Surprise v. Rug-Pull

 A loved one recently confessed their unusual distate for surprises.

There are people who simply don't care for them. People who are convinced they could "plan their own party better" (and maybe they could). People who prefer calming things. People who dislike the anxiety of having other people do things for them / the feeling of now owing them things. People who have a certain kind of relationship with control that makes them feel like death whenever they must hand the reigns over.

This loved one is working through why they do not like surprises, so I will respectfully back off / not over analyze / do my own confessing: I am not a professional (nor have I ever been) in this scene. Also: sometimes people don't want to be analyzed, so don't be rude, you big jerk. 

So what am I to write about? Was that it? Was this just some kind of quick, friendly reminder / PSA not to analyze people when it could be considered rude? While that is something I personally need to keep in mind sometimes, no: that was not it. 

First of all: let's applaud healthy growth in any/every way possible. Perhaps especially for loved ones. 

Second of all: their growth / realization got me thinking: do I have a similar distaste for surprises? Is this something I can work through and grow through as well? I don't think I have a poor relationship with surprises in general. I deduce this by recalling literally any of the conversations with either my mother or my sister on the topic. They both REALLYdo not like surprises. They hate them, I think. Makes them so painfully uncomfortable / discomforted that they often get angry and will likely be in a very bad mood throughout the duration of their birthday party. 

This processing has made me realize something I truly do have an issue with: having the rug pulled out from under me. And of course nobody I know has ever rejoycedover such a thing happening to them, but I can tell - should I ever be able to afford one - this topic could easily be an episode of Lexx Speaks to Her Therapist (maybe even a "To Be Continued"!).

There is an element of surprise that comes with such an event, but these two items are very different. The rug-pull is not necessarily an issue of change (at least not for myself), nor is it something "new" added. It is the antithesis of this. It is, in fact, a loss. It is something taken. Something missing. Something wrong. Like a trap door under an unsuspecting cartoon coyote. 

Have you ever, for example, had a great morning because, heading to work, you had visions of yesterday's leftovers dancing in your head? You ordered too big a lunch yesterday for the office meeting and - against your usual impulse - saved the rest of your veggie burrito (as well as some chips and salsa dregs) in the break room mini fridge. "I'll never eat that", you thought, packing your things to go home for the day. You were certain you didn't want it. So much so that you realized you did not have it on your way out. You were a mere ten paces out from the fridge and decided the trip back to it was not worth it. You deemed it useless. 

And now look at you: you had no time for breakfast. No time for a coffee shop before hand. And, thanks to that NCIS marathon last night, you had "forgotten" to prepare a packed lunch. No food. No bev. Never fear, you think to yourself; leftover burrito is here. 

You confidently cross the street from your parking garage. You all but kick in the office doors, ravenous. You drop your bags at your desk, get to the mini fridge with prepared, empty, available hands just to find - someone has cleaned out the fridge. (This is the end of the point to be made, but hang on a sec:) You stand there in disbelief, thinking surely you must be mistaken. Your eyes search militantly - work their way from left to right, top to bottom: Nothing. With the exception of a few old dressings. Half empty, because you are feeling pessimistic. You replay the many days over what feels like weeks where, right next to where you like to put your coconut cream yogurt, you have had to fight a deep gag over the molded hummus Kathy had left. Even Kathy surely got, at least, the satisfaction of throwing away that science experiment. That crime against humanity. Even that was safe from the cleaners' hungry clutches for so long. And yet your precious burrito had not been given a day. 

Your stomach gargles. Your head begins to throb. You close the door in defeat. You head over to the sad Keurig machine in the corner of the break room. Someone says an all-too-cheery salutation. You turn to see: 

Kathy.

OKAY back to reality. My point is: ^^^this is having the rug pulled out from under you. This - although surprising - is not what I would consider (in this blog's context) a "surprise". 

The rug-pull is much more sinister. There is a negtive or selfish intent from the other party, if there even is one. (Someone eating your fridge food vs. the cleaners simply trying to do their job.) And sometimes the over-looking / complete and utter lack of consideration is what sucks the most and is the most difficult for the rug-pullee to deal with. (This, I suppose, could be: your mother / roommate / partner going grocery shopping and deciding it was up to them to make the call. Even though they watched you make that boxed mac and cheese yesterday and take the time to pop it in the fridge, they decided to toss it to make room for their stuff / the new stuff / whathaveyou.) 

