cognitive dissonance

I promised to expound more on feeling old and decrepit.

It's a bizarre dichotomy.  On my good days, of which there are still far too few, I feel great, healthy, and normal.  And then the guilt kicks in.  Maybe I shouldn't apply for disability because I'm not disabled today.  Yes, I know that's not how disability works.  Guilt isn't logical.

Future Wendy says, "Hurry up and run your errands right now!  It could take you out at any moment!"

Healthy Wendy says, "Take it easy.  Don't overtax yourself because you know what happens."

Politically Correct Wendy says, "Quit victim-blaming, mofo!"

Fun Wendy says, "OMG, fucking relax, you deserve some indulgence after all of this shit.  Otherwise, what's the point?"

And then the other boot drops.  Hard.  And I am so appreciative that I am applying for disability because there's no way I could hold down a job, never knowing when that steel-toed boot will kick me to the ground.

Grateful Wendy says, "Thank fuck you went shopping earlier and have plenty of food."

Perfectionist Wendy throws her hands up and says, "Fuck it, I guess this is good enough for how shitty you feel.  If you're in bed today, you won't even notice that the living room needs to be vacuumed."

Frustrated Wendy says, "Why am I so old and decrepit after eating and living so healthily?"

Sad Wendy wonders, "Is this all there is to existence?" and sometimes throws a Pity Party.  Quietly.

Fun Wendy is nowhere to be found.

It's very busy inside my head, except when I forcefully eject everyone out for five minutes to meditate, which requires all kinds of permits that are a hassle to obtain.

social science observation

I asked Einstein his opinion on which pair of eyeglasses he preferred on me for a professional setting.  He immediately picked the darker pair.  I prefer the lighter pair for aesthetics, although the darker pair is more comfortable.

One of my sisters is very corporate-minded, so I asked her.  She picked the lighter ones and said the darker ones were more intense looking.  I almost left it at that, two to one.  My curiosity got the better of me, so I asked my other sister who is less corporate-minded but still has fashion sense.  She also picked the lighter ones.  They very rarely agree on anything.  Ever.  I decided to ask another male friend, who immediately picked the darker ones because they are more intense (same word choice).

At this point, I figured why the hell not and asked one of my brothers who is not corporate in the slightest.  He also picked the darker pair.

Three votes by women for the lighter pair, and three votes by men for the darker (intense) pair.  Is this why I'm being paid less than my male counterparts?  Is this why I've been sexually harassed at work?  Because as women, we subconsciously choose to be less intense? 

I tried to control for scientist bias by texting the pics in different orders and not asking anything other than which ones for work.  I wore the same shirt and tried to strike the same pose in both photos (my stupid, smirky smile).

I haven't decided on which pair to wear, but I'm leaning toward trying something new and getting out of my comfort zone.

cock-a-doodle-doo

So many roosters crowing.  All night.  I started getting used to it on my last night there.  I'm gonna miss my brother so much.  And Potato snoring with his ninja face licks.  And Smaug's old man slipper shuffles (she's only graceful and agile when in attack mode).   And Winston's happy-faced under-bite.  

Of course, the migraine monster paid me a visit.  Couldn't let me enjoy a few pain-free days with my brother.  By the time my flight landed in Vegas, I was hurting bad.  My meds had worn off, and I took more in my cab.  I couldn't even wait to take them at the hotel.

As soon as I got into my room, I filled up the Jacuzzi tub and relaxed for 30 minutes.  Then I put on my happy face and went to meet up with my work colleagues.

the theme was food and boots

Oh, is it time to leave already?  I've been ready since Monday.  :)

I ate so much delicious food that my jeans were starting to be a bit too tight on me.  I tend to overeat at these events because I never know when my next meal will be, and I want to ensure that my hypoglycemia doesn't kick in.

I was astonished that so many men noticed and complimented my boots this trip.  I was equally astonished that not one person commented on my hair.  I typically get many remarks (not always complimentary) about it from strangers when out and about running errands.

