I probably stole this from somewhere but as it concerns pessimists and optimists, pessimists truly appreciate good fortune because they understand its rarity and value. They don't expect good things to come of everything they do, not because they don't want good things but because they realize the world isn't Candyland.
I'm stressed because my old boss can't find a place to live and his family is miserable and cramped and uncertain. I don't know what in me wants everyone to land softly, to feel no pain, to have someone make their lives easier. Maybe I am putting into the world what I hope to get back. Maybe that's just one of my needs, to be needed, to care for something, to facilitate. I just want everything to work out and I kind of want to be a hero if I'm unflatteringly honest. I want to be someone's hero. I want them to admire and respect me, to see me as capable. That is my fuel. The assist is my calling card, acknowledgement is my reward. I need a place to live too but I would honestly rather spend my time looking for a home for my old boss' family.
I've thought about this before, this need of mine, examining it as evidence of lack of self worth or something else sad and dark. I'm not ruling it out but I don't think it is that deep. I think I just don't care about most things. But I care about some people and if I care about you, I care about everything. If I think I can help you, I really want to help. It makes me feel good to think about you having one less thing to worry about. But there's also something about my boss that makes him different. He's ridiculously disorganized. I'm not sure if he thrives on chaos or like a shark must keep moving or he'll die but I have a hard time even imagining him sitting down without doing something else at the same time. And his attention to detail on something like finding a home-he just doesn't organize himself in the same way I would. I found working with him that it was better if I handled the details. He just didn't think most of them were important. And he is frankly smart enough to usually pull out of the face plant his oversight causes. But over time it becomes a drag on progress, a death by a thousand cuts situation. Though I didn't realize when I started writing this, I hate watching people suffer at their own hand. I hate watching Ashley piss away her time. I hate seeing anyone make their lives harder. Life is hard, why not make it easier where it can be?
I've been dabbling a little in string theory (note: most pretentious and ridiculous sentence ever written). I understand none of it and actually looked it up purely for mocking someone else who claimed to dabble in it. But I like the concept, to the extent I understand it and have started using it in a literary way to describe that which tethers us to one another. The theory was developed to mathematically explain gravity which doesn't behave mathematically like any of the other elements/forces from the standard model of particle physics (string theorists, physics majors, anyone else, jump in here if I'm already way off). String theory seeks to address this and provide the math to explain everything. Not sure why I had to explain that but it's done now and I don't feel like hitting backspace.
What I like about string theory is the strings. Instead of electrons and atoms bouncing all over the place, there is some unifying force holding it all together, connecting it all. Beyond the very complicated math and theory, it sounds very hippie, very metaphysical, and I can see how a pizza delivery guy can claim to dabble in it. When I have a really bad day and find out a close friend was hurting as well, I feel like our difficulty resonates on the strings that tie us to one another. Maybe string theory will one day explain how a mood can color a room. Maybe bad moods have a gravity that overwhelms the short powerful wavelengths of happiness. Maybe I like learning new words and concepts just enough to use them in sentences that only make sense to people who know even less than me about string theory, and maybe not even them.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Stupid stubborn
My sister is stupid stubborn. She got it from my mother who is also stupid stubborn. My brother and I were talking, me trying to get notes from him from when he was in full prick mode with the family. Asking for money, blowing up my phone and writing me every three hours then becoming a ghost once he got the money, not even calling to acknowledge receipt, that kind of bullshit. I was trying to figure out why it wouldn't occur to Ashley to try to remedy or even apologize for again spilling crap on my rug and nearly ruining my vacuum cleaner by vacuuming up wet salt. Instead she hasn't spoken to me at all in the last week. Who does that? Just refuses to talk or acknowledge their wrong. Just gets up and moves about their business, using my shit, living in my home, with 'fuck you' rolling off their body in waves. No, fuck YOU. That's fucking insane and I suggest you investigate if they make a pill for that because you need to take it.
