A long three-day weekend. Three-day since Friday I took off work, not because President's Day is a holiday from my job.
The family met at a lawyers office to discuss the state of my late Grandmother's house and how to get it sold. Or more appropriately, how to get it off everybody's hands. As the attorney was speaking options took form. Sell it, auction it, or burn it. Auction being the most likely, burning the most entertaining. It could sell, but it comes at a risk of turmoil that could forever fracture relationships. But how can relationships compete with money, or nostalgia, or power?
That evening we drank and flirted with young girls and shared a few pictures.
Next morning breakfast was cooked in short order and the caravan down to the house began. Move things out, clean, change the locks, fix the front door, eat a bucket of KFC, take a load to the dump, a load to the thrift store, finish packing vehicles with treasures, head back.
That evening we drank and flirted with young girls and shared a few stories.
The family stays the same, the family changes. Who has a permanent position? Who is disposable? How do I fit into it, why am I concerned? Maybe becoming an adult is not relying on it. Not relying on anything or anyone, but ghosts, memories and yourself.
Relying on your own story.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Back to My Life of Quiet Desperation
Enough of this Bridget Jones' diary business and grand 30,0000 foot views of life. Back to the whole point of this blog, how work SUCKS, and how I need to be freed from the chains of my own incapabilities.
The workday, a never ending uphill push against details over-looked, requests unanswered, ego's unfulfilled. My ego in particular. A single workday can undo a whole life.
I check the bank account to make sure at least that is on track. Yes, all bills paid with money left in the coffer. Good, good, all this shit has paid off today, I won't be living on the street tonight.
But tomorrow, oh tomorrow. Tomorrow could be the day all hell rains down and they tell me to get out. Or worse, or worse, they tell me to fix everything and won't let me go home until everthing is straightened out. The hell, the pure hell. And crying wouldn't help.
I'm too old to become a stripper, however at times it crosses my mind that it might be an enjoyable job. Aside from the freaks and losers.
Tomorrow will be better, tomorrow will be better.
The dog didn't take a crap on the carpet today. Hallelulah! Gve thanks for small miracles.
The workday, a never ending uphill push against details over-looked, requests unanswered, ego's unfulfilled. My ego in particular. A single workday can undo a whole life.
I check the bank account to make sure at least that is on track. Yes, all bills paid with money left in the coffer. Good, good, all this shit has paid off today, I won't be living on the street tonight.
But tomorrow, oh tomorrow. Tomorrow could be the day all hell rains down and they tell me to get out. Or worse, or worse, they tell me to fix everything and won't let me go home until everthing is straightened out. The hell, the pure hell. And crying wouldn't help.
I'm too old to become a stripper, however at times it crosses my mind that it might be an enjoyable job. Aside from the freaks and losers.
Tomorrow will be better, tomorrow will be better.
The dog didn't take a crap on the carpet today. Hallelulah! Gve thanks for small miracles.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
40+40=80
I assumed the trajectory of my life would go like this:
/\
/ \
/ \
/ \
But terrified it will go like this:
/\
/ \
/ |
/ |___
And hopeful it will end up like this:
/| /
/ | /
/ | /
/ |/
/\
/ \
/ \
/ \
But terrified it will go like this:
/\
/ \
/ |
/ |___
And hopeful it will end up like this:
/| /
/ | /
/ | /
/ |/
Thursday, February 10, 2011
My Hot Chocolate
2 mugfuls of milk
2 tablespoons cocoa
4 tablespoons brown sugar
a little bit of cinnamon
a little bit of red pepper
Put mini-chocolate chips and marshmallows in the mug before pouring in the hot chocolate.
A little bit of exotic comfort food! The best!
(Although the husband says it tastes like dirt.)
2 tablespoons cocoa
4 tablespoons brown sugar
a little bit of cinnamon
a little bit of red pepper
Put mini-chocolate chips and marshmallows in the mug before pouring in the hot chocolate.
A little bit of exotic comfort food! The best!
(Although the husband says it tastes like dirt.)