This was an interesting week, once I got past my anxiety.  Co-workers opened up to me, talking about a friend's death, a relative's death, a pet's death, and even their own mortality.  Somehow I got caught up in my own bullshit and forgot not to judge because I don't know what people are going through.  Fortunately, I think I compensated for that later on in a few heart-to-heart sessions, where I mostly listened and empathized.  Here is your friendly reminder to have compassion when someone is annoying you, because they're probably going through some shit.

I managed to escape another chance to admit the death of my relationship.  I'm hoping I either never have to talk about it at work (hi to you denial) or it will be long enough to say "oh I thought you knew, that was years ago."

I learned from a hungover co-worker that the hotel gift store doesn't sell chewing gum because it's too messy, which is ingenious. 

And finally it was time to grab a cab and escape to the train station.  This cab was much fancier.  The air conditioning was already on and running.  He gently placed my luggage in the back, instead of on my knees.  And we chatted about various things as the mood struck.  He told me about previous businesses he'd had and been attacked at.  Fuck.  And why he left Pakistan many years ago, and how it is when he goes back to visit.

I arrived a bit early at the train station, and the train was late, so I had lots of time to kill.  I'd already eaten first and second breakfasts, so I decided it was time for elevenses.  I asked the station agent to recommend a place in this tiny little town and was hoping he wouldn't suggest the mini-mart across the street at the Greyhound station.  I was in the seedy underbelly of town.  He suggested Dave's Rockin' BBQ and started describing some wonderful pit BBQ techniques.  When I asked if they had that there, he said no.  Huh.

I walked two blocks over to the nicer part of town and found the BBQ place.  Omg, I love the ambience, the smell, the music.  I hope the food is good, too.  Mostly, I'm just happy to be on my journey home.  I'd much rather waste time here than make more corporate small talk. This place was full of regulars and character.  Lynyrd Skynyrd posters were all over the wall.  And of course, Tom Petty and various other '70s rock-bands.  Everyone knew each other (which would maybe get annoying after a while but seemed fun for now) and had a slight Southern accent.  The men looked tough.  And the women tougher. 

I saw a random dude walk up in shitty looking camo outfit and thought he was doing the macho version of cosplay.  I figured out when three more walked up in similar outfits that it's their SWAT Team.  Who knew they even had one.  Or maybe it's another city's using this town as a training session.  They went straight to the BBQ place. So I'm assuming locals.

The food was mouthwateringly scrumptious, and I ate more than I meant to, while rocking out to old '70s tunes.

The train finally arrived and as I got on, I complimented my conductor's eyelashes.  She then proceeded to give me an elaborate and detailed five minute tutorial on how to buy and install faux eyelashes.  ProTip: Use bonding glue for weaves not eyelash glue.

passion for plaid

Why so many checked (plaid?) shirts?  Is it in your boys' nerd manual along with the highly recommended, but not quite mandatory, goatee?  In case it wasn't clear, the male to female ratio here is completely overwhelming.  I guessed it at 40 to 1, but my white, male co-workers thought more like 10 to 1, until they looked around in surprise.  We agreed on 20 to 1, but I still think it was higher.  And they still think it was lower.  Probably because I'm such a force of nature with my own gravitational pull, and it feels like 35 women are nearby.  Talk about overwhelming.   :)   Fortunately, my managers are awesome and hire women, so my department isn't nearly so unbalanced.

I saw three black men here, two of which I knew previously.  I met the third when he said to me, "You walk like you hear music the rest of us don't."  Doesn't everyone play internal music when they want to?  That's why I have theme songs, one of which my newest co-worker said he woke at 2am with it playing in his head.  (Coincidentally, I also woke at 2am that night, but it was due to drunk fkrs outside being loud.)  We had briefly talked about that song the night before and then did an impromptu karaoke session (mostly him because I can't sing) while walking to dinner.  He found and played it on his smartphone during a meeting break.  People were humming it all day.  It's a vicious, but fun, ear-worm.