I guess that's kind of it for now. (Two blogs today! Woohoo! I feel great.) And, yes, this example is based around a none-too-serious issue / event / happening surrounding an employed person's food (that they can presumably replenish). And if you're curious: it is mostly due to the fact that I think this will be relatable as well as: some of the other examples I first thought of are much darker and shitter and I do not wish to bring you / myself down at the moment. I don't think it is necessary to discuss this topic today. 

Just Thinking! Go enjoy the weather before it turns to shit and goes fully Autumnal and there is no sun.

Back in NY

 I am back in NY after:

WEEK ONE:
        home from work, quick nap, redbull, up to Maine/ME.
        stay at mother's place. sleep on oversized recliner. be sad and feel odd together.
        fight through the La Brea Tar Pit that is overwhelming sadness and get things done. Future-plan.
        watch a new show that I would have never picked out with my mother as I enjoy Old Fashions.
        take turns picking out music videos and singing with all the fervor of the late, great Freddy Mercury.
        I head back to NY. Sleep. Next day: back to work.

WEEK TWO:
        home from work, quick nap, redbull, up to ME.
        arrive early enough to have the realization wash over me: ME is not NY and nothing is open until 6. 
        pass out at my best friend's place (thank you!) and wake up - not an hour later - for a bday party.
        party ends - back to best friend's for deliciously relaxed times fitted between other social delights.
        check on Ma.
        I head back to NY. Nap. Enjoy the day off. Next day: back to work.

I have had exactly two weeks and three days to regain myself and in precisely 7 days time I will head back up to ME. Here's the thing: this time I will have a beautifully full allowance of time up there. I will have 8 days off (at least, anyway; haven't gotten October's schedule just yet) to whatever my friends / loved ones and I cook up. And the only thing set in stone is my best friend's and my departure to Boston (via train) to see one of our favorite bands on their farewell tour. We've got train tickets. We've got a hotel room. 

I am so excited I could spit. 

THRILLED. I am thrilled. Even down to the precision of what to bring to Boston (out of the things I brought from NY to ME) so that I will have what I need while also having my hands completely free and be able to comfortably walk around Boston with my best friend. I keep checking the weather app because, although it is far too soon to do so, it is making me feel as though I am planning. Really doing something. Getting even closer to the date than if I had left the weather app alone. 

My friend and I have been through a fair amount recently. We love each other very much. And we need a break. Not just a break; a real adventure. Cost be damned (and boy, had it better be): I have never had a friendventure like this in my life and I may not ever again! 

sis boom bah.

***Also ahead: October 21st: a reading of my own published book at a dear loved one's book shop! With other spooky authors / readers! Ain't life grand?***

Lately

 Lately there has been a fair amount of personal tragedy in my life / the life of those around me / no longer around me. 

One week it was my mother's sister / my aunt who passed. The next week I found myself overwhelmed with the doom of the goings on of the world that I live in (relatable content - so cringe!), the next week it was a very lovely man / friend I used to work with and certainly loved. These things usually come in threes, so I allowed myself to believe that that had been it. "It"; a word, here, meaning: "too much already".

My circle and I were spared exactly three weeks before my mother's partner / my stepfather passed. There are many details that make this information so much more overwhelmingly gloomy, but I will tuck those inside of myself to fester so you will not have to. (It's already tragic enough. What would that do, exactly?)

I had not taken a day off of work for any of the previous, but I knew this last hit was going to be critical, so I texted my manager and let her know. I was - very foolishly - only going to take one day off before heading back and pretending to not have a family or problems for eight hours again. My manager offered the week off (a mere two extra days for liittle old part-time me) under the pretense of "in case you wanna go visit your mom". She is a very thoughtful person / manager to offer this. To use the little information she has on me to my advantage. I was very grateful. And so: I was off. 

