I'm going to just pose a question here.
Do you think that, if a person goes through a monumental change in personality, it's just because life has slapped her in the face and she's reacting to it? Or do you think it's more granular, more dangerous than that? Do you think that she's trying to escape from something by changing how she behaves to live in the life she thinks she shlould be in?
I know it sounds like I'm talking about me. I'm not. I am talking about someone I know, and this radical personality change is now 5-ish years old. But the longer it remains entrenched, the more troublesome it seems to me - the more I wonder if the person I once knew will ever come back. It's sad to think that this is all for hiding from a reality that's standing right there.
I need to think on this one more but, right now, today especially, it's making me sad, it's making me hurt.
------------
Totally unrelated...
Hubby is back on a writing kick. (He won't blog. He thinks this is one of my more "fanciful" hobbies.) He's dragged "Strunk and White" back out. And when he writes, he needs a special notebook. The man has more notebooks of varying shapes and sizes than anyone I know. So tonight, he brings out the notebook he'll be writing in this go-round.
It's a notebook from college. And it's EMPTY.
I told him it must have been his notebook. I wouldn't have bought a spiral notebook (I loved and needed my binders and college ruled looseleaf paper) and, if I had, it sure as hell wouldn't be empty.
He laughed. Funny how his slacker ways are still present all these later - along with my dorky, overstudious, try-too-hard ways. Hmm...but me trying too hard is a subject I need to address in a separate blog. Just not tonight - my toes aches, I'm anticipating backlash from my lack of sports bra, and I'm dog tired.
Monday, June 28, 2010
twitches
The last 36 hours or so haven't been my finest.
I think I've mentioned before that, despite being "smart" (what does that mean anyway?), I have a tendency to be spacey and very clumsy. My father's theory is that I am too smart for my own good, and my clumsiness is caused in part by my being too inside my head. He may be on to something, although I think it has less to do with intelligence and more to do with my unquenchable need to think over, fret over, stress over, and re-think and worry over every single tiny facet of my life - repeatedly.
It was this "inner self" portion of my personality that I think caused me some grief over the last day or so.
G got a call for an impromptu play date yesterday and since we had no plans, off he went to DayDays house (what he calls this friend, who is a kindred spirit - just don't ask me why they insist on baby talking). Because we could get some of our less "fun" chores done without G in tow to complain the entire time, Hubby fired up the lawnmower while I loaded a whole crapload of, well, crap into my car for Good Will. I may have mentioned that we held a tag sale about a month and a half ago...we sold our junk, my parents' junk, and my sister and future brother-in-law's junk. There was a fair amount of crap left over - and it needed to get OUT of the garage.
When I loaded the car, in typical Andrea fashion, I stacked shit up in ways they probably shouldn't go. I don't know why I do this - laziness, being in a hurry, who knows. But I seem to do this all the time and this was no exception. I plopped an old DVD player on top of a basket of clothes. It seemed stable.
When Hubby and I got to Good Will, he went to get an attendant while I opened the trunk of the car...and out bounced the DVD player - onto my flip-flop clad right foot - cutting and otherwise bruising 2 middle toes. Ow. Yes - OW. No peep-toes for me on Monday as they would crush my poor toes even further.
To add insult to injury, I also discovered later on that afternoon that I am sporting a zit of monumental proportions on the side of my forehead. Really? REALLY? I have 36 friggin years old. I am lucky to have never really had much more than an occasional zit. But I still like I have paid my dues - no more freakin' zits. Is this another one of those things, like weird monthly visitors and mood swings - that I can chalk up to "getting older" as my NP explained to my at my last gyn visit?!?!?! The damn thing hurts like hell and makes me look like a lopsided unicorn. Crap.
I have been sleeping for shit for several days - weird dreams but, more importantly, I keep waking up twitchy. It's not restless leg syndrome, it's more like what happens to me when I drink caffeine late at night...which I could live with IF I DRANK ANY CAFFEINE the last two nights. I DIDN'T! So now in addition to having a bruised toe and a giant zit, I'm freakin' tired.
I decided to combat my tiredness by going to the gym. I thought maybe a good chunk of aerobic activity would tire me out and maybe, just maybe, make it so I could sleep more than 2 hours without waking up feeling twitchy and spazzy.
This was a great idea, until I was in the gym locker room changing...and I discovered that I was without a sports bra. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not exactly big. I'm bigger than I was before and my Hubby likes to tease me that I'm "huge", but the fact is, I'm sporting Bs these days (far bigger than my pre-child As but not "big"). So I decided to suck it up and work out in my damn black bra. I thanked the higher power or whatever that I am not "big" and that I had a non-see-through work-out shirt and along I went. I still felt like the damn girls were going to tumble out of my bra but...I pulled off a 30 minute work-out on the elliptical (also thanking the higher power that I had no intentions of running, either).
I decided that all of these incidents, combined with me walking into a doorjam yesterday afternoon and having to go to a meeting with my "nemesis" from work today (who, by the way, SNORTED at me on Friday when I had the "nerve" to say "excuse me" to her as I was rushing down the hallway towards her, my hands precariously balancing not just my laptop and notebook but also a proxima and half a dozen cords. Far be it from me to have any fucking manners, despite the fact that her issue with me is really a non-issue anyway, 6 months after the whole damn debaucle she's snorting at me?? UGH!! Again - I'm 36 - have I not paid my adolescent angst bullshit dues?!?!)...
...I was really done with my day.
I really hope I am twitch-free this evening. I'd really like a low-worry, low-angst, accident-free day.
I think I've mentioned before that, despite being "smart" (what does that mean anyway?), I have a tendency to be spacey and very clumsy. My father's theory is that I am too smart for my own good, and my clumsiness is caused in part by my being too inside my head. He may be on to something, although I think it has less to do with intelligence and more to do with my unquenchable need to think over, fret over, stress over, and re-think and worry over every single tiny facet of my life - repeatedly.
It was this "inner self" portion of my personality that I think caused me some grief over the last day or so.
G got a call for an impromptu play date yesterday and since we had no plans, off he went to DayDays house (what he calls this friend, who is a kindred spirit - just don't ask me why they insist on baby talking). Because we could get some of our less "fun" chores done without G in tow to complain the entire time, Hubby fired up the lawnmower while I loaded a whole crapload of, well, crap into my car for Good Will. I may have mentioned that we held a tag sale about a month and a half ago...we sold our junk, my parents' junk, and my sister and future brother-in-law's junk. There was a fair amount of crap left over - and it needed to get OUT of the garage.