Why are hotels so poorly sound-proofed?  I can always hear the man in the room above me peeing.  And yes, I can tell it's a man because you guys sound different.  There was also a horrible grinding noise, which was intermittent but plaguing enough that I dreamed I had tinnitus.  I woke up just as it switched off again.  And my whole body relaxed and started to drift back to sleep.  And two minutes later, my alarm sounded.  Motherfucker. 

Florida man

By lunchtime, I was tired of tedious work discussions.  Doesn't anyone have fun hobbies they like to talk about FFS?  I purposely sat a table with some millennial whose face was buried in his phone.  He didn't so much as glance up when I sat across from him.  Perfect.  I took out my phone and proceeded to text and chat with friends while I was eating my steak and parsnips.

Another man sat down, and I quickly glanced up to see if I knew him and needed to make small talk.  I did not, and he avoided my eyes, so I assumed another millennial sans manners.  I went back to my food and phone.  The first dude abruptly finished, left his plate and utensils strewn about, and walked away.  I glanced over at the second one to see his reaction, if any.  He looked as taken aback as I was, so I joked that he must have been raised in a barn.  Dude says, I have a barn now, and I'm not that rude.  It turned out he lives in rural Florida and has 40 acres of farmland.  And he's no millennial.

We ended up having a brilliant lunch conversation about non-work related stuff.  He is attempting to raise native Florida fruit plants, like cherries, plums, huckleberries, and pears.  Who knew those were native?  We reminisced about Florida in our childhood.  He grew up somewhat near to me.  I learned about how he raises cattle, pigs, and poultry.  We talked about rednecks and skinheads, and he noticed my Doc Martens and complimented me on them.  We enjoyably spent the time together and barely mentioned the convention.  It was refreshing.

to pay or not toupee?

I suppose I forgot to mention that I have to give a presentation to approximately 40 people at this convention, which is most of the source of my anxiety.  Most, but not all.  I'm also anxious about the long days, and how much advanced material I'm expected to learn.  This is not a typical pep rally sales meeting.  This is a nerd convention, hence the allowance of jeans.  This should be my people.  I keep telling myself I'll be fine.  Apparently I'm not a very persuasive liar.

Yesterday, I took a taxi from the bumfuck train station to the fancy hotel.  I had a choice of this taxi or nothing.  I wisely chose this one.  After he threw my luggage in sideways and didn't even close the collapsible handle (wtf?), I immediately verified if he accepted credit cards like the whole civilized world.  No, he did not.  But he could drive me by a sketchy ATM to withdraw lots of cash.  Seriously, dude?  Fortunately I'd planned ahead and had some cash squirreled away in various pockets, zippers, and hidey-holes to cover the fee.  Because we were in backwater Florida, it wasn't that expensive.

The hotel was indeed grand and lovely.  I broke a $20 bill at check-in to have tip money for the week.  I had used all my existing singles on the train.  I jokingly assured the man checking me in that I would not be sneaking off to a strip club, so he shouldn't feel required to report me to my company.  He gave me an uncomfortable smile.  Oops.  Must remember to dial back my sense of humor here.  I'm back in Corporate World.

There was an opening reception the night before, for which I debated changing clothes.  I'm glad I didn't because I almost felt overdressed in my ensemble of jeans, boots, and t-shirt.  Most people had traveled from much colder climes and were taking this time to break out their short pants.

Do people still buy and wear toupees?  I stared at the back of one man's head for close to two hours in this morning's opening meeting, trying to decide if it was a toupee or a weird haircut.  (I was extremely bored in case that wasn't obvious, and decided not to sleep through it like the gentleman next to me.)  And of course, that made me curious what the back of my head looks like.  But not curious enough to try for more than a quick glance and say fuck it.

I sat with regular co-worker friends at breakfast and lunch.  I talked shoes and boots with a Canadian, who told me about Blundstone.  His looked extremely comfortable.  By dinner I got brave and sat with all new people.  I met a fellow AC/DC fan, a MotoGP fan, and some men with strong Indian accents who said they were from Texas, to which I said, yeah I could tell by the accent.  They were dumbfounded until I said I was kidding.  Then they thought I was hilarious.  Yay, someone liked my humor.