What bothers me about both of them is this victimhood they carry around as it concerns my father. You really can not help what baggage you arrive into adulthood with. You don't have the coping skills or perspective to deal with your rearing until you are out of it and can survey the damage. And everyone has something. Everyone. Since I have some authority on the subject of growing up in our house, I feel I have a valid opinion on the matter. I recall bitterly talking about some of the things my father had done and how it had fucked me up to my best friend while we were in college. While talking I had an epiphany. I could hear myself talking for the nth time about how I was fucked up because of someone else and it sounded really bad to me. It sounded like an excuse. It sounded like an explanation for why I was never going to move from that spot in my life. I didn't like it. I don't recall if I said it or thought it but I do know I made a decision that I wasn't going to give him that kind of power over me, he wasn't going to be my excuse for everything I couldn't achieve or any happiness that eluded me in life. I spent so much time growing up wishing he was someone else, would act differently, be less abrasive or unconcerned about my delicate feelings and self esteem. But you can't make people over to be what you want or need and insisting on that as a condition for your happiness or well being is a recipe for an unhappy life.
Nowadays I don't have a greater champion than my father. He thinks I hang the moon. He trusts my opinion. He consults me. That man is my friend and I love him so so much. He is flawed. I am flawed. That is our lot, us mortals, to be flawed. Time has burnished his standing with me and tarnished my mothers--that is another consequence of age and perspective. I see in my mother the personality traits that are the millstones around the necks of my siblings. I understand why my father felt alone and complained he had no help. I understand why I did the family finances when he was away. My brother, sounding conflicted and slightly choked up observed the other night that everything good about us, drive, ambition, intellect, it all came from our father. The part of us that digs in or gets overwhellmed when the flood waters are rising, that's our mother. She's the person who forces you to rescue her, fighting you every step of the way and then cries with resentment because she never asked you to rescue her. I guess that's the yin and yang of our family dynamic. People who can't watch a person drown and people who will stare you dead in your face as the water rises resenting the higher ground you climbed for and thinking somehow climbing is easier for you. I guess I could turn away and not watch the water rise around them but I love them so I watch and let them refuse help until I feel I have to dive in. It's not unique, our codependency and the results aren't unique either.
What bothers me about both of them is this victimhood they carry around as it concerns my father. You really can not help what baggage you arrive into adulthood with. You don't have the coping skills or perspective to deal with your rearing until you are out of it and can survey the damage. And everyone has something. Everyone. Since I have some authority on the subject of growing up in our house, I feel I have a valid opinion on the matter. I recall bitterly talking about some of the things my father had done and how it had fucked me up to my best friend while we were in college. While talking I had an epiphany. I could hear myself talking for the nth time about how I was fucked up because of someone else and it sounded really bad to me. It sounded like an excuse. It sounded like an explanation for why I was never going to move from that spot in my life. I didn't like it. I don't recall if I said it or thought it but I do know I made a decision that I wasn't going to give him that kind of power over me, he wasn't going to be my excuse for everything I couldn't achieve or any happiness that eluded me in life. I spent so much time growing up wishing he was someone else, would act differently, be less abrasive or unconcerned about my delicate feelings and self esteem. But you can't make people over to be what you want or need and insisting on that as a condition for your happiness or well being is a recipe for an unhappy life.
