LEAVE ME ALONE

Does anyone else get told what to do in every aspect of their life?

Is it just me?

I can be on the phone, in the midst of asking my questions when a Post-it is hurled at me loaded with questions. Why are you giving me this?

Do I look inept? Do I look perplexed?

NO.

I can ask my own questions. I can do the job I was hired to do. Leave me alone.

Even when I’m not at work I have people breathing down my neck.

If it’s not my landlord griping about fictitious 5-foot-tall grass then it’s my softball coach jogging back with me lecturing me on my entire walk back to the dug out.

Dear Everyone, I don’t care. I don’t care that the grass is more than ¾ of an inch tall. I don’t care that I missed the ball. I don’t care to ask the dumbest questions ever that, for the record, I won’t even be putting in my story — Guess what: It’s MY story.

All around me are other reporters who suck just as much as I do.

But do they get lectured?

No.

All over the field are other players who suck just as much as I do.

Do they get lectured?

No — well, the one guy who makes me look like a champ has deflected a little of the attention, but that’s not a part of this rant.

So, for the love of all that is holy, leave me alone. Let me be. Let me screw up if that’s what is meant to be.

Thank you, Angel

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