Every time I went to try a new type of food at a different buffet, I met new people.  The song Raspberry Beret came on just as I was walking by my manager.  I must have had a happy step, because I heard the 'wow, you walk like a model' line.  I'm fairly certain he was not hitting on me.  I hope.  I laughed and made a quick exit back to my room.  That was more than enough people for one day.

choo choo

I'm taking the train on a business trip.  This will definitely be the best part of my trip.  I'm having major anxiety already.  I had nightmares all weekend.  We were told we could wear jeans, so I'm way more casual on this trip than usual.  I hope that doesn't turn out to be a mistake.  Normally, I wear frumpy clothes.  I was once given advice on how to dress in a male dominated field.  Never sexy, never memorable.  I took it to heart over the years, and I'm sure it's saved me much grief and awkwardness. 

Today I'm throwing caution to the winds and wearing skinny jeans and boots.  I figure I'm old now and don't have to worry about looking sexy. 

A few minutes before the train is due, and a couple walks up, smoking cigarettes.  I'm already annoyed and have barely smelled their cigarettes.  I overhear the woman asking about the bathroom at the station.  The station agent says to hurry because the train is due at any minute.  They're going to New York, and now I'm anxious if they miss their train.  I don't even know them and was annoyed by them two minutes ago, but now I'm concerned for them.  I DON'T NEED THEIR ANXIETY, TOO!

A dude with fucked up sweatpants came up (almost took a pic, but I felt like it violated his privacy) and asked if he let me hold all his money (which he was pulling from an orange Velcro wallet) could he use my phone.  I'm a big meanie and said no.  Plus my battery is dying and I'm 2 minutes from missing my train.  He said he was getting on it, too.  Also, hell fucking no am I letting a stranger have all of my personal info in his hand.
 

Turns out he wasn't getting on my train.  He was on his way to the courthouse.  With those fkn pants, really?  I mean they looked fun and funky but maybe a judge wouldn't agree.  One leg was grey with graffiti designs, and the other leg was fuchsia.  Anyway, he distracted me, so I don't know if the New York couple made it.  But we did manage to delay the train by a minute or two while the conductor tried to make sense of his story.  She thought he was with me.  I guess my boots fooled her into thinking that.  Yikes.

not all blogs are created equal

I was asked to write a blog post for work.  Of course I said yes, even though my initial reaction was that's not my job.  But then I started thinking, I love writing every day, why wouldn't I want to do this.  And the answer is because I couldn't use salty language on it.  Plus, the whole point was to be positive.  Which doesn't always describe me.  I can be positive, but usually, I'm a realist with a positive slant.

I embraced it wholeheartedly and wrote a semi-decent post.  Which hasn't been published as far as I know.  I was ghostwriting for someone in marketing, which had me a bit nervous, until I read some of his posts.  He's a nice guy, but there is much value in editing.  Just saying.

Even if it's never used, I got a gold star from my manager.  And it makes me a team player.

Eeyore

I keep seeing more and more celebrities coming out with depression and anxiety.  Are they all genuine, or is it the latest way for them to get publicity?  Does it matter as long as it reduces the stigma?  It does a bit, and here's why.  People who don't understand the totally overwhelming and immersive experience will dilute the message.

It's the same as people who equate headache with migraine.  Yes, a headache sucks (or so I've heard because I get migraines not headaches), but a migraine is a whole neurological clusterfuck.  People who feel blue because their favorite character was killed off on a TV show are not the same as someone who can't leave the house or interact with people because of their issues.

Depression is a gradual graying out of life.  It's as if a matte veil slowly and inconspicuously blots out all happiness.  I don't always notice when it hits, I just stop feeling motivated.  I lose my vitality and joy.  And I don't think mine is even that bad as compared to others.  Not that it's a good idea to compare.  Ever.  Especially for men standing at urinals, which was another thing that was reinforced on my trip, over fucked up meal conversations.  But I digress.