When I loaded the car, in typical Andrea fashion, I stacked shit up in ways they probably shouldn't go. I don't know why I do this - laziness, being in a hurry, who knows. But I seem to do this all the time and this was no exception. I plopped an old DVD player on top of a basket of clothes. It seemed stable.
When Hubby and I got to Good Will, he went to get an attendant while I opened the trunk of the car...and out bounced the DVD player - onto my flip-flop clad right foot - cutting and otherwise bruising 2 middle toes. Ow. Yes - OW. No peep-toes for me on Monday as they would crush my poor toes even further.
To add insult to injury, I also discovered later on that afternoon that I am sporting a zit of monumental proportions on the side of my forehead. Really? REALLY? I have 36 friggin years old. I am lucky to have never really had much more than an occasional zit. But I still like I have paid my dues - no more freakin' zits. Is this another one of those things, like weird monthly visitors and mood swings - that I can chalk up to "getting older" as my NP explained to my at my last gyn visit?!?!?! The damn thing hurts like hell and makes me look like a lopsided unicorn. Crap.
I have been sleeping for shit for several days - weird dreams but, more importantly, I keep waking up twitchy. It's not restless leg syndrome, it's more like what happens to me when I drink caffeine late at night...which I could live with IF I DRANK ANY CAFFEINE the last two nights. I DIDN'T! So now in addition to having a bruised toe and a giant zit, I'm freakin' tired.
I decided to combat my tiredness by going to the gym. I thought maybe a good chunk of aerobic activity would tire me out and maybe, just maybe, make it so I could sleep more than 2 hours without waking up feeling twitchy and spazzy.
This was a great idea, until I was in the gym locker room changing...and I discovered that I was without a sports bra. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not exactly big. I'm bigger than I was before and my Hubby likes to tease me that I'm "huge", but the fact is, I'm sporting Bs these days (far bigger than my pre-child As but not "big"). So I decided to suck it up and work out in my damn black bra. I thanked the higher power or whatever that I am not "big" and that I had a non-see-through work-out shirt and along I went. I still felt like the damn girls were going to tumble out of my bra but...I pulled off a 30 minute work-out on the elliptical (also thanking the higher power that I had no intentions of running, either).
I decided that all of these incidents, combined with me walking into a doorjam yesterday afternoon and having to go to a meeting with my "nemesis" from work today (who, by the way, SNORTED at me on Friday when I had the "nerve" to say "excuse me" to her as I was rushing down the hallway towards her, my hands precariously balancing not just my laptop and notebook but also a proxima and half a dozen cords. Far be it from me to have any fucking manners, despite the fact that her issue with me is really a non-issue anyway, 6 months after the whole damn debaucle she's snorting at me?? UGH!! Again - I'm 36 - have I not paid my adolescent angst bullshit dues?!?!)...
...I was really done with my day.
I really hope I am twitch-free this evening. I'd really like a low-worry, low-angst, accident-free day.
Friday, June 25, 2010
zero patience
I'll qualify this post by saying that I love my son. I truly do. He is so funny and smart and loveable.
Having said that...
...
OH MY GOD THE CHILD IS SUCH A PROCRASTINATOR!
I realize that this is partly the reality of an 8 year old. But if he has something that I need him to do, the more of a time crunch it is, the more apt he is to get distracted, move slowly, or generally get "confused" and become unable to complete the task at hand.
He had wrestling tonight, which means he didn't get home until 8:30. He had his traditional Chinese for dinner (LOL) and then finished watching "Chopped". This is the same routine we've had for all 12 weeks of wrestling.
And as with the other 11 evenings, I expected him to take a shower and go to bed after "Chopped" ended.
Oh yes, but first he had to show me some Pokemon cards. For reasons I don't understand, he had shoved too many of them into this tiny sleeve, so he had to fight with them to get them out for 2+ minutes before I lost my mind and extricated them for him.
Then he needed to search for the book he brought to camp, which he had refused (this AM) to actually put IN his bag - along with the binder of Pokemon and his lunch bag and his water bottle. (What was in the bag, you ask? His bathing suit. Yes, there was plenty of room. AHHHHH!!!)
He couldn't find the bag so then he was panicking until I told him I would send a message over FB to the Assistant Director at camp (luckily a former classmate of mine in high school).
Then he wanted to show me his prickly heat.
Then he needed his vitamin.
Then he needed to get changed. But he "couldn't find" his bag because he was mesmerized by the episode of "Hoarders" I had put on...so I had to turn that off so Hubby could "remind" him that he (G) had put his bag away (miracle!) earlier, in his room.
Then he brought his bag into the bathroom and changed. But only his shoes. He put those in the bag and put the bag back in his room. (At least he puts things away, even if it does add 4309434809 hours to his routine.)
Finally, he changed out of his clothes and was in the shower.
Thus begun the random moaning and groaning sounds until Hubby and I asked him what was wrong (water in his rather large floor burn from wrestling).
About 10 minutes later, a naked 8 year old came flying, soaking wet, out of the bathroom and into his room. You see, in his MANY travels he'd forgotten his towel. He's supposed to keep the towel in the bathroom but he instead hangs it in his room, leading to many nights of soaked 8 year old flying through the living room entirely without clothing.
20 seconds later, he went flying back into the bathroom...wrapped in his towel...to "dry".
And 27 minutes after the bedtime routine began, he was in his bed, towel once again hung IN HIS ROOM, ready to go to sleep.
I walked through the soggy carpet (how much water can his very skinny 60lb body hold post-shower?!?!) to say goodnight.
The nose kisses he gave me lessened my sense of complete and utter insanity and reminded me that, yeah, despite the craziness of an 8 year old boy, it's pretty damn cool to be a Mom.
Having said that...
...
OH MY GOD THE CHILD IS SUCH A PROCRASTINATOR!
I realize that this is partly the reality of an 8 year old. But if he has something that I need him to do, the more of a time crunch it is, the more apt he is to get distracted, move slowly, or generally get "confused" and become unable to complete the task at hand.
