The dangers of being overqualified for your job

I would like to think of myself as reasonably intelligent. But as was pointed out by my dearest boss, Earnesto, nearly any sentient body, including furbies, could probably be an executive assistant. It's not a terrible job. It just isn't that great. Part of it is the institution, I know, but really, even fresh out of college, it turns out I was dangerously overqualified for the the position.

I say this because in the stagnant pool that become my mind as I thought of the exigencies of trying to schedule 50 hours worth of meetings into 37.5 hours, last summer I developed a perilous infatuation with Rusty (so named because for reasons unknown, he dyes his hair the exact color of iron oxide, and somehow captures the texture as well)

Okay, now I realize he's just not attractive, but I was sensory deprived, and he seemed so splendidly different from that to which I had become accustomed: the executive. And his hair was also not rusted then, it was my Achilles heel color of feather boa blue. Which is also probably not enticing to you, but work with me.

We met, we were friends, I was really silly, etc, and gory details will not be shared because I do have some dignity I would like to maintain. Anyway, fast-forward months and his contract runs out, and I realize I will never see him again, and I come to my senses. Thank you, blessed October. And I move merrily on with life and back to crushes of guys who are actually in some way shape or form attractive. My acceptance of Rusty's departure was facilitated by his new hair color, which just made me cringe. You can't take hair that color anywhere, unless it's to a stylist to repair the ravages.

And then, in January, back he reappears in my life, wanted to start back where we left off as friends. So not going to happen. I have developed super-skills at ignoring him, and he mopes about when we chance encounter. But in January I was so angry.

Despite my new found ability to deny his entire existence, every time I see Rusty, I wince with the reminder of my terrible mistake, and wish I could undo months of stupidity induced by job dissatisfaction. It was insanity. So when I saw him on the bus this morning, looking just awful, I reiterated my vow to trot out the resumé and start applying for a job where I would use my brain enough to forever hereafter avoid dangerous infatuations.