When I haven't been networking or taking the dog to the doggie dentist, I've spent the month lazing around watching Oprah while eating those mini-brownies. You know, the ones that you can pop in your mouth and fully digest before you realize that you've even eaten them. (Notice that I watch Oprah, not Dr. Oz. He would have told me to stop eating the brownies. But Oprah won't. See how smart I am?).
Thus, I have introduced Bootcamp For the Unemployed (BFU).
Under the terms of the BFU contract I've signed with myself, I am required to work out every day. This is harder than it looks on TV. So I've hired a personal trainer and a Pilates instructor to help. No, it's not Jennifer Aniston's trainer or Jennifer Lopez's Pilates instructor, so don't think I've gone all Hollywood-ish. This city is full of aspiring actors and actresses who will work as trainers for minimal pay because the acting work is apparently not rolling in the doors for them.
Anyway, I figure it's an investment in my future, right? I need the kick in the butt to get myself moving every day. But it is PAINFUL. No, not the physical part (although that is painful, too). It's the bit about having to do what someone else says.
You see, ex-executives don't like to give up the little remaining authority they possess. Normally I wouldn't care if someone told me that I had to do 100 crunches (well, I might care but I would probably still do them). But now everything is about maintaining control. The BFU instructor (who I sometimes mentally refer to as the BFD instructor to make me smile while she's torturing me) says "Do this 20 times". I say, "How about 10?" She says, "I think I said 20.". I pant, "Can we settle at 15?". Even though I know it's in my best interest to do as she says, I still want to barter on every point. And I've realized it's because I have no one else to negotiate with every day.
After all, do you think the cat will listen to me if I inform her that I am now in charge of the household and she must do as I say? I think not.