He had wrestling tonight, which means he didn't get home until 8:30. He had his traditional Chinese for dinner (LOL) and then finished watching "Chopped". This is the same routine we've had for all 12 weeks of wrestling.
And as with the other 11 evenings, I expected him to take a shower and go to bed after "Chopped" ended.
Oh yes, but first he had to show me some Pokemon cards. For reasons I don't understand, he had shoved too many of them into this tiny sleeve, so he had to fight with them to get them out for 2+ minutes before I lost my mind and extricated them for him.
Then he needed to search for the book he brought to camp, which he had refused (this AM) to actually put IN his bag - along with the binder of Pokemon and his lunch bag and his water bottle. (What was in the bag, you ask? His bathing suit. Yes, there was plenty of room. AHHHHH!!!)
He couldn't find the bag so then he was panicking until I told him I would send a message over FB to the Assistant Director at camp (luckily a former classmate of mine in high school).
Then he wanted to show me his prickly heat.
Then he needed his vitamin.
Then he needed to get changed. But he "couldn't find" his bag because he was mesmerized by the episode of "Hoarders" I had put on...so I had to turn that off so Hubby could "remind" him that he (G) had put his bag away (miracle!) earlier, in his room.
Then he brought his bag into the bathroom and changed. But only his shoes. He put those in the bag and put the bag back in his room. (At least he puts things away, even if it does add 4309434809 hours to his routine.)
Finally, he changed out of his clothes and was in the shower.
Thus begun the random moaning and groaning sounds until Hubby and I asked him what was wrong (water in his rather large floor burn from wrestling).
About 10 minutes later, a naked 8 year old came flying, soaking wet, out of the bathroom and into his room. You see, in his MANY travels he'd forgotten his towel. He's supposed to keep the towel in the bathroom but he instead hangs it in his room, leading to many nights of soaked 8 year old flying through the living room entirely without clothing.
20 seconds later, he went flying back into the bathroom...wrapped in his towel...to "dry".
And 27 minutes after the bedtime routine began, he was in his bed, towel once again hung IN HIS ROOM, ready to go to sleep.
I walked through the soggy carpet (how much water can his very skinny 60lb body hold post-shower?!?!) to say goodnight.
The nose kisses he gave me lessened my sense of complete and utter insanity and reminded me that, yeah, despite the craziness of an 8 year old boy, it's pretty damn cool to be a Mom.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
stripes
I don't think I mentioned this yet but if I did, forgive me and my early onset senility. I blame it on the stress and the undue overuse of my brain that is the result of me being the parent to an 8 year old who reads all.the.time.
Last Friday, I took a very rare day off. My son was in the limboland between the end of school and the start of camp, so he did a day with his dad at the local amusement park (quite possibly one of my least favorite things to do in the heat). The next day, I promised him a trip to the beach (one of my favorite things to do in the heat - his too).
So off we went - we took my mom along as she is also a beach afficionado. We got lucky and it was a perfect beach day in CT - around 80, sunny, warm, and low tide. We donned our gear and our sunscreen...and no, I didn't sunscreen my stomach because I had no intention of taking off my tank top.
Of course, you know what they say about the best laid plans...
G had us running and digging for clams and building a trench. Had I been sitting in my chair reading (yeah right), I could have left my tank on. But I was HOT. So off went the tank.
Er....problem is...I might have forgotten I never put on sunscreen. I may be of Italian decent but our Italian family was northern - like pretty much in Switzerland. I will never be described as dark or swarthy. More like pasty or chalky. So I know I need sunscreen.
Or not.
I only had the tank off for about an hour or so...so when we got back to my parents, I noticed my stomach was a little pink but only in patches. That's when it dawned on me that I never put on any stinkin' sunscreen. Crap. I wasn't too worried about the patchiness because my sunburns sometimes start out that way.
Fast forward 6 hours...
...I have a friggin striped sunburn on my stomach. Now, I do not have a super flat stomach but it is sufficiently flat so as to allow for comfortable and non-scary wearing of a bikini. But apparently, whatever angle I was in the build "the trench", I managed to roll my extra skin in such a way so as to only get sun exposure to 3 stripes of skin on my stomach.
What an ass.
To add insult to injury, it was a pretty bad burn. Not blistering but sore and itchy.
Now here we are 6 later - and now I have a striped tan stomach that's PEELING.
I can't wait until the next time I go to the beach - so I can look like a ginormous ass with my striped gut.
But you can bet your life I'll be sporting some SPF50.
Last Friday, I took a very rare day off. My son was in the limboland between the end of school and the start of camp, so he did a day with his dad at the local amusement park (quite possibly one of my least favorite things to do in the heat). The next day, I promised him a trip to the beach (one of my favorite things to do in the heat - his too).
So off we went - we took my mom along as she is also a beach afficionado. We got lucky and it was a perfect beach day in CT - around 80, sunny, warm, and low tide. We donned our gear and our sunscreen...and no, I didn't sunscreen my stomach because I had no intention of taking off my tank top.
Of course, you know what they say about the best laid plans...
G had us running and digging for clams and building a trench. Had I been sitting in my chair reading (yeah right), I could have left my tank on. But I was HOT. So off went the tank.
Er....problem is...I might have forgotten I never put on sunscreen. I may be of Italian decent but our Italian family was northern - like pretty much in Switzerland. I will never be described as dark or swarthy. More like pasty or chalky. So I know I need sunscreen.
Or not.
I only had the tank off for about an hour or so...so when we got back to my parents, I noticed my stomach was a little pink but only in patches. That's when it dawned on me that I never put on any stinkin' sunscreen. Crap. I wasn't too worried about the patchiness because my sunburns sometimes start out that way.
Fast forward 6 hours...
...I have a friggin striped sunburn on my stomach. Now, I do not have a super flat stomach but it is sufficiently flat so as to allow for comfortable and non-scary wearing of a bikini. But apparently, whatever angle I was in the build "the trench", I managed to roll my extra skin in such a way so as to only get sun exposure to 3 stripes of skin on my stomach.
What an ass.
To add insult to injury, it was a pretty bad burn. Not blistering but sore and itchy.
Now here we are 6 later - and now I have a striped tan stomach that's PEELING.
I can't wait until the next time I go to the beach - so I can look like a ginormous ass with my striped gut.