Here's where emotional hygiene comes into play again.  I can either succumb (fuck that) or force myself to find and think about what brings me contentment.  To choose to embrace living, which as I mentioned previously is much tricksier than dying quickly.  I listened to the new Adele album and had to consciously stop so I wouldn't spiral into a depressive slipstream.  She has an unbelievably beautiful voice, but the emotion was too raw for me to handle yesterday.  I'm sure I'll try again at some point.

Tolerating and managing depression builds resilience.  And resiliency and happiness are closely connected.  Resiliency isn't an inherent trait, although I suspect some of us are better or worse at it than others.  But with practice, I can make myself better and train my brain to react differently.  To react better.  In the meantime, I hope I have as good of friends as Eeyore does.

Day 3? 4? 500?

I can't decide if large company events are trying to inculcate employees by wearing us down, or if it's merely incompetent planning by party-type people who carb-load on pastries in the morning, along with heavy caffeine ingestion to make up for the insulin crash from the sugar excess.  And also because they stayed up all night drinking at the open bar.  Either way, it doesn't seem like an intelligent corporate strategy.   And yet, more companies than not think this is acceptable.  Dumb-asses.

Breakfast today was more of the same.  Except for the lively conversation from my Southern co-workers discussing deer hunting with a crossbow.  And then how to skin the deer.  I also learned about ghillie suits, and how to make them.  I loved moving from their table to my New England liberal co-workers' table and watching their shocked expressions of disgust when I shared my new knowledge.  It's good to find joy in the little things.  :)
 
Last day.  Yippee.  I hope my phone battery holds out through goofing off in the morning sessions and then all the time at the airport.   I'll have to search up an outlet somewhere.  Or God forbid, resort to old-fashioned daydreaming when I get bored.  I even have a ready-made daydream available -- yummy airport food.  Who thought that vision would come out of my brain?   Or maybe a daydream of a lovely warm Epsom bath?  I've been burning through magnesium like crazy here, taking 4 and 5 capsules a day.  Higher stress requires higher magnesium consumption.

Fortunately, I have a book to read on the plane.  I guess I can read in the airport, too, instead of whining to my friends and family via text messages and emails.  Nah, where would the fun of that be?   :)

Day 2

I've lost all concept of time.  Nothing exists except now.  I feel like I'm being professionally indoctrinated with no sleep and positive corporate messaging.  Loud music, blinking bright lights.  A co-worker who is also USMC said it felt like boot camp with crappy food, no sleep, and no personal time.  He's not wrong.

We had an off-site dinner last night, which normally I would say was crappy sports bar food, but I raved about the food so much, that I went for thirds at the BBQ buffet.  That's how badly they've been depriving me here.  

Today I've started drinking the kool-aid, so their plan is working.  I'm all gung-ho, on board, with synergy for everyone.  Just kidding, I'm bored silly and writing this in one of my sessions.

It hasn't been all bad.  My co-workers and I got into a fun detailed analysis of powdered eggs.  We've bonded over the shared experience of days (feels like weeks) of shitty food.  It's been really nice laughing in person with people I typically only interact with telephonically.  I also made some new friends to laugh with from all over.   I probably also scared some away with my off-color humor.  Oops.  If we can't laugh at our social issues, then we're still too sensitive to start working on them.

Day 1

I hate wearing my name on my chest.  I could never be a rapper.  Plus, I'm not a large person, and I always have to adjust my lanyard to fit me better.  Obviously, I can adjust the length, but the badge size is the same for me as for the 250 pound man next to me.  Guess who is more uncomfortable having colleagues and strangers staring at their chest?

After a particularly creepy, unknown man said, "Hi Wendy" to me one year, I now remove my badge the moment I leave a work event.  I refuse to wear it in elevators or while walking to and from anything. 

This morning, I threw it in my purse like usual and was strongly reminded no less than 5 times that I needed to have it on to get into the first session.  