Nowadays I don't have a greater champion than my father. He thinks I hang the moon. He trusts my opinion. He consults me. That man is my friend and I love him so so much. He is flawed. I am flawed. That is our lot, us mortals, to be flawed. Time has burnished his standing with me and tarnished my mothers--that is another consequence of age and perspective. I see in my mother the personality traits that are the millstones around the necks of my siblings. I understand why my father felt alone and complained he had no help. I understand why I did the family finances when he was away. My brother, sounding conflicted and slightly choked up observed the other night that everything good about us, drive, ambition, intellect, it all came from our father. The part of us that digs in or gets overwhellmed when the flood waters are rising, that's our mother. She's the person who forces you to rescue her, fighting you every step of the way and then cries with resentment because she never asked you to rescue her. I guess that's the yin and yang of our family dynamic. People who can't watch a person drown and people who will stare you dead in your face as the water rises resenting the higher ground you climbed for and thinking somehow climbing is easier for you. I guess I could turn away and not watch the water rise around them but I love them so I watch and let them refuse help until I feel I have to dive in. It's not unique, our codependency and the results aren't unique either.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
A silver lining
Where does one start? I think enough people I know are in a particularly slow moving shit storm weather pattern that I think that it qualifies as a trend. As much as I find the phenomenom lamentable, I find it very curious. Is it metaphysical, yin and yang, a tremor in the cosmic matter that keeps us tethered to the earth and one another or simply misery seeking company; me, you, and everyone we know are miserable because we seek miserable people to commiserate with?
But I had a good day today. I got a pedicure, ate lunch outside, and met a strange guy named Larry who mispronounced the word gauge in the most ironic sentence I've ever heard. He also described the Japanese first as NOT homogenous and then when I corrected him conceded given their lack of diversity, he should have used the word monolithic. So Oswald Bates is real y'all. I totally met him today.
Then I napped in the sun, took my dog for a long walk, and continued not speaking to my sister. Good times.
But I had a good day today. I got a pedicure, ate lunch outside, and met a strange guy named Larry who mispronounced the word gauge in the most ironic sentence I've ever heard. He also described the Japanese first as NOT homogenous and then when I corrected him conceded given their lack of diversity, he should have used the word monolithic. So Oswald Bates is real y'all. I totally met him today.
Then I napped in the sun, took my dog for a long walk, and continued not speaking to my sister. Good times.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
I am lonely or bored--they kind of both feel the same. I'm waiting for something to happen. For someone to notice me so I matter. I've become semi-attached to Facebook, not posting but looking at everyone's super fun lives or super witty status' or terrible inane updates that still get comments and likes (which pisses me off on some level). I've been trying to figure out the critical mass of 'friends' you must have on Facebook to ensure you never post a status that is completely ignored by all (which happens to yours truly quite often). To be fair, 2/3 of my Facebook friends are people I haven't seen since 1992 and have no plans to see.
I've looked at my posts over the last year and especially over the last month or so and I am frustrated with the quality. This has always been a bit of an online diary/diatribe but lately it's just been poo. Ohhh, I have an unhealthy relationship with my boss/work, oooh, I'll never have a boyfriend or husband, oooh, Ashley is irritating again, ooh I'm melancholy. I'm just off. I have no space for this. I am constrained in my own space both here and in this apartment. I'm wondering about stupid unproductive things; will anyone ever make me feel that way again, what time should I leave tomorrow, what should I wear, should I drive or take the train, which car should I take...
Very irritated with myself right now.
I've looked at my posts over the last year and especially over the last month or so and I am frustrated with the quality. This has always been a bit of an online diary/diatribe but lately it's just been poo. Ohhh, I have an unhealthy relationship with my boss/work, oooh, I'll never have a boyfriend or husband, oooh, Ashley is irritating again, ooh I'm melancholy. I'm just off. I have no space for this. I am constrained in my own space both here and in this apartment. I'm wondering about stupid unproductive things; will anyone ever make me feel that way again, what time should I leave tomorrow, what should I wear, should I drive or take the train, which car should I take...
Very irritated with myself right now.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Still haven't found what I'm looking for
Who has really? If you even know what you're looking for, you're probably ahead. That's all I really had to say about it. I was just sitting here decompressing after a long drive back home from our Father's Day visit, browsing the interweb and daydreaming. The former (browsing) led me to a few so/so tribute posts on the theme of Father's Day and instead of following suit with my own schmaltzy take, I decided I just must write anything at all. Even if was about nothing, it would probably be better than the stuff I just read.
