A friend of mine sent me a long email proposal asking me to serve on the board of directors for a non-profit that sheís starting. Itís intriguing but I donít think I can do it. I canít commit to more things. Iím not about quantity over quality, so I am usually very selective about how I spend my time. If winning the lottery ever works out for me, then Iíll consider it.
I donít know where to start, really.
Iíve been reading The Year of Magical Thinking the past couple of days. When it first came out, I listened to the reviews and interviews but dismissed the idea of reading it. I couldnít indulge that much more in grief, death, morbidity. Iíve spent so much time on it during my lifetime, itís practically been a second job. The book itself has been tedious in the same way grief is tedious. I suppose thatís why it speaks to so many people. If youíve been on this earth long enough to understand identity then youíve been here long enough to experience grief.
I have to get this work thing out there before I forget, and I donít want it swirling around in my brain the rest of the weekend. We experienced a couple of layoffs, if you can call them that. Because of that, I had to take over responsibility for another large client. These people are old, and the highest ranking guy at this place is definitely weird. Of course I was not given enough training, preparation or information. In the back of my mind, the thought has been lurking in my mind, ďOh god, what if I lose this account?Ē
From a rational perspective thatís a bit crazy. Weíve already established that they donít like change. Iím the closest thing they can get to lack of change. Complete lack of change is clearly not an option for them. The other thing is that Iím fairly confident in my ability to figure things out and get things right, and upper management clearly feels the same way about me.
Anyway, the beat goes on. Iíd hate for my health to suffer for a job.
Now thatís over with. I went to see the acupuncturist today. It was a strange experience.
It was the kind of place that should have clearly freaked me out and made me so uncomfortable that flight or fight responses would be firing off in my head. Instead, I was only mildly uncomfortable, and noting, from an intellectual point of view, why the place was just not right. The office was in a basement, there was disorganization, the plants were fake, the computer was old, I could hear a rice cooker bubbling somewhere, and smell food (it was around lunch time), the walls needed a fresh coat of paint.
However, rather than feeling like I was about to be sold some snake oil, sold into slavery or have my organs harvested, I felt more like I was in a familiar place. It was almost like I was at my grandmothers house.
The doctor examined me and shook his head and said ďYouíre very weak.Ē
A few days ago, a coworker of mine adopted a kitten. The kitten was found in a dumpster behind a convenience store. He has a respiratory infection, heís severely underweight, and heís covered in grease. He smells like Burger King, she tells me.
The way the doctor said to me, ďyouíre very weak,Ē you would have thought I was that kitten. He reiterated my weakness to me again and added that I am uncomfortable. He attributed my discomfort to me being scared of the treatment. It wasnít that so much, though. Itís been my tendency to always be uncomfortable, lately. Iíve turned discomfort into an art form this past year.
It wasnít the diagnosis that I was expecting, but it is the truth.
Iíve mentioned feeling stopped up a lot, and thereís a reason for that. Iíve piled on layers of armor to hide my weakened condition. Itís mostly to hide it from myself. I am my biggest abuser. Iíll always force myself to bite the bullet and carry on.
The treatment seems to have, at least temporarily, opened up the armor. I feel like a house that has been closed up for too long after the windows have been opened. It feels good. The problem is that itís the middle of winter and the air thatís whipping through is freezing my pipes. This stuff has got to be closed up soon.
I believe that over time, things will improve, but with my schedule, getting to see a doctor is not an easy task. I will have to see what I can do with my work schedule.
Trapeze tomorrow. I wish it wasnít. Since my weakness has been exposed to me, I donít feel like doing anything but sitting around, being quiet and isolated. Swinging from a bar a few dozen feet off the ground does not qualify as any of those things.
I remember feeling this way last fall when I first started feeling not-so-great. I spent a lot of that time in bed, until I decided enough was enough and Iíd force myself forward, anyway.
|Friday, Nov. 13, 2009 at 11:57 PM|