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Yet Another Morning
I don't particularly have anything to post today, but I had to put something up so that long soliloquy on working mothers is not the first post up there. It's soooo long, I can't imagine anyone would want to slog through it all. One of the things I like about having a blog is being able to go back through and read old posts, and even I don't want to re-read that one.
Big news around here is trying to house train Ziva. Ziva is winning, carpeting is losing. It's not a fun time. The doggie urine smell is getting bad, and I'm falling way behind on picking up her poop piles.
Yesterday we erected the kennel, and she will spend her days in there. That will help, but she still sneaks off even when we are home and then 'poof!' a new pile has appeared.
Big news around here is trying to house train Ziva. Ziva is winning, carpeting is losing. It's not a fun time. The doggie urine smell is getting bad, and I'm falling way behind on picking up her poop piles.
Yesterday we erected the kennel, and she will spend her days in there. That will help, but she still sneaks off even when we are home and then 'poof!' a new pile has appeared.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Work and Mothers and Fathers and the Rest of Us - Who Cares?
A post on a career blog I read has me perplexed. The post is about working mothers versus working women who are not mothers. The use of the word "versus" is one I don't think should ever be used, but there it is, these discussions always have to go one way or the other with no grey in between.
This topic usually uninterests me and I don't read such articles. And I suspect I do not visit sites that would even venture into this subject anyways, so what I see is only the tip of the iceberg.
First of all, why are groups of women all categorized together at all? Work, mothering and being a spouse are all such individual endeavors that I don't see how people think their particular combination of these three is "typical" or that they can make assumptions about anybody else who appears to have combined these three things in the same fashion they have.
But for some reason women continue to discuss this as if there is a correct formula, or at the very least feel their group has to express themselves to the other group so they be understood. Why? Why do any women care? What do they believe they have to gain? Is there some legislation they would like passed? If this is their aim, I for one wish they would be more direct about it. Because it appears women like to tear each other apart just to try and make themselves feel better. And that makes me sad.
I have no kids, by choice. And mostly I do not get any feedback on this, probably because I am anti-social and don't talk to anybody, but I digress. My point here is that I have had some people tell me I must have foregone having children so I can focus on my career. No, that is not the reason. Why do people think it must be children or career? My career is mediocre, I've never particularly had any career ambition or goals. I don't work tons of over-time, but still, I don't want any children.
I don't want children because I just don't. The feeling never grabbed me. Babies don't get me excited, not like I see other women act. I've never had a good relationship with my mother and the thought of having a child of my own only brings up thoughts of teenagers yelling they hate me, sick kids making me stay up all night, and having to give up watching television marathons on weekends because a needy, little, self-centered sentient being has a soccer tournament. See? It's best if I am never any ones mother, it would just suck for that poor human, but it is not because I have a sky-rocketing career.
Do I think I am a more valuable worker because I do not have the worry of children, or have to take days off for them, or any of that business? No, no I don't. As a matter of fact, I have wondered if I would be a more efficient worker if I did have kids because I would be forced to keep my workday to certain hours. If I did have children, I would either be more efficient, or I would be a disaster. I tend to believe the disaster is more likely. Which is why I do have enormous admiration for the women who work and have children. They have skills I cannot fathom.
That being said, I do think some mothers have very high expectations of themselves and are fairly demanding of their husbands. Some examples are a mother who was upset she did not meet her sales goal in the same year she took off to have a baby. Another is a man I work with who told his wife he did not want her going back to school to get a PhD because they had 4 children and he did not think he could do his job and take care of the kids while she was working on a doctorate. I supported the man, the working mothers in the office admonished him for holding his wife back. But I could see his point, kids are a big project and if he didn't think he could keep the household together at least he was honest. And if you have kids shouldn't you be willing to sacrifice some things to have them? Nobody told anybody they had to have kids.
Very often working moms pull together and form a little clique at work. You hear them at lunch, clucking about their kids and sharing pictures and otherwise supporting one another. But there are other people at work, single people that I know of, who take care of elderly parents. They aren't forming little clique's, and nobody wants to see pictures. I don't hear continual complaints about how nobody understands them, or that the entire workforce needs to change to accommodate them. And having an elderly parent that needs care wasn't their decision, it was a responsibility hoisted onto them.