Yes, I had some haterade earlier, why do you ask?
Yes, I had some haterade earlier, why do you ask?
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Still crying: Seriously, transitions suck
Today I'm just going to let myself be sad. I had told my boss I would be putting on the big girl pants today after letting myself be miserable last night but maybe an entire 24 hours is a more acceptable grieving period. I don't want to go to work (really, when do I ever) and see his empty crumb-strewn desk. I woke up this morning and for a few minutes I was fine and then I was really sad again and crying. So I'm just going to give in today and let myself cry, do laps in my sorrow and anxiety now that my chief counsel and best friend in Philly is gone. I might also buy some espadrilles I've had my eye on and if I don't give myself another terrible crying headache I might even work out this evening.
I am pleased I got to him as much as he got to me, that I wasn't alone in my delight to work with him and in how much I looked forward to sharing stories with him. He was a handful and leaned on me for far more than he asked of anyone else but that was both a point of frustration and of pride. He trusted me. Winning the trust of a wary man is an achievement and privilege. I'm sad for a lot of reasons right now but grieving really because I've never worked with anyone twice so this was probably it for us. We will intersect professionally for sure, tangentially or directly. But you can never go back, this was what it was. Talk of trying to serve together again is an expression of our deep respect and admiration for one another, not something that is likely to happen. We did try to have me follow him to his next post but it didn't work out. I'm disappointed I don't get to work with him but I do think what lies ahead for me will be an interesting professional detour and will serve us both if we beat the odds and are fortunate enough to serve together again.
Can't wait to get out of here.
I am pleased I got to him as much as he got to me, that I wasn't alone in my delight to work with him and in how much I looked forward to sharing stories with him. He was a handful and leaned on me for far more than he asked of anyone else but that was both a point of frustration and of pride. He trusted me. Winning the trust of a wary man is an achievement and privilege. I'm sad for a lot of reasons right now but grieving really because I've never worked with anyone twice so this was probably it for us. We will intersect professionally for sure, tangentially or directly. But you can never go back, this was what it was. Talk of trying to serve together again is an expression of our deep respect and admiration for one another, not something that is likely to happen. We did try to have me follow him to his next post but it didn't work out. I'm disappointed I don't get to work with him but I do think what lies ahead for me will be an interesting professional detour and will serve us both if we beat the odds and are fortunate enough to serve together again.
Can't wait to get out of here.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Reciprocity
You like me! You really, really like me!
This week has been tough and today especially was tough. My head hurts and my nose is raw from all the crying I did. Last day for the boss and I woke up this morning thinking ugh, I can't to this. I'm miserable already. Tomorrow I will get up and think, ugh, I can't do this. This is too much. He's not going to burst through the door, we're not going to make each other laugh and he's not going to drive me crazy with random questions and random emergencies. I wished we had hung out more, had more than work between us because I feared I adored him more than he adored me. That he liked that I really enjoyed working for him but he wasn't all torn up about it. But he was and while I hated to know we were similarly miserable about not being able to work together, a part of me was relieved not to be the only one having a tough day. We hugged, we wrote each other goodbye e-mails at work, wrote another good bye email tonight and hope we can reconstitute the team again someday. Just a year ago, I was disappointed to have to continue working here because I felt it was time to move on. I remember asking my boss if he thought our boss would support me leaving sooner and his answer was simply no. I would have never guessed I would be sitting here a year and half later, dehydrated from crying over his departure. What a guy. I'm super fortunate. Last year I complained that God was blocking my shots but I now appreciate that I needed to stay at least for this. Totally worth it. What. a. guy.
