Either I’m really obtuse or a lot of people love misery and being miserable. I understand that people don’t want me to be without a job and that I need a job to live and that I need insurance and all of the goodies that go along with having a job. However, I’m not sweating yet and I don’t think anyone should sweat for me until I start hovering above repossession of my shit. I have a friend who recently lost his job and I have to wonder how much of his freaking out is because everyone else is helping him freak out? Everyone?!
Everyone asks how work is going. “How’s work going?” they’ll all say. “I don’t know,” I reply. “I haven’t been there for over a month.” “Did you get FIRED?” is the next question. “Yes. They found out that I was taking pot on the clock. I have such a history of bad behavior.” How rude is that? Why can’t you say, “What happened?” I’ll explain and we can resume our conversation without the uncomfortable silence that follows because I am unemployed and tomorrow I’ll be living in a van down by the river. This must be what stay-at-home-moms feel like. I have purpose, people. I have loose ends that need to be tied up and I just got some fresh rope. Mission: I’m on one.
I’ve had a job pretty much since I was 13 years old, you can look at my tax history and see that. I’ve filed a return every year since 1987. That means work. 1987-2011 = 24 years. Now do I think that I’ve paid my dues and that I deserve to sit at home eating bon-bons and watching Jerry Springer reruns? Hell-to-the-NO. (Besides that show is like a family reunion.. I don’t need that kind of chronicle in my life.) It’s a month. If I’m unhirable after a month, then I was never hirable in the first place.
People get so caught up in the details and the what-ifs. I get that they have to go to work every day and that they have a job to do and kids to support and colleges to pay for. I don’t. Double Income, No Kids (DINK.) No one is going hungry while I’m off work. No one is going to miss me at my old job, as a matter of fact, they have decided not to replace me. That to me says I worked myself out of a job. That I made the system to efficient that you don’t need entire person eating up salaries and stuff while you sit on your HUGE ass collecting $50,700/year, living in your parents basement while bitching about your Consumer Credit Counseling mess and buying stuff on Amazon every time I walk into your office. Goodness…bitter is hard to move past, no?
Again, I’m going to take this month and not flip out. Relax, not spend money and just recenter. Maybe I’ll volunteer or something. I have the time, right? Don’t stub your toe on my soapbox.
That is all.
I have debated about telling anyone about this, because everyone is going to go crazy and I don’t know that I have the strength to explain it to everyone. I am going back home to Indiana. For a few weeks. I don’t have a definite arrival date and I don’t know how long I’ll stay. But I am going/coming.
I am not leaving Mark. We are not having problems. I am not suicidal or broke. While not rich, I’d like to sort out some employer-Nick issues that I have before embarking on the next leg of my occupational journey. Which may or may not include temping. Mark is a PhD candidate that doesn’t need me in his face every second of the day, chit-chatting and spending the imaginary lottery we have not won, because we never buy a ticket. (You have to play to win.)
I also may get back to my homeland and realize that I feel trapped and suffocated within a week and pack right back up and head right back to CO. I’m going to work on my resume, cover-letters and an exercise regime that I can continue at home. I plan on spending time with my remaining grandmother to learn how to crochet those towels that hang from your cabinet drawer pulls. I’m going to trap-shooting with my father. I am also going to organize my best friend’s life in a way that is comfortable and easy for her to manage, all while improving my own self-awareness and hanging pictures on her bare walls. I will try to talk to my sister. I cannot guarantee that I won’t put Shaken-Adult Syndrome on the ICD-9 charts for future psychologists to reference, but I’ll try. I’m going to sort out my old blog and import entries from there that are suitable for the book that I’ll never get around to writing, but that everyone and their dog should still promise to buy.
I do not plan on getting in trouble or reconnecting with every, single solitary person I’ve left. I would like to meet some of them to catch up and drink wine until my teeth are blue.
I escaped from IN after 36 years of torment and 2 previous failed attempts. (It’s like the Godfather III or the Black Hole of the Midwest.) I think that it’s a great place to be from and a great place to raise a family. I do not now, nor will I ever want children. I love other people’s, but I am too old, selfish and self-serving to care for another human being with unconditional love. If you’ve only ever lived in IN, you may not know that there are different places out there. Better places for other people who may not be you but are me.