And finally I'd like point out that the person who has it the worst when a newborn is born, is the father who has a wife who has decided to stay at home, yet wants the husband to be her complete connection to the outside world. I have sat next to many a man who gets numerous phone-calls a day, I hear the poor man try to be nice, I know what he's dealing with at work and it's not pretty, yet he's got this whiny woman calling him 10 times a day. And I just know the woman on the other end is probably complaining to her mother, her sister and all the playtime mothers about how the husband doesn't understand this and that and how lucky he is that he gets to leave the house every morning. But I have seen the other side of it, the pain in the man's face when he is trying to be pleasant on the phone when he knows his boss is expecting him in a meeting, the tremendous pressure of having to keep earning a paycheck so the whiny wife and crying baby have a roof over their head and food to eat. And generally they do not complain, they do not have other fathers they are cliquish with, they just do it.
And I wonder why can't mothers be more like that?
This topic usually uninterests me and I don't read such articles. And I suspect I do not visit sites that would even venture into this subject anyways, so what I see is only the tip of the iceberg.
First of all, why are groups of women all categorized together at all? Work, mothering and being a spouse are all such individual endeavors that I don't see how people think their particular combination of these three is "typical" or that they can make assumptions about anybody else who appears to have combined these three things in the same fashion they have.
But for some reason women continue to discuss this as if there is a correct formula, or at the very least feel their group has to express themselves to the other group so they be understood. Why? Why do any women care? What do they believe they have to gain? Is there some legislation they would like passed? If this is their aim, I for one wish they would be more direct about it. Because it appears women like to tear each other apart just to try and make themselves feel better. And that makes me sad.
I have no kids, by choice. And mostly I do not get any feedback on this, probably because I am anti-social and don't talk to anybody, but I digress. My point here is that I have had some people tell me I must have foregone having children so I can focus on my career. No, that is not the reason. Why do people think it must be children or career? My career is mediocre, I've never particularly had any career ambition or goals. I don't work tons of over-time, but still, I don't want any children.
I don't want children because I just don't. The feeling never grabbed me. Babies don't get me excited, not like I see other women act. I've never had a good relationship with my mother and the thought of having a child of my own only brings up thoughts of teenagers yelling they hate me, sick kids making me stay up all night, and having to give up watching television marathons on weekends because a needy, little, self-centered sentient being has a soccer tournament. See? It's best if I am never any ones mother, it would just suck for that poor human, but it is not because I have a sky-rocketing career.
Do I think I am a more valuable worker because I do not have the worry of children, or have to take days off for them, or any of that business? No, no I don't. As a matter of fact, I have wondered if I would be a more efficient worker if I did have kids because I would be forced to keep my workday to certain hours. If I did have children, I would either be more efficient, or I would be a disaster. I tend to believe the disaster is more likely. Which is why I do have enormous admiration for the women who work and have children. They have skills I cannot fathom.
That being said, I do think some mothers have very high expectations of themselves and are fairly demanding of their husbands. Some examples are a mother who was upset she did not meet her sales goal in the same year she took off to have a baby. Another is a man I work with who told his wife he did not want her going back to school to get a PhD because they had 4 children and he did not think he could do his job and take care of the kids while she was working on a doctorate. I supported the man, the working mothers in the office admonished him for holding his wife back. But I could see his point, kids are a big project and if he didn't think he could keep the household together at least he was honest. And if you have kids shouldn't you be willing to sacrifice some things to have them? Nobody told anybody they had to have kids.
Very often working moms pull together and form a little clique at work. You hear them at lunch, clucking about their kids and sharing pictures and otherwise supporting one another. But there are other people at work, single people that I know of, who take care of elderly parents. They aren't forming little clique's, and nobody wants to see pictures. I don't hear continual complaints about how nobody understands them, or that the entire workforce needs to change to accommodate them. And having an elderly parent that needs care wasn't their decision, it was a responsibility hoisted onto them.