This week has been tough and today especially was tough. My head hurts and my nose is raw from all the crying I did. Last day for the boss and I woke up this morning thinking ugh, I can't to this. I'm miserable already. Tomorrow I will get up and think, ugh, I can't do this. This is too much. He's not going to burst through the door, we're not going to make each other laugh and he's not going to drive me crazy with random questions and random emergencies. I wished we had hung out more, had more than work between us because I feared I adored him more than he adored me. That he liked that I really enjoyed working for him but he wasn't all torn up about it. But he was and while I hated to know we were similarly miserable about not being able to work together, a part of me was relieved not to be the only one having a tough day. We hugged, we wrote each other goodbye e-mails at work, wrote another good bye email tonight and hope we can reconstitute the team again someday. Just a year ago, I was disappointed to have to continue working here because I felt it was time to move on. I remember asking my boss if he thought our boss would support me leaving sooner and his answer was simply no. I would have never guessed I would be sitting here a year and half later, dehydrated from crying over his departure. What a guy. I'm super fortunate. Last year I complained that God was blocking my shots but I now appreciate that I needed to stay at least for this. Totally worth it. What. a. guy.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Daydream Construction
I could be accurately accused of living a life of the mind. Most of the best things that ever happen to or around me happen in my imagination. I was thinking in the middle of a daydream about my daydream themes, what they are, what they are about, the likely cast and roles. From my analysis I determined my daydreams fit into 4 categories; about a boy, fears of violence, revenge, king of the world.
About a boy: Just what you think it is. It can be romantic or just an important man in my life. A boss, a really nice guy I ran into the other night and wished I had talked to more. A guy I haven't met yet that I hope exists and hope even more that he's amazing and into me without some fatal flaw that explains why he's available and interested in me.
Fear of violence: Ninja scenarios. Mental rehearsal for what I might encounter on the street. Useful in that it led to my consideration of dog poop as a weapon. It hasn't been deployed as such but I always feel good knowing it's there and really likely to buy me some time should I have to whip it at someone's head. Also why I sleep with batons and sticks around my bed because I figure with my eyesight, better to swing a police baton in the dark than fire a weapon.
Revenge: Setting people up without getting my hands dirty. Provoking a terrible boss into sinking their own ship, meeting the crap sack I once dated looking awesome while he wants me so badly it dents his happy little life. These daydreams are my emotional editing room. I spend a lot of time within the daydream working through scenarios, trying to figure how to make things work as if they might someday happen. Like how can I be sure I will look amazing the day I run into crap sack ex when on balance my look is usually somewhere between homeless chic and soccer mom who hopes she doesn't run into anyone important. Occasionally, I rock out the 'I have a meeting today' look but that won't be the day I see anyone but a new old black man I hadn't previously noticed. So I've worked out that I will only daydream about seeing crap sack ex in conjunction with a reception or formal affair.
King of the World (aka, I get to meet and work with Tina Fey who thinks I'm pretty swell): I do something awesome and everyone else thinks it's awesome too. Whether I save a box of kittens, make some overwhelming contribution to the nation, or publish a book, the awesome thing ends up giving me access to people I wish I knew now because I admire what they do. Like Tina Fey. Or President Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama. Or Tina Fey.
Seriously, daydreaming is awesome.
About a boy: Just what you think it is. It can be romantic or just an important man in my life. A boss, a really nice guy I ran into the other night and wished I had talked to more. A guy I haven't met yet that I hope exists and hope even more that he's amazing and into me without some fatal flaw that explains why he's available and interested in me.
Fear of violence: Ninja scenarios. Mental rehearsal for what I might encounter on the street. Useful in that it led to my consideration of dog poop as a weapon. It hasn't been deployed as such but I always feel good knowing it's there and really likely to buy me some time should I have to whip it at someone's head. Also why I sleep with batons and sticks around my bed because I figure with my eyesight, better to swing a police baton in the dark than fire a weapon.