They didn't require it for breakfast, because no one in their right mind would sneak in to eat this swill.  It was better than going hungry, so I ate some.  Plenty of people didn't.  The food is usually better at these corporate events.  I would have packed more snacks if I had known.  I'm not desperate enough to order $20 room service eggs yet, but it's getting close.  They're not organic, high quality eggs either.

Here is a photo of my pitiful breakfast, including one defective eye with a twitch.

 

 

Unsurprisingly after eating crap for several meals, I developed a migraine.  Owwie.  :(  Fkn miserable with a big smile on my face.

have rubberband, will travel

I debated back and forth over whether to drive myself to the airport or arrange for a shuttle.  Control issues vs. poor night vision (and probable migraine) when I return (fuck you, eye surgeon).  Plus the safety of walking alone in airport parking garages as a woman.  But is getting into a stranger's vehicle truly any safer?  Do they extensively background check their drivers?   (#YesAllWomen)  I'm assuming men don't have to consider being assaulted when taking any transportation other than one's own vehicle.  Every time.  But I could be wrong.

The limo driver certainly knew where the left lane was, and wasn't afraid to use it.  And we weren't in the slightest bit late.  Guess they drive fast in Ecuador.

At airport security, I made an aging lesbian happy.  She volunteered to give me a full body pat-down.  And said she was disappointed when I declined a private room.  One day maybe I'll be brave enough to see what those entail.  But I watch movies, so I know that's where they disappear you.  Some Eurotrash hipster (my favorite kind lately) gave me an ooh la la while he watched her feel me up. Pshaw, back of her hands.  Whatevs.

I made more friends in the gate waiting area.  Wall outlets are a wanted commodity.  An American hipster this time asked to share mine with his double outlet and higher amperage.  He was nice with a cute smile, so I acquiesced.   Then the fkr bragged about his longer cord.   Asshole.  :)

It's been about a year since I've flown last, and I swear the seats are getting tinier and tinier.  I'm sure as hell not growing taller.  And shut the fuck up about my ass getting bigger.  :)   It's solid muscle, well partially solid muscle.

Speaking of muscle, I'm missing my workouts this week.  I realize there is probably an adequate gym at the hotel, or even body-weight fitness I can do in my room.  But I've made an executive decision that hoisting my luggage and laptop around all week counts for exercise.  Plus the walking in the airports and all the fkn handshaking and smiling counts, too.  A smile uses a bajillion muscles or was that a frown?  What about fake smiles?  Do those use more or less than genuine smiles?  Do you suppose I can switch off shaking with my left hand, so that my muscles stay balanced?  That might be too much of an awkward explanation, so I'll deal with getting a GIANT muscled right arm.

I've also decided that sleep will be a scarce commodity and definitely takes priority over exercise.  What?  No, I always wake up at 5 am, and then stay out and about talking to people constantly until 10:30 pm.  Why would I want to be well-rested when learning new concepts?  This is where gratitude comes into play.  I'm happy to have gainful employment.  I'm grateful for fantastic co-workers and managers.  I'm grateful that I found shoes that mostly match my dowdy professional outfits and are semi-comfortable.

And I'm grateful that magnesium and a rubber-band keep my anxiety manageable.

suck it up, Buttercup

I used to travel a lot when I was younger, both for business and for pleasure.  I've always had some anxiety, but it's gotten worse.  Shouldn't I be older and wiser and less anxious?  And lest anyone think it has anything to do with fear of traveling because of assholes killing me, nope.  Fear of dying is way down on my list.  It's much more terrifying to live each day.

I need to remind myself not to overclock my brain.  Breathe.  Experience now.  Fuck yesterday.  Fuck tomorrow.  Right now is all we're guaranteed. 

Maybe I'm anxious because this is my first trip being single, which seems kind of a lame reason to have anxiety.  But that's what my gut is telling me.  I can't call home in a panic and know that someone will be there for me as their first priority.  I'm not anyone's first priority anymore.  Which should be fine.  I lived the first half of my life that way, because I was raised by wolves.  It's a familiar feeling and one I know how to do, just one I thought I'd left behind.  I guess you can never outrun your past.