But you can bet your life I'll be sporting some SPF50.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
empty me
The jar is full
And I'm willing to share
That opens me up
And lifts me
It's how I love
But despite sharing
You push your hand in
And take
And take some more
At first I understand
Not everyone gives the same
But then you tell me
You only give if you get
Only
So when I can't give
Because I can't feel, because I'm empty
You take more
There's nothing beyond empty
Empty is nothingness
I'm empty
The jar...it wants to refill
I'm trying
I want to give
Giving - lifts me up
Sets me free
I'm out of energy
Can't you help refill my jar?
You might not get every
But you will get
And we'll rebalance
There could love again
What's sad - or pathetic
Even empty
I try to give
I don't know how to not
I'm a fool
And I'm willing to share
That opens me up
And lifts me
It's how I love
But despite sharing
You push your hand in
And take
And take some more
At first I understand
Not everyone gives the same
But then you tell me
You only give if you get
Only
So when I can't give
Because I can't feel, because I'm empty
You take more
There's nothing beyond empty
Empty is nothingness
I'm empty
The jar...it wants to refill
I'm trying
I want to give
Giving - lifts me up
Sets me free
I'm out of energy
Can't you help refill my jar?
You might not get every
But you will get
And we'll rebalance
There could love again
What's sad - or pathetic
Even empty
I try to give
I don't know how to not
I'm a fool
a crisis of midlife proportions?
When you start writing your "bucket list", does that mean you're having a midlife crisis? Or have you just listened to Sarah McLachlan's new - and incredibly amazing - album too many times in the week since it was released?
For me - probably a combination of the two.
I've been in a mood all week - not sure if it's because of a conversation I had with a friend this weekend or because I'm a moody bitch most of the time or what - but I've been in a mood. Work is stressful and overwhelming and everyone is cranky and testy and snapping at each other (me included). But beyond that, I just feel inside myself.
I'm feeling very taken from. <-- I realize this just may be my way of wallowing in self-pity, but indulge me here enough to get it out. That's often a sufficient method to get me out of that pool of patheticness.
I just feel like one of those people who is reliable - so people take from me and leave me feeling, well, empty. This isn't really a new feeling for me, but one that rears its ugly head occasionally. It slammed me like a ton of bricks this week, although it took me until today to put my finger on exactly what it was.
I remember the first time - middle school. I was one of THOSE kids - you know, the one that always did her homework, that the teacher left in charge. I also was nice - so people in my very small school (we all knew each other - yes, really) were constantly tapping me for homework to copy. This happened all.the.time - people that I didn't socialize with at all, that I only knew from CCD class or because our moms were on the library board together. They would brazenly come up to me in the hall - "Andrea, can I copy? Wordly Wise?" I would say "no" and they would pout and make me feel like a cad. I usually kept saying no -not because I'm a bitch (now I'd say "no" because fuck them and the horse they rode in on - do your own fucking work) but because I didn't want to get in trouble. I genuinely felt bad - almost guilty - for saying "no", but I knew that if I let the kid do it and I got caught, there would be hell to pay.
Lucky for me, this seemed to peter out by high school, probably because of the differentiation of classes and my reputation for not letting people cheat off me. LOL. It was replaced by my cross country and track coach.
You see - I am blessed to be physically talented - not gifted, just talented. I was a decent-ish runner from the time I started running - not #1, but #2 or 3. My coach knew this by the end of freshman year, so his message to me was always something like this. "Andrea - Come in 3rd. We need 3rd to score enough points to win." In my 12 seasons of running for him, I can't remember ONCE him encouraging me to win. I do remember him once telling me he needed a 3rd from me and then him SCREAMING at me during the race because I was in 4th and "the girl ahead of you is FAT - you can't let her beat you". This got to me so bad - because this was a girl I knew, ran for my dad's school, who I also knew had trained like hell all summer and was really kicking ass - I ran off the track mid-race in tears. Not my finest moment - and not his.
But I plugged along and 90% of the time would come in that place he "assigned" me. Don't get me wrong, it was often where I really ought to have been given my abilities but nevertheless...I often felt a little like a second class citizen. Why was I never viewed by him as "the best"? I earned my way up to the lead leg of the 4x800 team by my senior year - good enough to start our relay, good enough to usually hand us off ahead, yet still not good enough to get to run the open 800. Oh no. He gave that to the girl who was best our freshman year (who never got any better) and the girl whose family he skiied with. Not me. I got the 1600 and 3200...because I'd come in 2nd or 3rd every.single.time.
I could have lived with it -I still would look back today slightly jaded and bitter, but I could have...were it not for an incident my senior year, and incident that truly made me feel used by him - taken from for what he needed, what "the team" needed.
It was a cross country race at a local golf course, a course we'd run a dozen times in my 4 years. That season, I was the 2 runner usually, sometimes 3 especially at the start of most races (she'd run out of gas). That race, I was behind the 1 and the 3 when I saw them veer off the course with about 10 other girls. Hmm...odd...I knew that was the wrong way. The course was 2 loops and on the 2nd one you veered off..but this was loop 1. So I hemmed and hawed and went what I thought was the right way.
I was right.
I won.
My first (and, as it turns out, only) win ever in cross country. EVER!
I was damn excited and proud of myself. My teammates were excited (well, the 4, 5, 6, etc runners). I couldn't wait until Monday when my win would be announced on the loudspeaker at school, just like when the boys' 1 runner and the girls' 1 runners won.
Monday came. And went. No announcement. Why? Oh my coach told me. "It wasn't a real win, Andrea. You only won because the other girls got lost."
Talk about taking the wind out of someone's sails. I remember distinctly feeling CRUSHED. But it was beyond that - I felt totally taken for granted. My coach spent 4 years squeezing what he needed out of me, and I gave it. And when I did something awesome, it was like he couldn't even be proud of me.
This leads me to adulthood (oh yeah, and the friends - or so-called - who cheated off of me in college, especially one friend who only passed Bio 3 thanks to me...yes...I knew...and tried to prevent it...).
I have been feeling that same sense of being used - squeezed - in my career. I am so lucky. I work hard and my peers seem to genuinely appreciate that. My direct bosses do too. Yet, 13 years into my career - 3 companies later - where am I? Same damn place I was - at least almost. I'm senior level instead of junior level. But I have friends - hell a husband - who are executives - directors, VPs. Me? Nope.
