Ever since Britney came out with “I’m Not a Girl,” I’ve always found ways to describe my situation as being ‘not one, but not quite the other.” I mean, Britney totally rocked the post-pubescent-pre-adulthood thing.
Until she shaved her head off and became a man.
But for now, I’m in between the living and the dead. Of course the first culprit is work. Why can’t one ever be content with sitting in the corner and successfully hiding away from their superiors? Not me. I like to see what’s going on. Except, I never expect that something is actually going on. Silly me. They get me EVERYTIME. All half-quips aside, I’m actually really excited about my job right now. There are some interesting projects swirling around and I’m having a hand in sme of them. My on-the-job experience scale has just exploded off the Richter and I love it! I never imagined my role taking on this form, but then again, no one expected the economy to tank. Well, no one except Nouriel Roubini aka Doctor Doom.
I could also say that my Money Moves is an accessory in this whole affair. Opening a 401K seems easy as peach pie. (Is peach pie easy? Not sure…) Switching your Roth IRA from the clutches of your Financial Advisor to another holding company? About as easy as NASTY PEACH PIE. I won’t paint a picture of my FA as a scorned lover, using all of his powers to prevent the impending departure of his “other half.” No that’s not it as all. In better words, it isn’t him, but it isn’t me either.
It’s actually my conscience.
I feel really bad breaking up with my FA. Ok, no I don’t. I feel really bad about switching my miniscule assets to another fund and NOT telling my FA about it. For some reason, it scares the bejesus out of me to tell him that I’ve decided to go to another fund. So, I’m doing what any mature person would do in this situation: I’m not saying a word and dipping out the back door. Yup, like a deadbeat I’m walking away.
Am I legally contracted to tell him that I don’t want him robbing me blind anymore? our financial relationship is over? Or is this an ethical dilemna? Is it morally wrong to just leave without saying a word? If he could understand that I’m Not Dead/Not Quite Alive/all I need is time..
Aside from that, I’ve just been lazy, choosing to bum around on the couch when I get home and spending an extra 30 minutes in bed in the morning. So yeah, that’s why I’ve been gone. To all that are under the wrath of Snowpocalypse: I feel you. Stay warm all!
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