We're only at fucking Maywood?

When your commute causes you to want to tear at your own flesh, it's time to consider a new gig.

To that end, I have exactly 14 days left of my city to suburbs CTA/Metra jaunt from hell as I have quit my job. And, I hope you all are sitting down, because I don't have another one lined up.

Oh, the humanity!

Here's what happened. The week before Christmas I struggled as usual to make the train and one morning after pleading (in my head) with the 60 Blue Island bus driver to "DRIVE FASTER, SIR, OH PLEASE DRIVE FASTER!" I got to the platform just as the fucking train was pulling out. A familiar scene to me over the past 8 months.

I called my coworker who was on the train.

"I'm watching you pull away now. I need to be convinced to stay and wait for the 8:40," I told her.

"I'll send someone back for you Angie! Stay! Ahhgghh!" she said dramatically as if I was a soldier left behind enemy lines.

"Alright. Fuck." With my head down, I shuffled out onto the concourse, seriously on the verge of tears, which is about as ridiculous as it gets. So instead of grabbing coffee or a paper, my legs carried me out onto Madison St., and back on the bus that would take me home. I was done. The next day I went into work, gave my bosses six week's notice and we had a very amicable breakup. Of course, I told them that I'm totally open to break up sex after I leave. . .

Anyway, so now I'm looking for a new job and I need your help. What I'm looking for is a series of paying fantasy camps where you hold like 20 different jobs during the week. Maybe one day, I get to be a producer on Frontline. Then for a couple of hours I get to be an inspiring teacher that completely turns around the lives of street toughs with a lecture on the Gettysburg Address. I'd like to be a talk show host too for a spell. Hmmm. What else. A campaign advisor, a newspaper columnist, a screenwriter, a bartender, a chef, an antique dealer, a physicist, an NBA wife, Vince Vaughn's personal assistant, the host of Jeopardy, like all in one week. Anyway, if you see anything like this on Monster.com, please forward it to me. Otherwise, unfortunately, I'm going to have to go on interviews and pretend to care about things like "branding" and ROI.

I'm a dreamer who knows she lives in the real world. My needs are simple. I told my coworker and train pal that I'd seriously blow someone for a short commute, an hour lunch, and casual Fridays.

And I'm not kidding.

Well not entirely anyway. Some career objective, eh?