Hubby says I don't have enough of a killer instinct, that I'm too good. Maybe. I really don't know. I work so hard. I think I'm good. I hear a lot of "What would we do without you?". So what? So people can suck me dry?
I think I'm frustrated because of the series of events over the last couple of years. About 18 months ago, our company moved a new SVP to our branch, in an obvious effort to clean house. Over time, I wound up having a fairly decent rapport with her, and over the year that she was firmly entrenched (she's been MIA the last 6 months due to yet another new role), she told me (and my boss) MULTIPLE times that they had "big plans" for me. She even went so far as to have several one-on-ones with me, her idea...which was weird since she wasn't my direct manager...
Now here I am. We have a reorg looming. About a year ago, we started working on an internal (to our dept) reorg, in which I and 2 of my counterparts were promised leadership roles. It was presented to the SVP and for reasons we don't understand, never came to fruition - at least not formally. Informally, it's taken some weird shape. I've been running a part of our department for the last 3 months - but not in name, which means I have ZERO in the way of clout. It's so frustrating because I have change I want to effect, and I CAN'T.
Then, we became aware of overall org changes coming. My boss, who uses us 3 senior members as sounding boards, has dropped hints here and there but she doesn't know much so there's no substance to it.
So we wait. "End of May a decision will be announced".
It's June 23. NOTHING.
My boss dropped another piece of nebulous info in my lap today about the coming reorg. No details whatsoever. Just that someone in our NYC office knew about a change to her (boss's) role that boss didn't know, which he mentioned to her, which freaked her out..."But I think it will be a good thing". I''m scared for me, I'm scared for the very very good friends I have in our department, some more than others.
And I feel, frankly, fucked over.
Maybe something good will come out of this for me. But when I know FOR A FACT that my boss's boss, the SVP, isn't including HER in reorg conversations about HER department, it doesn't bode well for my boss. How can it bode well for me?
So once again, I'm feeling disappointed. Once again, I feel like I put forth this effort and I do a good job - a really good job. Yet what does it mean? NOTHING. Why recognize me? Why promote me? It would be a benefit TO ME but as someone higher up, let's face it, it will fuck you over because you'll have to backfill my role.
Hence the fucked over feeling I am drowning in right now.
I hate it. I know I'm feeling sorry for myself - I'm just so tired of giving and giving and giving and never getting. I don't expect to get much or often - but ever would be nice.
I watch my peers and friends and college buddies who graduated with lower GPAs than me move along and get promoted and make 6 figures and I can't help but wonder where I went wrong.
I know I'm lucky, and I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth. I love what I do and I feel so blessed that in this economy I have a job at all.
But I love what I do. So I want - NEED - to succeed. And how is success measured, really? By upward motion. And that glass ceiling above me - damn, it's like 13 feet thick right now.
It doesn't help that when I look at my personal life, I feel this same sense of being used and taken from - in ways I can't say right now because I don't want to hurt anyone. But suffice it to say, it feels pervasive in my life.
So I look inside myself again and ask - what am I doing wrong? Because it can't just be bad luck.
Now here I am. We have a reorg looming. About a year ago, we started working on an internal (to our dept) reorg, in which I and 2 of my counterparts were promised leadership roles. It was presented to the SVP and for reasons we don't understand, never came to fruition - at least not formally. Informally, it's taken some weird shape. I've been running a part of our department for the last 3 months - but not in name, which means I have ZERO in the way of clout. It's so frustrating because I have change I want to effect, and I CAN'T.
Then, we became aware of overall org changes coming. My boss, who uses us 3 senior members as sounding boards, has dropped hints here and there but she doesn't know much so there's no substance to it.
So we wait. "End of May a decision will be announced".
It's June 23. NOTHING.
My boss dropped another piece of nebulous info in my lap today about the coming reorg. No details whatsoever. Just that someone in our NYC office knew about a change to her (boss's) role that boss didn't know, which he mentioned to her, which freaked her out..."But I think it will be a good thing". I''m scared for me, I'm scared for the very very good friends I have in our department, some more than others.
And I feel, frankly, fucked over.
Maybe something good will come out of this for me. But when I know FOR A FACT that my boss's boss, the SVP, isn't including HER in reorg conversations about HER department, it doesn't bode well for my boss. How can it bode well for me?
So once again, I'm feeling disappointed. Once again, I feel like I put forth this effort and I do a good job - a really good job. Yet what does it mean? NOTHING. Why recognize me? Why promote me? It would be a benefit TO ME but as someone higher up, let's face it, it will fuck you over because you'll have to backfill my role.
Hence the fucked over feeling I am drowning in right now.
I hate it. I know I'm feeling sorry for myself - I'm just so tired of giving and giving and giving and never getting. I don't expect to get much or often - but ever would be nice.
I watch my peers and friends and college buddies who graduated with lower GPAs than me move along and get promoted and make 6 figures and I can't help but wonder where I went wrong.
I know I'm lucky, and I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth. I love what I do and I feel so blessed that in this economy I have a job at all.
But I love what I do. So I want - NEED - to succeed. And how is success measured, really? By upward motion. And that glass ceiling above me - damn, it's like 13 feet thick right now.
It doesn't help that when I look at my personal life, I feel this same sense of being used and taken from - in ways I can't say right now because I don't want to hurt anyone. But suffice it to say, it feels pervasive in my life.
So I look inside myself again and ask - what am I doing wrong? Because it can't just be bad luck.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
funny what a bit of beach time can do
It hasn't exactly been a banner couple of weeks for me. You already read about the blasted poison ivy. Then, on Sunday, my eyes started itching...which had me fearful that I had poison ivy in my eye (UGH!) but I decided to chalk it up to allergies and move along. My strategy worked quite nicely until Monday afternoon during our staff meeting, when a shooting stabbing pain ran through my eye. It subsided after a few minutes but came back with avengance on Tuesday morning. This was lovely timing. We had a vendor in to kick off a new project - all day Tuesday and until noon on Wednesday. I must say that I truly enjoyed spending nearly 2 days in a very stuffy, warm conference room, eye dripping, twitching, and ultimately aching while I tried to stay awake listening to this damn kick-off. I even resorted to sneaking out during our "sort of" working lunch and buying eye drops but, alas, the damn eye would have none of it.
