Yeah, you know who I'm talking about. Those people that can't say a straight line and mean exactly what they say. The ones who claim to say things at "face value" but communicate cryptically or put their terms in broad, analogical, sometimes poetic terms to hide that they can't actually articulate (admit) what they're really feeling. The ones who also undercut spoken dialogue with an entire undercurrent of loaded phrases or words, leaving some half-intelligent person to wonder if there was a subterranean attack launched or if their words meant nothing.
I am one of them.
Yeah, that's me. I have said or have written things that I know will hurt people in vague ways so that I don't have to take responsibility for the outcome of their effects.
Face value.
Why am I admitting this? Well I got on here to write something else, a quote actually, nothing original, found a friend's pragmatic entry on a site, and found it absurd that I could feel contempt for his efforts when I was nowhere, and I mean nowhere, in a place to be looking down on him. It made me remember that "coming clean" about truths that are actually easier than they seem is not that big a deal. Well, in terms of relative sanity anyway. (This would be an entirely different ball game if I had been, say, and ex-con.) It's always harder to be the one working so hard to keep certain truths at bay than it is to be the one judging them, and so if coming here and in doing all that I did by coming here last summer was for anything, it was for ripping through the barriers and screens of my own secret truths and freaking exercising new muscles of genuineness and authenticity.
And also, I'm just getting tired of it. Tired of the cycle of trying to be better than somebody else (the proverbial anybody else.) It's just old. Old news, old like a 1920 newspaper, and twice as mind-numbingly irrelevant. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of hearing my voice on it. I'm tired of hearing the same words come out of the same vocal pipes, and I hate how I sound. I hate how I seem to be so damned insecure that I have to find some vastly-wide sweeping words to zero in on a point that doesn't even work. I'm tired of putting on a facade that I think will somehow make me better. I mean, really. Double-U. Tee. Eff.
With this increasingly inescapable theme of pointing fingers and blame ("for every finger pointing at you, there are three pointing back"; "take the plank of wood out of your own eye before helping someone else with the sliver in their eye"), it has become an irreplaceable, incredible, life-changing tool that, although once a childhood anecdote (or so the repetitiveness of those sayings would seem), is now re-encrusting itself into a sheer, undeniable and fundamental truth in the core of me. I've blamed just about everything and everyone I could get my proverbial hands on, and quite frankly, it doesn't work. I've known for some time that I've had a problem communicating as well as I could have, even in spite of trying to be the "fantastic-est communicator ever," and it boils down to lack of ability to truly articulate my thoughts and feelings. It has always been easier to give a picture of what I'm thinking instead of trying to sit down, think about it, and put them into nouns and verbs that express my feelings and don't actually implicate someone because I'm trying so desperately hard for the situation to NOT be my fault. I actually relied on this tactic too much, and that's the problem. I mean, it's part of my personality, but when it comes to balancing the two sides (there it is again!), the sweeping fru-fru of descriptive language far out-weighed the boring (or agonizing) truth.
And it doesn't even matter how genuine I am, I know I still f*** up and will most likely be f***ing up for a while. I'm trying not to think about that. I'm just trying to think of how to be more articulate, and that requires being honest with myself and being accountable.
That being said, I've been on the other end of loaded words. I think it's seeing this that has, in part, made me realize that I'd much rather struggle to define and articulate my thoughts than hand over one more loaded, double-edged slice of poetry. (The other part is seeing how much pain I've caused by doing that.) I've been the half-intelligent person, too--the one I referred to at the beginning of this entry. I'm fairly intelligent, I'd like to believe, but I don't always catch the intended double meaning, but because I've been afraid to miss it (for fear of looking like a simpleton), I learned how to take almost everything with double meaning in certain situations, with certain dynamics. Screwed up, ain't it? Well, don't laugh too heartily just yet. It was a default program I set up to avoid looking like an idiot.
My poor, poor pride, eh?