I do have friends and family who would be there for me if I called in a panic, but I'm not the be-all and end-all for someone.  And really, I'm pretty fucking self-sufficient, so none of this will probably even matter.  And yet, it does.  Now.

Breathe, Wendy.

Here's where I give myself the first of many pep-talks. 

"Suck it up, Buttercup.  You're fucking fine.  In fact, you're almost living large, 13 days migraine-free and counting."  My friends' advice ranged from "start drinking heavily" to "better living through pharmaceuticals."  I'm leaning toward the old-fashioned method of aversive conditioning.  Yes, I did just add a rubber-band to my packing list.  For those unfamiliar with this method, it's pretty fkn easy.  Just snap the rubber-band any time you start doing something you'd prefer not to.  Also, if you need one in an emergency, they're pretty easy to find, unlike alcohol at 6 am.

I keep hoping that I'll run out of 'firsts' soon.  My first business trip alone.   My first birthday alone.  My first holiday season alone.  I may boycott Christmas this year.  Don't worry, it won't be in a chickenshit Starbucks kind of way.  I'll still wish you a Happy Christmas.  I just won't be buying and decorating a tree for Kitten and me.

[As you might have surmised, I had to take a business trip, which I haven't done in several months.  And because I'm a paranoid mofo, I'm posting this after I've returned, so no one breaks in and kills my house-sitter.  But I wrote all my posts in real-time, so just go with it.  And know that I made it home safely, otherwise I wouldn't have posted this.]

5 guys, it's all in the name

After my morning coffee and FedEx delivery, I worked a bit, speaking LOUDLY into the phone over the din of my laptop and the landscapers.  For lunch, I rewarded myself with a nice workout with my gym buddy, aka my Sensei.  We laughed and panted through our workout as usual.  And compared migraines from the previous day.  Mine hit at 4pm, his at 5.  And both of us asleep by 9.  I guess a cold front came through.  It was a brisk 72 degrees this morning.

We also chatted a bit about The Martian.  He was surprised that it was so funny.  And also that at times, it seemed I was the only one laughing in the whole theater.  (I don't think he noticed that I cried during parts of it, ssshhh.)  He said he looked around and noticed people smiling but not laughing out loud.  When did people forget that laughing was fun and good for us?

An older Italian gentleman at the gym has taken a liking to me over the years because I remind him of his granddaughter or niece or someone.  He always comes over to us and chats a bit when he sees me.  Today was killing me because he had cigarette breath.  Ugh.  I tolerated it though because he's a sweet man.  And I like when people laugh and smile, so we included him in some of our jokes and banter.  And between sets, I looked at photos on his phone.  At a certain point, I was looking for any excuse for a rest.  ;)

Sensei said his painful knee felt better after we worked out.  He also fixed my shoulder.  Again.  I really need to go to the chiropractor and massage therapist, but I've been procrastinating because of all the ophthalmologist appointments lately.  One doctor at a time is more than enough.  That's my motto.

We decided to grab a quick lunch since we both had time.  I wasn't able to work much while I was migrating hundreds of GBs of data from my old laptop to my new.  (So I'm a digital pack-rat, so what?)  We went to Five Guys, which is a burger chain, for those of you unfamiliar.  The employees at this location are super friendly and efficient.  And the burgers are tasty, although I'm aware they aren't grass-fed or organic.

I noticed while we were eating there, that the clientele and employees were predominantly (entirely?) male.  Maybe that location has a 2 female limit at any given time.  There were some rough-looking characters there, but I knew Sensei could handle whatever, so I wasn't worried.  A police officer was there for a bit, too.  And people are always happier with a full belly.  Does every other woman know something I don't about this chain?  Are they misogynistic?  Am I supposed to be boycotting them?  Is it just the scary clientele?  Do women not eat burgers?  Wtf?

wearing my war paint

My pool is no longer green, and I have cream (instead of ice cream) in my coffee.  I can almost pretend all is right with the world for this moment.  I'll just ignore the migraine beating me up care of Hurricane Joaquin.  Fortunately, my house won't feel the physical effects of the storm, just my head.  And my body.