I broke down and called my doctor - I am not a huge fan of doctors, what with my overwhelming fear of pending death - to get in to see what the hell was going on. I was convinced that I either had eye cancer (is there such a thing?), poison ivy of the eye, or a cold sore in my eye (since hubby was sporting one on my lip and he is notorious for kissing my eye - don't ask, I don't get it, and no, it does not thrill me in any way!). <-- As you can see, I have some hypochondria issues.
Needless to say, the GP (one in the practice I don't think I'd seen before, who had a bandaid on his forehead that I found simultaneously disconcerting and extraordinarily distracting), took a look at my eye and proclaimed that I was having a "pretty nasty allergic reaction" to something in the air. Apparently, my eye was quite swollen which was causing my eye to tear up due to a malfunctioning tear duct. It was also causing the sensation of my having a large shard of glass in the corner of my eye. That was a very enjoyable sensation, particularly when we were out to dinner on Tuesday night to celebrate G's last day of second grade. Nothing makes you feel like a shitty parent like feeling like complete crap and wanting to crawl in a hole and die during some sort of special event for your child. SIGH.
GP prescribed a nice little steroid to be applied directly to the eye for a period of 3 days, after which he assured me I'd be better "or call us back if you start getting green discharge". How comforting. The one cool part in all of this that, since my last trip to my GP (which was about 2 years ago and, in classic Andrea fashion, for my 2930830483098th bout of cryptic tonsils - gosh I love having deformed body parts, my cryptic tonsils being signficantly more of a scourge than my misshapen and totally deaf ear)...they have gone entirely wireless. Each GP and each nurse carries a laptop (notepad style) into which they put notes and from which they can route scripts directly to the pharmacy of your choice - thereby reducing the wait time once you get to said pharmacy (to 10 minutes in my case - 10 minutes to stick the label on the pre-packaged eye drops?!?!). Pretty damn cool. I wish we had that at my work - I could fire off sarcastic emails about my inept cube neighbor from anywhere in the building. LOL.
Needless to say, I found the drops to work almost from dose 1, although the stickiness level of them was a little disconcerting. Really...the sticky white glop that got stuck in the corner of my eye was helping? I wondered and so removed it as soon as I saw it...mistake I think...
Thursday things went much better but then Friday morning I woke up to a once again achy eye. Uh oh, I thought. Relapse? Eye cancer? Pink eye? What the hell was going on?
Luckily, it was a scheduled day off, a rareity for me, but G was in the weird no-man's land between the end of school and the start of camp, and I'd promised him a trip to the beach pending good weather (80-ish and clear skies qualifies), so off me and my swollen face and achy eye went. My parents gave me the requisite pep talk about waiting for the medicine to work and my mom, who has been plagued by allergic reactions my entire life (and apparently not before, she indicated Friday - damn, pregnancy messed with her too...I feel slightly guilty!), reminded me that I must leave said white stickiness IN my eye once I put the drop in so the medicine actually stays there.
So I did. And off we went to the beach (where I didn't apply quite enough sunscreen and hence have been blessed today with an oddly patchy sunburn - not horrible but enough to be annoying and make me look like a complete ass - thankfully it's confined to the stomach and, being that I am not 14, I am not sporting a belly shirt...but why oh why can I manage to fuck up sunscreen on myself like this - every summer?!?!?).
And suddenly, as we sat in totally unexpected 3:45pm traffic on Rte 9 (do people work?!?!?)...it dawned on me. My eye didn't ache. My face didn't feel swollen.
It's amazing what 3 hours of low tide exploring, minimal people around you, bright sunshine and salt air can do for your body - and your psyche.
Now once the striped sunburn goes away (hopefully tomorrow), perhaps my "decrepid" (G's decription, not mine), aging body can return to status quo - you know, the occasional IBS-driven gut ache, hormonally-induced headache, and overall exercise-lacking malaise and THAT'S IT. Please?
Good grief.
I broke down and called my doctor - I am not a huge fan of doctors, what with my overwhelming fear of pending death - to get in to see what the hell was going on. I was convinced that I either had eye cancer (is there such a thing?), poison ivy of the eye, or a cold sore in my eye (since hubby was sporting one on my lip and he is notorious for kissing my eye - don't ask, I don't get it, and no, it does not thrill me in any way!). <-- As you can see, I have some hypochondria issues.
Needless to say, the GP (one in the practice I don't think I'd seen before, who had a bandaid on his forehead that I found simultaneously disconcerting and extraordinarily distracting), took a look at my eye and proclaimed that I was having a "pretty nasty allergic reaction" to something in the air. Apparently, my eye was quite swollen which was causing my eye to tear up due to a malfunctioning tear duct. It was also causing the sensation of my having a large shard of glass in the corner of my eye. That was a very enjoyable sensation, particularly when we were out to dinner on Tuesday night to celebrate G's last day of second grade. Nothing makes you feel like a shitty parent like feeling like complete crap and wanting to crawl in a hole and die during some sort of special event for your child. SIGH.
GP prescribed a nice little steroid to be applied directly to the eye for a period of 3 days, after which he assured me I'd be better "or call us back if you start getting green discharge". How comforting. The one cool part in all of this that, since my last trip to my GP (which was about 2 years ago and, in classic Andrea fashion, for my 2930830483098th bout of cryptic tonsils - gosh I love having deformed body parts, my cryptic tonsils being signficantly more of a scourge than my misshapen and totally deaf ear)...they have gone entirely wireless. Each GP and each nurse carries a laptop (notepad style) into which they put notes and from which they can route scripts directly to the pharmacy of your choice - thereby reducing the wait time once you get to said pharmacy (to 10 minutes in my case - 10 minutes to stick the label on the pre-packaged eye drops?!?!). Pretty damn cool. I wish we had that at my work - I could fire off sarcastic emails about my inept cube neighbor from anywhere in the building. LOL.
Needless to say, I found the drops to work almost from dose 1, although the stickiness level of them was a little disconcerting. Really...the sticky white glop that got stuck in the corner of my eye was helping? I wondered and so removed it as soon as I saw it...mistake I think...
Thursday things went much better but then Friday morning I woke up to a once again achy eye. Uh oh, I thought. Relapse? Eye cancer? Pink eye? What the hell was going on?