My mother, being the original version of my copy, did not want company at first. I respected that and stayed in NY, by my phone all week. I waited for her to change her mind. She didn't. I was glad she didn't because it is a very visceral, fiery torture to be needed by your loved ones and not be there. It may be the worst feeling in the world. But at least the anxiety was lessened by the all-consuming work factor being vacuumed away.

Now, after I have had my big, sobby day and am attempting to move through the thick, marshy substance that is my day-to-day, I can plan a proper trip. Granted; it will only be a few days and I would obviously like it to be more, but (alas!) I have only just spent my "more" to do my own processing. I will pack a bag. I will drive up to Maine and I will park Jasper at my mother's place. I will clean, I will cook, I will escourt, I will sit... I will do anything she needs or thinks of within the small amount of time I am able to grant us. This is the only thing I can think to do. And - aside from this blog that two people read - I will tell very few others where I am and when. I will not exist for those few days except within the context of my mother and myself. ...And her cat, of course. 

I think I must have been very fortunate to not have much tragedy of this kind in my life until now. I am certain so many others my age would / will have been so well-vetted by now that they could flow through it with a sad grace. I know that death is certain and I know that all three of these individuals were of a certain age where such things should be less shocking. It is not less shocking. And it is just sad. 

The only solice, at the moment, is that I know exactly where to neatly fold my emotions. I have not always been in such a position. And confusion makes the tragedies a little rougher. 

Gainfully-ish Employed

this blog has turned into a movie/book trope of the character who is murdered / goes missing. The one the left you saying: "There's no way anyone would blog about that much stuff/update that much on Twitter/this is so lame." turns out it's not lame. well... okay, it is. but it is also realistic. 

I have a job!

It took me the longest it has ever taken me (save for that first 13-16 years where I was taking a few years off to childhood). I started my search in the brewery, tattoo receptionist and CBD caregiver game and eventually landed on: part-time bank teller. Quite the journey. The reason for this: J has a full time 8-5 Monday through Friday and he suggested that I get a job with weekends / holidays / nights off so that I don't forget what he looks like. Also: insurance is good. (Always thinking, that J!) So I swapped my soul-feeding, body-killing, no-insurance-giving search for one where I could go to the dentist every once in a while. I honestly don't think I would care much either way because: it's part-time! Nothing matters when you're part-time. You can have whatever personality you want and be responsible for as little as they will allow you because: it's only for a few days a week. 

My training was very long, but not taxing. Mostly a lot of sitting in a quiet room, behind a closed door, watching training vids and participating in virtual classes. This would have been my complete undoing, after so many months of doing exactly what I wanted and only socializing with my partner, but I had something with me. The best tool, according to Nicholas Angel; my notebook. 

I have gotten in trouble for reading on the job. I have gotten in trouble for checking my phone on the job. But I have yet to get any flack for writing in my notebook on this particular job. It's perfect: I can take notes on actual job information, jot down any questions I have for later (while someone is teaching the class). I can also write down any thoughts / ideas I have for stories, blogs, dinners for the week, events I want to remind J of - I can plan my whole week! I always have something to write. And having a notebook to plan in might be archaic, but when the alternative is not relaxing/getting in trouble with your phone or ...nothing? I feel as though it is a fine tool, indeed. 

It is wild just how long the days feel there - here I am working 20 hours a week and I am still missing J, missing my kitchen, missing "home". Which brings me to the quick thought: how do any of us find time to get upset with our friends or partners when we are working full time? I know I have done it. Doesn't it seem as though we would simply just be relieved to be around them? 40 hours of working hard for the money and you aren't just happy to be home? Of course then I figure that working 40 hours is (at the very least) twice as stressful as working 20, so I suppose that puts us all at a disadvantage for good moods. I guess it would likely come down to your down-time / how you would want to spend it, at that point. Let's say, for example, you came home, wanted to work on a project you had going for the house. But upon arriving you find out that your partner has made an incredible mess / not cleaned it / now you can't chill and further more that's not very respectful and... Okay. I answered my own question. 

One last parting shot: 

I will say I wish the job application descriptions online were honest. They always romanticize the job to the point where I have no idea what the actual tasks/duties/daily work will even look like. Is it in an office? A warehouse? A greenhouse? Will I be working mostly alone? With co-workers? Or is it mainly customer-based? Will I be answering a phone? The front door? Personal ads? How often? It's nice to know this place has "good benefits", but what are they? What am I getting paid? Am I getting paid? 