The meds are coursing through my veins like lead until I can barely lift my arms.  And there's an elephant sitting on my chest, until I can scarcely breathe.  But I need to soldier on like a good Migraine Warrior.  Put on my smiling face and do my job like a professional who isn't screaming inside.  No one will know that I just want to slam my head against the wall until I pass out.  That I've lost several IQ points because it's not just the head pain, it's also a neurological hurricane storming through my synapses and turning me into a literal drooling idiot.  Not sure why my mouth leaks sometimes.  Or my eyes.  I'm just happy there's no projectile vomiting this time.

I imagine my war paint looking similar to Daryl Hannah's character in Blade Runner.  That's how I feel inside, I want to go Berserker on someone.  But I won't, because I have years of practice of being a phony, an actor who plays the part of normal.  Wish me luck in fooling everyone for just one more day.  And then one more.  And another.

back to life, back to reality

(for you young'uns, that's the lyrics from a song)

Sometime during my restful night, the slowly diminishing air bubble in my eye split into three parts.  So now it looks like a big circle body, with a little circle head on top (squashing down into the body), with a smaller earring circle on his left (my right).  Yes, this is how I amuse myself.  I think I'll name him Toby. 

I'm back at work today and on back-to-back corporate conference calls.  Because there are no visuals for my calls, I'm playing with twisting and turning Toby in my eyeball.  I can only do this with my head straight down, eyes open or closed.  I managed to flip his earring to the other side.  No fkn idea how though, but he looks more piratical this way.  I'd like to join the bubbles back together because Toby is a bit distracting, as you might imagine.

Planning the murder of Toby...

Does this warrant a call to my surgeon's office? 

Doctors' Office: "Hello, may I help you?" 
Wendy: "Yes, I need to kill Toby.  What's the best way?  For me and for him?" 
Doctors' Office: "Ummm, what?" 
Wendy: "I don't want to damage my eye.  Or hurt Toby overmuch.  How do I off him?" 
Doctors' Office: hopeful tone in her voice "Wrong number?" 
Wendy: "Oh, right, I guess so, since you ignore any Advance Directive during surgery.  Thanks anyway.  Goodbye." 
Doctors' Office: very relieved  "...??"

I'll skip the call and just hang with Toby until he offs himself.  By the way, you read that correctly.  They explicitly informed me TWICE that they would ignore any advance directive I might have.  It vexed me on principle, but I didn't expect it to come up during eye surgery.   For any of you not in the know (and too lazy to click the link above), an advance directive is a euphemism for saying if shit hits the fan, just let me die. 

Which they will promptly ignore, even if I have a legal document requesting that.  Fuckers.

Another one bites the dust

Another one gone, and another one gone
Another one bites the dust
Hey, I'm gonna get you too
Another one bites the dust

Life is so harsh.  I had another strong, brilliant woman (let's call her M after M in the Bond movies because I could completely imagine her heading up MI6 and keeping those fkrs in line) phone me last night with a career crisis.  What the fucking fuck.  No one wants to pay what a lifetime of hard work and experience deserves.  Besides that, no one wants to even consider older women because they can hire someone half her age for half her salary.  You know what, asshole?  You also get no experience with that.  Penny wise and pound foolish, but most companies just look out for their bottom line this quarter.  What happened to having vision and developing toward that, while giving the best possible service to your customers?  Now it's all instant gratification, and we can't understand why loyalty is a dying concept.

P.S.  Thanks for the support for both me and my loved ones.  It definitely brightens my day, and I'm fairly certain Emma Peel was pleased to know random Internet people care about her, as well.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Ugh, I had to go to Miami yesterday.  I always forget how much it's like a foreign country until I get there and can't understand anyone.  My TV at the hotel was programmed in Spanish.  With the stress of Miami traffic, a trying day at a customer site, and a tropical wave brewing, it had all the makings of a migraine.