of LA coming tomorrow.

Wow, ironically, that title sort of sounds like a bad accounting pun, I realize, but here are the truths and the stats and the low-down and the what-for.

First, let me say that the past couple of months, even before I took this job, I kept finding myself in situations where I could and many times did use the power of my words to hurt, harm and invoke. I’ve decided not to do this here. Yeah, I’m human; therefore, I’ve got feelings and opinions and all that other drama whipping around inside my head about this whole entire shit-storm. But I’ve made a choice to not spread or perpetuate that poison anymore. This means that you, my dear readers, will not be getting the dramatic deets of my recent choice of unemployment.

The only thing worth mentioning is that I’m heart-sick that this job didn’t work out and I can only believe that my choice was the best for all involved; the proof I have of this is that here I am, sitting with this choice I’ve made.

So, here I am . . . Albuquerque has not been easy. I’ve been here about six weeks and in that time I’ve endured moving half-way across the country with a cat, getting asked to leave my new digs, living in a hotel, moving two more times, being really sick, getting news of my granny being really sick, car breaking down, (happily, but still heavily) getting the whammy news of my 100% sis-tah, and now, making the difficult decision to quit my job. Allow me to re-iterate. Six weeks! Endure has really been my word lately.

I give it up. I’m trading ENDURE for another word, a nicer word. How ’bout this for my new word: EXPANSIVE. (And no, I’m not talking about weight gain.)

I’m staying here in ABQ - no, not forever - ABQ isn’t my long-term bag, baby. Just for the terms of my lease. I have a great sublettor in my bungalow. Why not? Life’s my adventure. I’m here right now and I’ve got some shit planned and I’m in a beautiful part of the country. So, watch out world!

Special thank-you’s go out to all my friends who’ve given me boundless love, encouragement and support about my decision. You all know who you are and I could not have made it through this without your accolades, kind ears and non-judgemental boosts to my nearly broken spirit. You’ve all helped me find Anna again, and quite quickly, I must add.

Here’s a quote from Nan Terrell Reed about life. “They told me that life could be all I could make it, life could be fashioned and worn like a gown. I, the designer, mine the descision, whether to wear it with bonnet or crown . . . .” Or in my case, heeled boots, cute little dresses and occasionally a rhinestone-studded kitty-cat collar.

As promised . . . .

My wake up call was a couple of weeks ago - the evening I drove home from work actually believing that it would probably be a good idea to drive my car over the edge of the ravine and down, down, down into the dust and the cacti and the rattlesnakes below. At that moment, the mind-body connection subconciously kicked in and my foot hit the gas pedal and the steering wheel kind of stuttered in my shaking hands. And I knew then that I was in potentially big trouble. Then my inner voice gave stern warning, “Sister, you’d better watch yourself, because it’s easier to make this kind of thing happen than you might think . . .”

And, I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’ve been crying alot in the past few weeks. Uncontrollable, spastic, choking on my own long hair kind of heaving sobs. My mother suggested I get on Vitamin P, but popping anti-depressants is not an option for me. When I wasn’t crying, I was doing everything I could to paste a fake smile on my face and not crack up into tears.

There’s alot I don’t remember from the past few weeks. Blank spaces of time. That’s when I was angry. I’ve also been very, very angry . . . just a blind kind of rage that I certainly didn’t recognize as . . . . ME.

Then I began to envision myself ‘falling’ down flights of stairs . . . . and I knew. Something had to change. What was causing all this stress in the form of facial twitches, a strange rash in the area of my third eye chakra and chest hives?

My job, that’s what. So, I did the only thing I could do. The scariest thing I could imagine. In Eleanor Roosevelt’s words I did that thing I thought I could not do. I quit my job.

Yes, it was scary. This coming from a girl who has spent the night in the middle of jungles with marauding panthers. But in order to be reborn, one must first suffer a small death.

Those first moments were the most difficult ones after I hung up from that late-evening phone call on Thursday night to my boss. The fear creeped in, but I saw it creeping in. And so, I just began to say “Thank you, thank you, thank you . . . ” over and over again with outstretched arms toward the kitchen window and the fear melted away and I had a private conversation with the universe and I re-programmed my mind to know and believe and live with the absolute knowing that not only was everything going to be OK, but that everything would be indeed wonderful and beautiful.

At that moment, I looked down and realized I was wearing my New Person Being Born monkey shirt. I began to run around the house, yelling, “New Person Being Born! New Anna Being Born!”

Yes, I had a picture taken of me at work as Wonder Woman. No, that’s not the one posted on this site. I signed a gnarly Non-Disclosure agreement. I’m in Albuquerque . . . on a secret mission.

I didn’t make the meeting, but no one minded. I did, however, have a *very* important fashion discussion with my boss.

“So, Anna, did you bring your Wonder Woman costume with you to Albuquerque?” she asked.

In fact, I did.

In fact, I had it in my car, but I didn’t tell her that. Later in the afternoon, I drove my car down to security get my ID picture taken so I would never again be late due to waiting in line at the guest guard shack. . . and I had an idea . . .

I walked back into the office with the costume in a bag under my coat,  immediately went to the bathroom, changed, and  non-chalantly walked into my boss’s office as she was having an informal meeting with our project manager. The look on his face was priceless. The look on her face was priceless.

“You requested the services of Wonder Woman?” I asked, as I sauntered in the door.

“No!” she replied. “I asked if you brought the outfit!” she said between guffaws.

They like me, they really, really like me!

Yesterday morning had all the makings of what could have led me to have a bad day.

I was crabby because I left the hotel late to drive to work, forgetting the face to the car stereo and then when I arrived to the gate, there was a line of cars waiting at the guest guard shack. Why did I pull up to the guest guard shack? Well, because I just haven’t had time to go and get my ID photo taken. Now, I was late, my boss was in a meeting and I was supposed to pop into the meeting. At this rate, I wouldn’t make the meeting at all.

I waited in line at the gate for at least 20 painful minutes. Finally I gave in, did some deep breathing, put on my make-up and looked at the mountains all around me, but was still restless. The guard knows me and saw me squirming and brought me a pass. The office was all a-bustle when I blasted in the door, loaded down with purse and briefcase. I needed coffee - stat. To compound my frustration, I was becoming increasingly annoyed because my boot zipper caught the inside threading of my skirt, pulling sequins off and making me trip.

As I stood there, barely inside the door, frazzled and pulling at the snagged thread of my hippie skirt, trying not to fall on my face, someone began asking me questions about her paperwork and it was all I could do to say through a strained grin, “Can we please discuss this after I get in the door at least?”

I unthreaded my skirt at least five times before I got to my desk, I just know it. Where’s that coffee? Why’s there so much paper on my desk? Why is everybody asking me all these questions!!!! Argh! My fashion emergency was about to catapult me into the land of bitchiness. And all of a sudden, it came from nowhere.

Sitting at my desk, I began to chant, “I am going to have a good day,” very lightly at first and building with intensity until I was booming. “I AM GOING TO HAVE A GOOD DAY! I AM GOING TO HAVE A GOOD DAY.” My office-mate just kind of gave me a strange look. Someone dialed my extension from way down the office bullpen and said, “Hey Anna, Are you going to have a good day?”

“Yes,” I laughed. And I did.