It's not overwhelming; it's fast-paced.

It's not unfair workload; we don't like titles. 

It's not a scripted, soul-crushing, white-elephant-selling call-center; it's customer service. With incentives. 

Just once I would like to see:

Data Entry job. 
Will be left alone by co-workers and customers alike. In fact: no socializing necessary (no extroverts, please). Simply a once-a-week email to supervisor. Can listen to music while working as long as work gets done. No phone-answering. No front-door recptionist-ing. You will be working in a basement. (Woman-owned business, don't worry/nothing creepy.) Mostly it's just you and your computer. Just typing away and entering data, as the job title implies. You will be expected to clock in promptly at 8am. You will likely spend the morning scrolling on your phone and drinking coffee and eating your lunch you packed too early. But we won't notice unless your work doesn't get done. You do you.

M-F, 8-5. PT: 20 hrs / FT: 40 hrs. Holidays off because we don't want to pay you to be here. It's not worth it. I mean come on; there are no customers to talk to. 

Tell me what I want to know, right? This is what I came here for. 

I do think that's about it for now... thanks for reading my non-verbal processing. 

5 Year Check-In

 I think it is time to call attention to the fact that I have had this bloody thing since 2017.

five years. 

FIVE!

Automatically I am drawn to the fact that I have also been vegan for five years. This is also about the time I got Jasper, the best car in the whole wide world (and my current whip). What else was i doing five years ago? What else did I discover? What else have I kept up with / kept a healthy/good/decent relationship with? What else has helped me grow into the person I almost always like being around (It's very nearly always, but we all have those days when we're sick of ourselves)?

My first post: "TAXES 2017"
Posted: March 10th, 2017

According to my instagram, the 10th was the day after I visited Liquid Riot Brewery for the first time and day before I was spoiled with a delicious blueberry oatmeal breakfast (complete with fresh fruit and homemade booch). This is very important. (No it isn't.) (But it did help me better-place my timeline.)

I was living in Maine, roomin' with the old lady (love you, Ma) and so wholly unaware of the adventures to come. I had paid my dues and made good my escape from North Conway New Hampshire a mere two years prior. I was about to have my last day at one of the best/worst restaurant jobs I have ever had. I was about to have my birthday. 

I have since gotten out of the service industry (it always feels like a "for now", but you never know). I have since left Maine and set sails for New York, for love. I have since made the best friend I have ever had and ever will have and, quite frankly, don't know how I was living without them all those years prior. I have published the stories I began writing in my mother's kitchen. lived through (still living through) the oddest couple of years with the pandemic. I have worked in the Chamber of Commerce, a frame shop, a law firm and now a bank. I have allowed my love for writing and yoga and cooking to take over me. I have become braver. I have explored. 

I see my past self as a precious thing; one to take care of, forgive and protect. I see my future self as a mythical creature; one to not rush, to daydream of meeting one day. And I see my present self as a badge of honor; one to wear with pride and celebrate. To remind me of what I have made out of what I found / fought for / was given. To represent what I am made of. 

Psych Thoughts

 I recently started taking walks (at least once a day, very typically in the morning). 

On these walks I would typically stick to music. However: Spotify recently suggested a podcast for me (thanks, gurl!) and it is centered around psychology. Now. I need to get this clear: I understand that a podcast does not replace professional services / proper research / actual diagnoses. I also know that this kind of podcast may not be for the red-car-seer and/or hypochondriac. I am neither. I am merely a curious mind with ears and an app and time on my hands. I see this passive kind of ...research? Introduction? ...a kind of mind-provoker, but not much more. It is similar to how I feel when I have conversations about psyche. It's fun, it's thought-provoking and I find it interesting. In fact it is one of my favorite things to talk about. And I do not have people down here that I wish to speak to (as of yet) in such a way, other than my boyfriend. And he works. So. This podcast was filling a need/want. 

