I don’t have the right clothes for that!

2014.02 suitIs it reasonable to pass up a job opportunity because you don’t want to “dress up” on a regular basis?

I once had a job where I had to wear business gear every day. That means wearing women’s business suits, complete with the low heels and the buttoned up jackets. The job itself was not that bad, I never did enjoy the “costume” required for it.

In fact, I had several jobs like that — a few in corporate America, one in politics. I don’t want another one.

One of the things I like about the job I have now is the fact that I get to be comfortable, or as comfortable as someone in my job can be. But that’s honestly one of the very few things I like about it these days.

So, as I go to a job I like less every day, is it a reasonable response to automatically discard the mere idea of a job that might be better long-term just because I don’t want the inconvenience of dressing up?

I didn’t think so. I’m just not normal and that’s not news.

2014.02 dress-shop

A day of running…

There were 5 minutes between meetings held in different buildings…
four meetings in a row, scheduled every hour on the hour…
a walk-through when my lunch hour was supposed to happen…

a dozen phone calls trying to track down the person whose approval I need before I can take the next step…
a phone call from her 10 minutes after she sent me an email asking why I hadn’t responded…

an email from a manager explaining how her employee won’t be able to finish the project she created, for which she volunteered and asked for others to put in time, for which she didn’t respond or meet deadline for three weeks, and, really, I was expecting her to do too much since it was due next week and she just got the final files because they’d been waiting for her to pick them up for said three weeks…

the email where I was told that all the decisions made in the walk-through had been overturned by an assistant and would I please let everyone else know, including those who had cancelled meetings to attend…

18 emails giving me information I need for a written update, with essential facts dripped into each of them, buried in prose and poetry…

reading an email “conversation” between twelve people over a period of three days that ended in 129 separate emails…

deep breath and stretch before walking into a room with people who want to tear me to shreds in the name of doing their jobs…
hold smile and no reaction when people who are supposed to be my allies try to push me off a ledge…
don’t smile at all as I push them instead…
mental image of dousing others in gasoline in setting them on fire…

cup of coffee, more coffee, and more coffee…
desperately looking for change for the vending machine…
grabbing handfuls of chocolate from my coworkers candy jar…

looking at the clock and realizing that once again I am not going to make it to happy hour…
hoping I have liquor at home…

and the day’s not over yet.

**written on my ipad **

Even though they’re imaginary, the bruises still hurt

Photo courtesy of Sander van der Wel via http://www.flickr.com/photos/40803964@N08/4649749639.

You told me where to stand, what to say and when to smile.
I did that.

You told me what the goal was, where the line in the sand was being drawn, and what the finish line was.
I surpassed it.

You wanted the red redder, the blues bluer and the golds to shine.
I made that happen.

And I did it while you were gone, concentrating on other things.

I expected a pat on the back. I expected a “job well done.”

Today I had to take a deep breath and tell others that the reds and blues were wrong. That we weren’t supposed to use gold. That the finish line they thought we had reached, in fact, was somewhere else.

Today I had to scramble and rush and make things up to justify tossing dirt on clean floors. And the words sounded false and stupid even to me. And I looked stupid to others.

I stood there and took the hit for doing what I was told in exactly the way I was told to do it.
I took the hit that should have been yours.

I think I might be done.

* * *

NOTES:

  • This was written a few months ago and post-published, for my sanity and to preserve the anonymity of those involved. But if this applied to you, you know who you are.
  • Photo courtesy of Sander van der Wel via http://www.flickr.com/photos/40803964@N08/4649749639.

I didn’t know I wanted that until you told me I couldn’t have it

2013.10 chocolate cake 6814174341_efb33150bf_zI never aspired to the corner office. I never looked ahead and thought “I want to be the CEO” or “I want to be Vice President.”

For the most part, I let my career just sort of happen. It was aimless, but successful.

In my own way I’ve achieved a certain level of… limited renown for my area of expertise (under my other, everyday name). And that, too, has just sort of happened.

I’m wondering now if that was a mistake.

I heard someone say once that regret is just wondering about the roads not taken. That’s what I’ve been doing lately, wallowing in regret. Wondering what would have happened if I had done this thing or that thing,

Many of the decisions I’ve taken were influenced by factors that were unmovable. I couldn’t not take care of my family. I needed security because if I failed, I took down many people with me.

I didn’t have the options, the freedoms other people enjoyed. And I’ve made peace with it… or at least I thought I had.

Today, I’m not too sure about that.

I am over 40 and many doors are closed to me. There are things I just can’t do, things that are nearly impossible for me now. And after last year, things that are actually impossible for me now.

I’m having moments of regret.

Don’t worry, though. I will eat a slice of chocolate cake and it will go away, at least for a little while.

Photo courtesy http://www.flickr.com/photos/25897810@N00/6814174341.

A productive day (infographic)

A Productive Day

by HealthCentral.
Explore more infographics like this one on the web’s largest information design community – Visually.

 

Because “sick to your stomach” isn’t JUST a saying

I once had a job where I was quite literally sick to my stomach every single day. At least for the first four or five months. At some point it stopped. Why I stayed, I’ll never figure out.

Every once in a while I go through a day, or two, when I become familiar with that feeling once again. I think this is what dread feels like too. Or maybe I’m just confusing the two.

Today I really want a glass of wine, and I don’t actually drink. I’m craving a cigarette, which I haven’t had since high school. I wish I had the kind of personality that let me take pain pills to make me fuzzy.

I’m too clearheaded right now. I am sick to my stomach.

Today is a Voodoo doll day. There isn’t a drink or a pill or a thing that’s going to make it better.

In my next life “sick to my stomach” days will not exist. I just haven’t figured out how to make that happen.

NOTE: this was written a few months ago and post-published,
for my sanity and to preserve the anonymity of those involved.
But if this applied to you, you know who you are. 

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