Luckily, it was a scheduled day off, a rareity for me, but G was in the weird no-man's land between the end of school and the start of camp, and I'd promised him a trip to the beach pending good weather (80-ish and clear skies qualifies), so off me and my swollen face and achy eye went. My parents gave me the requisite pep talk about waiting for the medicine to work and my mom, who has been plagued by allergic reactions my entire life (and apparently not before, she indicated Friday - damn, pregnancy messed with her too...I feel slightly guilty!), reminded me that I must leave said white stickiness IN my eye once I put the drop in so the medicine actually stays there.
So I did. And off we went to the beach (where I didn't apply quite enough sunscreen and hence have been blessed today with an oddly patchy sunburn - not horrible but enough to be annoying and make me look like a complete ass - thankfully it's confined to the stomach and, being that I am not 14, I am not sporting a belly shirt...but why oh why can I manage to fuck up sunscreen on myself like this - every summer?!?!?).
And suddenly, as we sat in totally unexpected 3:45pm traffic on Rte 9 (do people work?!?!?)...it dawned on me. My eye didn't ache. My face didn't feel swollen.
It's amazing what 3 hours of low tide exploring, minimal people around you, bright sunshine and salt air can do for your body - and your psyche.
Now once the striped sunburn goes away (hopefully tomorrow), perhaps my "decrepid" (G's decription, not mine), aging body can return to status quo - you know, the occasional IBS-driven gut ache, hormonally-induced headache, and overall exercise-lacking malaise and THAT'S IT. Please?
Good grief.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
poison ivy...how I hate thee
I have poison ivy. Again.
Let's back up. Despite playing the woods on a very very regular basis (read: all the time) as a kid, I somehow managed to avoid getting the scourge that is poison ivy until my senior year of high school. That year, during my last cross country season, my teammates and I managed to find a patch of it, sit in it (HOW? I know what it looks like!), and all get it on our thighs - front and back. That was "fun" - especially since we weren't allowed to wear shorts to school before June 1st (I love archaic rules like that)...so I had to wear skirts...which really was a fact enjoyed immensely by the lovely math teacher that liked to sexually harass me...
...but I digress.
Since then, I've had poison ivy half a dozen times or so. With one exception, I have always gotten it on my legs - usually the upper legs. And by that I mean, yeah, I get it on my ass.
Now...despite my mother teasing me today to the contrary, I don't go in the woods naked these days. Let's keep in mind Hubby's aversion to bugs, woods, and anything related to the out of doors unless it involves his running with his Garmin watch.
Yet somehow...starting on Monday, I noticed a tell-tale itchiness on my hip...
...and now...it's Saturday, and I have about 12-14 dots of poison ivy - on my hip and ass.
GEEZ. That's "pretty".
Where the hell did I get the poison ivy this time? I remember gardening on Saturday. GARDENING. In the YARD. I know where the poison ivy is in my yard because the last time I got it - the only time it wasn't on my ass - was in the yard. I was nowhere near that spot of yard, I avoid it like the plague.
I'd love to know where I got it this time. It's driving me crazy. But alas, I have no clue.
What I do know is this.
- Aloe vera gel intended for sunburns cools off poison ivy itchies.
- Calomine lotion rocks.
- The makers of Ivarest have a good marketing team who smartly buried the "warning - may stain clothing" note only on the INSIDE of the boy, thereby allowing them to get my $6.99 today...and now I am trying to figure out how I can use the stuff - which got GREAT ratings online - on said itchy ass cheek and somehow not get it on any clothing or other fabrics (read: sheets, furniture, etc).
CURSES.
I'm going to go eat a brownie and slater my ass with my aloe vera gel. Argh.
Let's back up. Despite playing the woods on a very very regular basis (read: all the time) as a kid, I somehow managed to avoid getting the scourge that is poison ivy until my senior year of high school. That year, during my last cross country season, my teammates and I managed to find a patch of it, sit in it (HOW? I know what it looks like!), and all get it on our thighs - front and back. That was "fun" - especially since we weren't allowed to wear shorts to school before June 1st (I love archaic rules like that)...so I had to wear skirts...which really was a fact enjoyed immensely by the lovely math teacher that liked to sexually harass me...
...but I digress.
Since then, I've had poison ivy half a dozen times or so. With one exception, I have always gotten it on my legs - usually the upper legs. And by that I mean, yeah, I get it on my ass.
Now...despite my mother teasing me today to the contrary, I don't go in the woods naked these days. Let's keep in mind Hubby's aversion to bugs, woods, and anything related to the out of doors unless it involves his running with his Garmin watch.
Yet somehow...starting on Monday, I noticed a tell-tale itchiness on my hip...
...and now...it's Saturday, and I have about 12-14 dots of poison ivy - on my hip and ass.
GEEZ. That's "pretty".
Where the hell did I get the poison ivy this time? I remember gardening on Saturday. GARDENING. In the YARD. I know where the poison ivy is in my yard because the last time I got it - the only time it wasn't on my ass - was in the yard. I was nowhere near that spot of yard, I avoid it like the plague.
I'd love to know where I got it this time. It's driving me crazy. But alas, I have no clue.
What I do know is this.
- Aloe vera gel intended for sunburns cools off poison ivy itchies.
- Calomine lotion rocks.
- The makers of Ivarest have a good marketing team who smartly buried the "warning - may stain clothing" note only on the INSIDE of the boy, thereby allowing them to get my $6.99 today...and now I am trying to figure out how I can use the stuff - which got GREAT ratings online - on said itchy ass cheek and somehow not get it on any clothing or other fabrics (read: sheets, furniture, etc).
CURSES.
I'm going to go eat a brownie and slater my ass with my aloe vera gel. Argh.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
so many projects, so little time
If only I could find a way to quilt and knit for profit - I'd be so THERE - at least part time. Sadly, my contradictory extroverted introvert personality would still crave an office-y type job...complete with nerdiness. But alas, I'm never going to be able to flex my creative juices sufficiently to pay my bills, so I will plod along in my chaotic and nerdy and ultimately stress-inducing yet amazingly good office job and try to squeeze my "artistic" (is quilting really artistic?!?!) endeavors in between soccer games and swim lessons and work and my occasional foray into actually exercising.