I wanted to clear this up, because I don’t give a shit if everyone and their dog tells you different, this is the truth. In 2 weeks it may not be, but as of this second? It is. Feel free to email me and ask me questions about this. I’ll gladly answer them. I’ll most likely invite you to dinner and offer to pay just to break free from the internetless of my parents cold, damp basement. To my knowledge, there is only one coffee shop in Huntington and I think they close at three in the afternoon, just in time for me to get out of bed.
See y’all soon.
This is actually a repost from my old LiveJournal account to see how this works. Why do people always say they embrace change? What is that? No one really does…it just mucks up the system and makes you less efficient until you readjust to the change. Then they change it again. At any rate this is from October 29th, 2009.
Today I updated 9 contracts, cleaned out my inbox, filed, updated enrollments, talked to the Broker from Hell, bought a French Press on my lunch hour, collated, scanned, fought with a coworker on the status of a check for $39 (which would have been better spent if I’d just set 2 twenty dollar bills on fire,) collated, scanned, processed terminations, printed 600 forms, boxed them set them up for the account manager, bought sympathy cards for 3 people, 2 of whom I work with, collated, scanned and then I came home to crraziness from Mark (that I cannot detail) and then we ate dinner at a Chinese buffet that had some crab dish on the steam table that had was made with Miracle Whip. Who puts Miracle Whip in anything with imitation crab meat that’s hot? That? Certain death.
On Wednesday we had our intake with the couples counselor. It lasted 2 hours. I may have been wrong in choosing this particular organization as I think I will most likely be able to outsmart them at every turn. Very textbook, very predictable questions on the intake. I could answer them with lies. “Do you plan on harming yourself?” No. “Do you have access to methods in which you could harm yourself.” Yes. “Do you plan on harming others?” Yes, I’m formulating a plan right now.
Please don’t get me wrong. I hope the counseling works and I hope I learn something about myself and Mark. Mark already said he had some insights into some of my “personality quirks” and that he felt better already. *blank look* This just in: I’m quirky.
I also rode the Denver Light Rail and that was fun except for the motion sickness from facing the wrong way that I have no control over. But it’s a draw. I don’t have to fight some a-hole in a 5-Series for a parking spot, while dodging toothless drunk guys holding wine in brown paper bags, but I might puke on your shoes.
My boss is NOT good at manipulating me. I see through her and she doesn’t like it. Why manipulate when I’m producing? Insert gratuitous glaring.
I thought there might be a fight in Target tonight when I saw a nice lesbian couple with multiple cases of Pepsi Throwback in their cart. Did I greet them in a friendly manner and inquire as to how they were enjoying their shopping trip? Did I talk with them about the benefits of Pepsi made with real sugar? No. I said, “Is there any left? You can’t have bought it all, that stuff tastes like my youth!” I ran off and left Mark to fend for himself. “Stall them while I check the display…if I give the codeword then you kick them in the balls and grab their cartful of Pepsi Throwup!” Codeword: Birkenstock.
THEN…we had a $5 coupon for Target that allowed us $5 off our grocery bill if it was at least $25. I was stupid and swiped my debit card while the cashier was ringing up the merchandise and when she finished she didn’t take my coupon and she apologized to us and said that we could use it next time. Mark was furious. FURIOUS! He grabbed our stuff and blamed me for swiping my card before she was finished and that was the reason that she didn’t take the coupon.
I was distracted trying to get my dental floss out of the hermetically sealed blister packaging it came in so I wasn’t paying attention to the cashier as she was furiously scanning our purchases and butchering the language of my motherland. AND Mark had the coupon. Honestly? I can’t do it all. I can’t be on coupon patrol while trying to use a Black&Decker Utility Knife to get to the Oral B floss to get the largest part of the hindquarters of a calf out from between my molars. Please take some responsibility for your $5 screw-up and let me have healthy gums,man!
While he was snatching the receipt and pushing the cart like a mall walker, I went over to customer service where Tiffany was happy to assist. By happy I mean, “perturbed that I wanted to save $5.” Seriously? I get it. I told her that she seemed upset about my predicament and if she wanted I could double her annual salary by giving HER the coupon. Please don’t treat me like toilet paper for being thrifty in the worst economic downturn you’ve ever seen in your 19 years of life on this Earth and I won’t bait you into an unwinable argument with me.
I’m going to bed now before I fall asleep on my keyboard.
memoriesofagoldfish 