My world might have been a little happier a place if I'd chosen not to give those loaded words double meaning. It certainly would have helped alleviate the nasty little habit I got into of giving words double meaning that didn't exist. I chose to write this nasty little confession because I had originally intended to explore this very same trait in another friend, but just could not. For one, me being snarky just doesn't help anything or anyone. For two, let he (or she!) who is sinless cast the first stone. I haven't gotten nearly the start on being genuine as I had hoped when I came here, when I chose to make my life something else, because I just felt so bad about all the pain, uproar, and damnation it caused that I couldn't see past the guilt. But there is a whole other world past my narrow, 2-dimensional point of view, and I'd rather be the person who gets railed at in my blog than to continue even one teeny, tiny little step back in the old direction. Because for every and any bit I could throw out, it is a bit that makes me a self-righteous hypocrite, and, well, we really don't want too many more of those kinds of entries now, do we?
Showing posts with label PMS monster. Show all posts
Showing posts with label PMS monster. Show all posts
07 April 2011
02 February 2010
Tiny Bubble
I just want....
...my space. You know? I just put up with all kinds of people all day long and I have to chock away the urge to internalize it all--the general increase in societal rudeness, the general public disregard (whatever happened to the simple joy of human interaction?), my personal judgments (analyses) of where 'those' comments come from, 'those' attitudes. Then I try to prioritize, stay focused, positive, even upbeat, and be the comic relief so that there is some distraction from the daily mundane. I realize that I am being critical and try to "just not think" about any of it, go out for my break, have a smoke, and clear my head. But then a coworker's comment or passing misunderstanding will agitate something new and I'm left to battle a part of who I am to overcome my pettiness.
The fact is, I'm just a critical person. And it, for a lack of a better word, wounds me to admit it as much as it does to be it. For whatever optimism I am trying to impart on my daughters and pull for the world, it's almost as if it is lost on myself and I don't know how to just... change it. To just be different, as in, better. I bank on trying to bring my daughters up to be better than me. But it doesn't say much for where I'm at in the game. And so then I get stuck right there, spinning out on the thought that I need to lead by example, yet struggle with letting go of things, and therefore come up with nothing to get me unstuck. Except for maybe needing to understand why I am so critical, which would require letting go of a WHOLE lot of other shit, and might be something I considering figuring out right after posting this.
At any rate, by the end of the day it seems lately, I am peopled out and I bury myself in my laptop, and I find that what I am motioning through now partly resembles the motions of yore--when I was sitting alone six and seven months pregnant with my oldest in a bare-walled apartment, considering doing my homework and doing something of substantial value, but doing nothing in the end and staring at the antenna TV until I couldn't keep my eyes open. This behavior astonishes me on some level because not only has it been eons since those self-pitying prego moments, but I don't think I even resemble that same girl. The things that happened back then and the circumstances surrounding them are not even remotely the same.
And... I know how to search out my happiness besides there being a whole host of other blissfully good distractions in my life: my kids, my husband, my music. It's just that I can't believe I'm finally acknowledging that I need those moments where I can slip out of the house unnoticed and take a breather on the back deck.
...my space. You know? I just put up with all kinds of people all day long and I have to chock away the urge to internalize it all--the general increase in societal rudeness, the general public disregard (whatever happened to the simple joy of human interaction?), my personal judgments (analyses) of where 'those' comments come from, 'those' attitudes. Then I try to prioritize, stay focused, positive, even upbeat, and be the comic relief so that there is some distraction from the daily mundane. I realize that I am being critical and try to "just not think" about any of it, go out for my break, have a smoke, and clear my head. But then a coworker's comment or passing misunderstanding will agitate something new and I'm left to battle a part of who I am to overcome my pettiness.
The fact is, I'm just a critical person. And it, for a lack of a better word, wounds me to admit it as much as it does to be it. For whatever optimism I am trying to impart on my daughters and pull for the world, it's almost as if it is lost on myself and I don't know how to just... change it. To just be different, as in, better. I bank on trying to bring my daughters up to be better than me. But it doesn't say much for where I'm at in the game. And so then I get stuck right there, spinning out on the thought that I need to lead by example, yet struggle with letting go of things, and therefore come up with nothing to get me unstuck. Except for maybe needing to understand why I am so critical, which would require letting go of a WHOLE lot of other shit, and might be something I considering figuring out right after posting this.
At any rate, by the end of the day it seems lately, I am peopled out and I bury myself in my laptop, and I find that what I am motioning through now partly resembles the motions of yore--when I was sitting alone six and seven months pregnant with my oldest in a bare-walled apartment, considering doing my homework and doing something of substantial value, but doing nothing in the end and staring at the antenna TV until I couldn't keep my eyes open. This behavior astonishes me on some level because not only has it been eons since those self-pitying prego moments, but I don't think I even resemble that same girl. The things that happened back then and the circumstances surrounding them are not even remotely the same.