Revenge: Setting people up without getting my hands dirty. Provoking a terrible boss into sinking their own ship, meeting the crap sack I once dated looking awesome while he wants me so badly it dents his happy little life. These daydreams are my emotional editing room. I spend a lot of time within the daydream working through scenarios, trying to figure how to make things work as if they might someday happen. Like how can I be sure I will look amazing the day I run into crap sack ex when on balance my look is usually somewhere between homeless chic and soccer mom who hopes she doesn't run into anyone important. Occasionally, I rock out the 'I have a meeting today' look but that won't be the day I see anyone but a new old black man I hadn't previously noticed. So I've worked out that I will only daydream about seeing crap sack ex in conjunction with a reception or formal affair.
King of the World (aka, I get to meet and work with Tina Fey who thinks I'm pretty swell): I do something awesome and everyone else thinks it's awesome too. Whether I save a box of kittens, make some overwhelming contribution to the nation, or publish a book, the awesome thing ends up giving me access to people I wish I knew now because I admire what they do. Like Tina Fey. Or President Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama. Or Tina Fey.
Seriously, daydreaming is awesome.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
A quiet night
Right now I'm getting the silent treatment because I requested a TV free night. I also hid the remote control. The bathroom is the only room with real walls in this place which means when Ashley decides to watch her typical Sunday night Real Housewives marathon, I'm watching too. I had never seen or cared to be a regular viewer/judger of these women but anyone who has seen it more than once knows the damn thing sucks you in. Especially when the calculus is fold laundry or watch some self-absorbed insecure whack job go ape shit at their son's christening. Laundry loses every time. Even though I'm stopping mostly to comment how stupid the show is or how stupid the people on it are, I'm still freaking watching it. Which means I'm not writing. I bought a white noise generator for the bedroom, thinking I could just get ready for bed and write then but waiting until bed time doesn't work. I'm near incoherent by then and barely able to keep my eyes open.
The sheets are freshly laundered as are most of my clothes. The dog is fed and in two minutes my food will emerge magnificent from the microwave. I have unclogged the shower for the third time since Ashley moved in and when I get back from walking the dog, I will put away dishes. This is the last week for my boss and I have written him my final fanboy tribute e-mail. I will get sloppy this week I'm sure and miss him acutely all over again since every day will be one day closer to likely never seeing him again. And then I will be over it and holding auditions for my next obsession. I'm too exhausted to give a proper angst filled poring over of yesterday's bad decisions and I'm drawing a complete blank on whatever I'm supposed to worrying about for tomorrow. So it will be a quiet night.
The sheets are freshly laundered as are most of my clothes. The dog is fed and in two minutes my food will emerge magnificent from the microwave. I have unclogged the shower for the third time since Ashley moved in and when I get back from walking the dog, I will put away dishes. This is the last week for my boss and I have written him my final fanboy tribute e-mail. I will get sloppy this week I'm sure and miss him acutely all over again since every day will be one day closer to likely never seeing him again. And then I will be over it and holding auditions for my next obsession. I'm too exhausted to give a proper angst filled poring over of yesterday's bad decisions and I'm drawing a complete blank on whatever I'm supposed to worrying about for tomorrow. So it will be a quiet night.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Ode to shameless men
Today was one of those days. It was ass crack hot, my pants were too high for my shoes, I felt frumpy and lumpy, had a zit on my chin, a bad hair day, just eww all around. But then old black men (OBM) came to the rescue. OBM are my key demographic. Eye contact usually gives way to a comment, solicitation, or compliment but eye contact is not necessary. Today OBM said if he had seen me trying to catch the elevator, he would have stuck his head in the door to hold it for me. Strange but wonderfully awkward to ride down with him and his buddies who joked with me about it. Couple of weeks ago in Baltimore, it was the guy who yelled at me as I crossed the street that I was lucky he didn't hit me and then said I was prettier than a motherfucker. Then suggested I get in his car. I started the day feeling like a soccer mom and ended the day wondering if prostitutes wore khaki shorts and mary jane Clarks. Don't know what a motherfucker looks like but I do know that OBM thought I was prettier.