I have two projects going right now...and at least one or two more I'd like to have going. I am working on the sock - again. I wound up ripping the first one apart - too many dropped and misaligned stitches and the needs were too friggin small! - and started a new one. So far, it's ok - I knitted some of it during a soccer practice and got distracted, so I dropped a stitch - and of course I noticed it several rows later. It's sort of fixed - good enough for a few try - but it did result in a slightly clumsy-looking cuff. I hope sock #2 will be less sloppy. The OCD in me really REALLY wants to start over...in fact, as I type this, it's a very strong likelihood that I will. Geez.
I'm also working through the scrapbook from our last Disney trip. I really need to finish it. Thankfully, I map things out ahead of time, which is the only reason why I got the days in the right order (like I can remember November now?!?!) - so I know I have 5 pages left to complete. I want it done by the time we go on our first summer vacation. Ah...goals....
So we're still in the thick of the end-of-the-school-year chaos. 7 days left of school. G's original teacher is back starting tomorrow, and he's over the moon with excitement. She had a baby at the beginning of April and is returning from maternity leave. He had a bit of a rough time with the permanent sub (poor woman, he certainly didn't make her life easy) - it evened out the last few weeks but I'm happy for him that he has Mrs R back for the end of the year. He changes schools for 3rd grade and, after his orientation last week, he admits to being a bit nervous. It's so strange to hear my socially outgoing, generally overconfident child express nervousness. Poor kid.
I'm glad the school year is almost over. This week is busy - again. I was feeling like the crappiest mother this weekend. I've known about the "2nd grade celebration" now for about a week or two, but I haven't been able to track down any details. There's nothing on the school website, there's nothing that's come home (unless I missed it but I do try to read all of the paperwork carefully). I feel a huge cad. Needless to say, I talked to the mom of one of G's classmates tonight (thank you Facebook) and found out that it's not a graduation at all! SHEESH! Apparently there's been nothing that's come home about it and everyone is scrambling. PEOPLE! Most parents WORK! If you want us at school during the day - some NOTICE would be nice. ARGH!!!
So at least now I can have a conversation with G about this tomorrow. I think he thought I was being a spaz because I didn't know what the hell was going on. Again, I am soooooo OCD - I usually am on my A game when it comes to this stuff. Crap, I have ONE kid, I need to keep it together!
My last little rambling for the evening...my sister's residency graduation was Friday night. Her friend L did a beautiful job introducing her - brought us all to tears! I can't believe she's actually a full-on doctor, now. Amazing. I also can't believe she's getting married.
I'm very excited for her. And very jealous. For so many reasons. Because (hopefully) her wedding will be beautiful and suffer no tragedies. Because she's with a guy who loves her to pieces and who she loves, and they have everything ahead of them. Because I wish I felt that way again.
I'm being a bit dramatic and a bit girlie - but it's true. I get these pangs of jealousy. I know that I'm being unrealistic and that it won't be sunshine and roses for them forever, either - but some of the stuff her fiance does - well, Hubby never did, and I wished he would have. SIGH. We've been together for so long...I probably don't remember half of how he "hooked" me anymore.
^^^ This is a little glimpse into probably the biggest cause of the anxiety I sometimes talk about. Right now, it's all I'm going to say. I have to be a bit careful what I say here - hence the private journal...where I'm headed now I think.
I have two projects going right now...and at least one or two more I'd like to have going. I am working on the sock - again. I wound up ripping the first one apart - too many dropped and misaligned stitches and the needs were too friggin small! - and started a new one. So far, it's ok - I knitted some of it during a soccer practice and got distracted, so I dropped a stitch - and of course I noticed it several rows later. It's sort of fixed - good enough for a few try - but it did result in a slightly clumsy-looking cuff. I hope sock #2 will be less sloppy. The OCD in me really REALLY wants to start over...in fact, as I type this, it's a very strong likelihood that I will. Geez.
I'm also working through the scrapbook from our last Disney trip. I really need to finish it. Thankfully, I map things out ahead of time, which is the only reason why I got the days in the right order (like I can remember November now?!?!) - so I know I have 5 pages left to complete. I want it done by the time we go on our first summer vacation. Ah...goals....
So we're still in the thick of the end-of-the-school-year chaos. 7 days left of school. G's original teacher is back starting tomorrow, and he's over the moon with excitement. She had a baby at the beginning of April and is returning from maternity leave. He had a bit of a rough time with the permanent sub (poor woman, he certainly didn't make her life easy) - it evened out the last few weeks but I'm happy for him that he has Mrs R back for the end of the year. He changes schools for 3rd grade and, after his orientation last week, he admits to being a bit nervous. It's so strange to hear my socially outgoing, generally overconfident child express nervousness. Poor kid.
I'm glad the school year is almost over. This week is busy - again. I was feeling like the crappiest mother this weekend. I've known about the "2nd grade celebration" now for about a week or two, but I haven't been able to track down any details. There's nothing on the school website, there's nothing that's come home (unless I missed it but I do try to read all of the paperwork carefully). I feel a huge cad. Needless to say, I talked to the mom of one of G's classmates tonight (thank you Facebook) and found out that it's not a graduation at all! SHEESH! Apparently there's been nothing that's come home about it and everyone is scrambling. PEOPLE! Most parents WORK! If you want us at school during the day - some NOTICE would be nice. ARGH!!!
So at least now I can have a conversation with G about this tomorrow. I think he thought I was being a spaz because I didn't know what the hell was going on. Again, I am soooooo OCD - I usually am on my A game when it comes to this stuff. Crap, I have ONE kid, I need to keep it together!
My last little rambling for the evening...my sister's residency graduation was Friday night. Her friend L did a beautiful job introducing her - brought us all to tears! I can't believe she's actually a full-on doctor, now. Amazing. I also can't believe she's getting married.
I'm very excited for her. And very jealous. For so many reasons. Because (hopefully) her wedding will be beautiful and suffer no tragedies. Because she's with a guy who loves her to pieces and who she loves, and they have everything ahead of them. Because I wish I felt that way again.
I'm being a bit dramatic and a bit girlie - but it's true. I get these pangs of jealousy. I know that I'm being unrealistic and that it won't be sunshine and roses for them forever, either - but some of the stuff her fiance does - well, Hubby never did, and I wished he would have. SIGH. We've been together for so long...I probably don't remember half of how he "hooked" me anymore.
^^^ This is a little glimpse into probably the biggest cause of the anxiety I sometimes talk about. Right now, it's all I'm going to say. I have to be a bit careful what I say here - hence the private journal...where I'm headed now I think.
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