And finally I'd like point out that the person who has it the worst when a newborn is born, is the father who has a wife who has decided to stay at home, yet wants the husband to be her complete connection to the outside world. I have sat next to many a man who gets numerous phone-calls a day, I hear the poor man try to be nice, I know what he's dealing with at work and it's not pretty, yet he's got this whiny woman calling him 10 times a day. And I just know the woman on the other end is probably complaining to her mother, her sister and all the playtime mothers about how the husband doesn't understand this and that and how lucky he is that he gets to leave the house every morning. But I have seen the other side of it, the pain in the man's face when he is trying to be pleasant on the phone when he knows his boss is expecting him in a meeting, the tremendous pressure of having to keep earning a paycheck so the whiny wife and crying baby have a roof over their head and food to eat. And generally they do not complain, they do not have other fathers they are cliquish with, they just do it.
And I wonder why can't mothers be more like that?
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Anna
Anna Karenina was the first book I read after college graduation. It just seemed the next logical step;
1. Graduate
2. Read Anna Karenina
3. Live the rest of life.
It took me six months. I had moved in with my father, step-mother, sister and half-brother and had no money and no ambition. Only a kind-of boyfriend, a job with a temp agency and a deep dis-satisfaction with everything.
I checked A.K. out of the local library. It was heavy, hard-back, with a protective clear plastic around the cover. It went everywhere with me, a page squeezed in here and there, an unusual dogged determination propelling me through the book.
I read during lunch break from my receptionist's job, at home in my temporary bedroom set up in my step-mother's guest room, on the metro.
I finished it, and it went back to the library along with a fair amount of late charges. No epiphanies had risen up to greet my poor lost self. No game plans for the rest of my life had been formulated. Only now I knew Anna, a woman who was deeply dis-satisfied with everything, with no way out. Trapped for all eternity.
It's time to read Anna K. again.
1. Graduate
2. Read Anna Karenina
3. Live the rest of life.
It took me six months. I had moved in with my father, step-mother, sister and half-brother and had no money and no ambition. Only a kind-of boyfriend, a job with a temp agency and a deep dis-satisfaction with everything.
I checked A.K. out of the local library. It was heavy, hard-back, with a protective clear plastic around the cover. It went everywhere with me, a page squeezed in here and there, an unusual dogged determination propelling me through the book.
I read during lunch break from my receptionist's job, at home in my temporary bedroom set up in my step-mother's guest room, on the metro.
I finished it, and it went back to the library along with a fair amount of late charges. No epiphanies had risen up to greet my poor lost self. No game plans for the rest of my life had been formulated. Only now I knew Anna, a woman who was deeply dis-satisfied with everything, with no way out. Trapped for all eternity.
It's time to read Anna K. again.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Another Morning
Another late morning getting ready for work. But it is Friday and that means I have almost completed 5 days, 40 hours, of earning my keep in this world.
Sir, please mark this down in my favor.
Sir, please mark this down in my favor.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Working at the Vets
About 4 years ago now I started working every other Saturday at the veterinarian's office. Reception mostly, help hold animals, draw up some vaccines, and take some temperatures. I did it because I was miserable at my job (really? really) and thought the divergence would help give me a fresh perspective.
Four years on and I'm wondering if it is still worth it. The problem is, I can't say no. If I could just stick with the every other weekend thing I would be fine, but they keep asking me to fill in here and there, in the evenings and extra Saturdays.
It is killing me. And, to work the evenings I have to leave my regular job a little early. If I were a stellar employee otherwise this would not be a big deal, but, you know.
So this morning I am trying to pump myself up to be able to call the Dr. and ask her to cut back on the hours. Why can't I just blurt it out? I feel bad about it.
Four years on and I'm wondering if it is still worth it. The problem is, I can't say no. If I could just stick with the every other weekend thing I would be fine, but they keep asking me to fill in here and there, in the evenings and extra Saturdays.
It is killing me. And, to work the evenings I have to leave my regular job a little early. If I were a stellar employee otherwise this would not be a big deal, but, you know.
So this morning I am trying to pump myself up to be able to call the Dr. and ask her to cut back on the hours. Why can't I just blurt it out? I feel bad about it.
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