And then there's Larry. Bless his cotton socks. He's not an OBM, he's a would-be cub to my would-be cougar, which for him is just a matter of perspective. I don't feel a woman in her mid-30's qualifies as a cougar but he's clearly got a type and that type is older than him. I met him over a year ago and haven't seen him since. I've told him no every time he's asked to see me again. He is persistent without crossing over into stalker though I am probably being generous in that assessment. He forgot my name but that didn't prevent him from jumping right back into the discussion of seeing me. He can not be shamed away. I told him I was leaving Philly and was solidly booked until I leave. He responded, 'sure you are', waited a week and then asked when we were going to dinner. I responded 'booked solid must mean something different in your language.' It doesn't make him go away.
So I salute you shameless men. I needed a boost today and there you were, the cancer causing saccharine substitute for my sweet tooth.
And then there's Larry. Bless his cotton socks. He's not an OBM, he's a would-be cub to my would-be cougar, which for him is just a matter of perspective. I don't feel a woman in her mid-30's qualifies as a cougar but he's clearly got a type and that type is older than him. I met him over a year ago and haven't seen him since. I've told him no every time he's asked to see me again. He is persistent without crossing over into stalker though I am probably being generous in that assessment. He forgot my name but that didn't prevent him from jumping right back into the discussion of seeing me. He can not be shamed away. I told him I was leaving Philly and was solidly booked until I leave. He responded, 'sure you are', waited a week and then asked when we were going to dinner. I responded 'booked solid must mean something different in your language.' It doesn't make him go away.
So I salute you shameless men. I needed a boost today and there you were, the cancer causing saccharine substitute for my sweet tooth.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
I wanna be a writer when I grow up. Just like I want to be skinny, more interesting, less reserved, better at street math. Truth is, I'm a lazy undisciplined writer. I write when I want, I pout if I can't get that stream of consciousness down to paper while it's happening. I don't try to recapture fleeting thoughts. I don't try to create with discipline what sometimes comes to me in a tumble of every word I ever wanted to use to capture a particular thought or feeling. I look back at those words and they are still pretty babies to me. It's like having that perfect comeback when the person is actually in front of you. It may be absolutely stupid (that's what she said comes to mind) but sometimes it's just pure genius.
I haven't had one of those days in a long time, when the words come to me AND I'm somewhere I can get it all down. The TV is almost always on--it's on right now. Ashley is doing something or doing nothing, both irritate or distract me on some level and by the time the house settles down, I'm barely able to keep my eyes open long enough to post or even think. Ashley is seriously disabusing me of the notion that sharing your life or space with another makes anything easier. It makes some things, on rare occasions, nominally easier. It makes everything else exponentially messier and harder.
I'm the girl that taken guys imagine they might be into if they hadn't locked it down with someone else. If I were a guy or a lesbian, I would be one of their closest friends. But as an anchor-less single gal, I don't get to be best friends with married men. Nor should I be. It's kind of a waste of time. It's a challenge to be friends with any couple because you always know one better than the other and you are always vacillating between second wheel with the partner being left out or third wheel with you making it weird for the couple.
So yea, that's what's on my mind tonight.
I haven't had one of those days in a long time, when the words come to me AND I'm somewhere I can get it all down. The TV is almost always on--it's on right now. Ashley is doing something or doing nothing, both irritate or distract me on some level and by the time the house settles down, I'm barely able to keep my eyes open long enough to post or even think. Ashley is seriously disabusing me of the notion that sharing your life or space with another makes anything easier. It makes some things, on rare occasions, nominally easier. It makes everything else exponentially messier and harder.
I'm the girl that taken guys imagine they might be into if they hadn't locked it down with someone else. If I were a guy or a lesbian, I would be one of their closest friends. But as an anchor-less single gal, I don't get to be best friends with married men. Nor should I be. It's kind of a waste of time. It's a challenge to be friends with any couple because you always know one better than the other and you are always vacillating between second wheel with the partner being left out or third wheel with you making it weird for the couple.