While I was listening today, I had some ponderings (FINALLY): 

Is one (a professional) able to draw parallels between a disorder and a ...syndrome, let's say? For example: one of the details of Imposter Syndrome is procrastinating. Should a link (or an allowance) be made between this and the procrastination one experiences when one is ADHD? And what about the main component: the feeling of not being good enough? Is there to be a parallel drawn between this and the paranoia of schizophrenia? What I guess I mean is: how does one know which facet of which syndrome / disorder one has? Obviously it's best left up to the professionals, but when it comes to subtleties: how does one (regular/common) individual know where the issue lies/if it is an issue/whether they are endangering anyone/themselves? If you have one, do you not have the other? If I see patterns, do I blame that on my OCD, or hallucinations? (Poor example, but you get it ...hopefully.)

More stupid thought blogs sure to come (this is called: "Just Thinking".)

Blather / OMG, How've you BEEN??

Sound the alarm; I have taken to the keys!

Feels so good to be back. I could have done this earlier (God knows I wasn't busy working on my novel...), but there was that week when we were in Maine, that week after where it was the week after and then some other weeks where blahblahblah, excuses. *In best Eddie Izzard:* So! What's going on, eh?

At this point, the weather has essentially mimicked every damn season Earth (and probably other planets) have to offer. Such is life in the Northeast states! And it's all fine becauuusse... It's APRIL, BAYBEE. Late April, to be a little more specific. And as such: It is Taurus Season. A.K.A.: another silly excuse to be in a good mood. (This is what Astrology should be used for: finding patterns, having fun and making excuses to be happy.) The decent - if not confusing - weather and the amount of time I've spent down here has made me infinitely more comfortable with scouring the internet for fun little events in the neighborhood. This has pushed me to try new things: J was nice enough to accompany me to a local live music scene the other night. Both bands were great and I got to experience a night I had no idea I even needed. I also absolutely loved the venue. 

As soon as you walk in: it's dark, moody lighting... but not in a dangerous way (amiright, ladies???). To your left you have the bar, fitted proper with popular brands and a very cool tender. To your right you see tacky, faux-regal furniture with patterned wood and red cushions. You walk a little further, realize that - yes, it is your favorite White Stripes song playing over the speakers. Because tonight is a Rock night. And (as much as I worship them) White Stripes is a generic Rock band, sure to please the masses. You walk a little further and see very clearly that the entire level you have been placing your steady steps on is actually raised and below it, in front of your very eyes (and a few little tables with stools) is a dance floor. And beyond that: a stage! You get your drinks and you get your seats and as soon as the band enters the stage and counts their first song, you feel it. The bass. The bombastic, rhythmic vibration from your wild (or not so wild) youth. You are not reliving your glory days, it is so much better than that. You are remembering the familiar rush of being so physically close to the music. You are wondering why it took you so long to return. And to appreciate it in a new, possibly elevated, way. 

So anyway, that was one night. 

I also have museum exhibits ahead of me, as well as some new breweries to check out (suggested by a man that interviewed me down here. He quoted Futurama. I'm pretty sure I can trust him). Also: Food Trucks!! And normally I would count myself very dismissive of such festivities, but this is Vegan-Town, baybee. They're bound to at least have a vegan option amongst the crowd. 

And, let's just be honest here: as soon as the weather picks up anything is a super fun / enjoyable experience / way to spend your afternoon. Even just walking outside in it!

I have been going for a walk about every day just to have an excuse to get out in it. I used to live in a place with a porch. All I did when it was nice out was just sit out there and listen to music. Maybe have a coffee / seltzer / adult beverage and smoke. Now I do not have a porch, so I must be clever and make excuses to be outside. Just wanna pop out? Have a smoke. Wanna enjoy it for a little longer? Go for a walk. Need a reason to go for a walk? Get a coffee. 

Other than that (what even was that?) I've been up to the same nonsense I am always up to. I am cooking, eating, drinking, sleeping, reading, writing, talking, joking, laughing, learning, singing, driving, adventuring. Less yoga, but still doin' it every once in a while. Going out to eat here is still a trip. 

I can't wait for my birthday dinner. 

Also: I miss my mother and will certainly plan a visit as soon as I get a job squared away down here.