So yea, that's what's on my mind tonight.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Gene Summers
I failed Japanese culture in the 7th grade. It was the only subject in school I ever failed. I failed because I cared more about Gene Summers than I did about doing anything at all in class. If I could have seen myself back then, I'll bet I was really, really, really creepy and sad. People naturally payed attention to Gene because he was full of antics and general popularity but I studied Gene. I studied his girlfriend Kristen trying to find out what about her appealed to him, what was special about her that I didn't have. I didn't want to miss a thing and I'm pretty sure I didn't because I sure as heck got an F from Mr. Towada.
I will miss my boss because I have a work crush on him. I had been a little confused about how I felt about him-not how I actually felt but more concerned with the level of devotion and attention I gave him and whether it meant more than I wanted to admit. That was until Ashley commented how much my boss seemed like our Dad. Bingo. He's a walking contradiction and not as nurturing person as I wish he could be but what I do get from him is special and not dispensed to everyone. My dad once told me that I elevate the humanity of every place I serve. I don't know how he could say that since we've never worked together but when my boss got a little emotional over the gift we gave him, I thought of what my Dad said and I was happy to have pricked my bosses heart just a little bit. He claims he hasn't cried since he was a teenager but his voice cracked when we presented him with his gift and he later admitted he did get emotional. I'm still super proud we conveyed how much he means to us in a way that touched him. I eat that kind of shit up. With a giant ladle even.
Gene Summer's ghost lingers though. I wonder if my boss likes me as much as I like him. I wonder if I'll be a part of his life after he leaves. I feel like it's not appropriate for me to make plans to visit him because I've only met his wife once and while I like her, her husband is the one I know. I refuse to be fight fodder because my intentions are misconstrued or our friendship is used as cannon fodder in fights that are about other things. Which means regardless of whether we both enjoy hanging out and working together, both things are over now. Another casualty of this lifestyle. Sadness of leaving people you would have never met if you didn't keep moving.
Also in the bittersweet column is finally having a conversation with a woman in my neighborhood that I've seen for a couple of years. One of the top 5 random conversations I've had with strangers in this city. It was great. Even in this well worn experience, same commute, same people on the streets, same hot garbage smell on hot days, this city-every city, can bring a new experience that makes you a little sad for the potential that can't be realized.
I will miss my boss because I have a work crush on him. I had been a little confused about how I felt about him-not how I actually felt but more concerned with the level of devotion and attention I gave him and whether it meant more than I wanted to admit. That was until Ashley commented how much my boss seemed like our Dad. Bingo. He's a walking contradiction and not as nurturing person as I wish he could be but what I do get from him is special and not dispensed to everyone. My dad once told me that I elevate the humanity of every place I serve. I don't know how he could say that since we've never worked together but when my boss got a little emotional over the gift we gave him, I thought of what my Dad said and I was happy to have pricked my bosses heart just a little bit. He claims he hasn't cried since he was a teenager but his voice cracked when we presented him with his gift and he later admitted he did get emotional. I'm still super proud we conveyed how much he means to us in a way that touched him. I eat that kind of shit up. With a giant ladle even.
Gene Summer's ghost lingers though. I wonder if my boss likes me as much as I like him. I wonder if I'll be a part of his life after he leaves. I feel like it's not appropriate for me to make plans to visit him because I've only met his wife once and while I like her, her husband is the one I know. I refuse to be fight fodder because my intentions are misconstrued or our friendship is used as cannon fodder in fights that are about other things. Which means regardless of whether we both enjoy hanging out and working together, both things are over now. Another casualty of this lifestyle. Sadness of leaving people you would have never met if you didn't keep moving.
Also in the bittersweet column is finally having a conversation with a woman in my neighborhood that I've seen for a couple of years. One of the top 5 random conversations I've had with strangers in this city. It was great. Even in this well worn experience, same commute, same people on the streets, same hot garbage smell on hot days, this city-every city, can bring a new experience that makes you a little sad for the potential that can't be realized.
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