And... I know how to search out my happiness besides there being a whole host of other blissfully good distractions in my life: my kids, my husband, my music. It's just that I can't believe I'm finally acknowledging that I need those moments where I can slip out of the house unnoticed and take a breather on the back deck.
02 April 2009
Dos and Don'ts
First of all, I like my job.
Second, I came home tonight after a crappy night at the job to an immaculate, sparkling, clean-smelling, freshly polished, completely detailed, tidied, organized, pristinely arranged, and overall LOVELY house. It was like Mrs. Butterworth, Aunt Jemima, and Mr. Clean all came to my house and professionally detailed every nook and cranny. It was amazing. I was absolutely astonished and in love and.. a little bit turned on. I don't think our house has been that clean, that fresh, that polished in, well... I don't want to say...
I mean, it's not as though we don't clean our house. Eww. Gross. It's that the different areas are rarely, if ever, completed simultaneously. One week it's the floors, another week might be dusting, another something else, hell usually laundry, constantly a cycle to tackle the most pressing duty at the time; and then when company comes, we usually do a pressure-cooker jam of cleaning. But we haven't done them all at once probably since before I had my rock-crushing job. Oh God no. Do you think we have time for that?
Anyway, since everyone is away (and I mean everyone,) since no one likes us, since everyone else is in places like Florida (no word of a lie--THREE seperate families we know are there now) and Jamaica (yeah, mon) for Spring Break and our girls are livin' it up on their own down south with the grands, Kyle and I have been living like empty nested retirees with nothing better to do than, well... the things we are doing. (*Hee hee hee.) One of them being plans to clean whilst the girls were away just because we could without them getting underfoot, interupting, making it worse, or complaining.
But I, being the true procrastinator that I am, have been putting it off, but Kyle was the super good guy and did it all. ALL. Man I love that man. I just don't know how to thank him. Well, I can think of a few ways, but those are really not for this forum methinks. I don't know why he did it, I won't question it (even though I do--every woman needs a man like him and not many will get one,) but I am still astonished by the job and amazed by that man. Baby, if you're reading this, you know, after we're done, um, you know, well, I love you.
That being said and having given credit to the man I love being the awesomest husband on earth, I am jumping tracks. I now give you...
The Do's and Don'ts of Eating Out:
The harrowing tales of waitressing
DO NOT...
Flag your waitress down disrespectfully
Act as if your waitress is only waiting on you
Touch your waitress
Bark at your waitress
Roll your eyes at your waitress
Let your kids play with everything in sight (KEEP CONTROL OF YOUR KIDS)
Let your kids scream at the waitress
Let your kids roll their eyes at the waitress
Pretend that you're at home and that Rover will eat what you drop on the floor
Let your kids run loose. AT ALL.
Paint pictures with ketchup, jelly, syrup, or any OTHER kind of substance on your table.
Open your creamers only a little. Tell me, have YOU ever had a cream pop open on you? In your pocket? Down your pants?
Be a slob
MORE DO NOTS...
DO NOT
Treat your waitress as though she is beneathe you.
Treat your waitress as though her only job in life is to serve you
Forget that your waitress is human
DO...
Remember that you are going out to eat, that it is a treat, that eating out means not cooking, and that you are doing this so that someone else can clean up the mess.
Familiarize yourself with restaurant policy by asking questions politely. Especially if you
frequent one or more eateries.
Remember that you are a guest there, not a king/queen
Ask questions about your bill if you need to
Tip your waitress. Don't be a cheapskate. If you can't afford an appropriate tip, then don't go out.
Joke with your waitress
Smile
Remember that a little respect goes a long way and even though you will be tipping her for her service, that does not give you the right to treat her like a dog for your two dollars. If you remember that a little respect goes a long way, you are more likely to get a more pleasant reaction and far better service in the long run. Especially if you are a repeat patron.
---------------------
I wanted to make this funny, but I just couldn't. Nothing sets me on fire faster than degradation. I won't have it and no one--no one--deserves to be treated that way, I don't care what angle, creed, culture, or mood you come from. Not that anyone who reads this would ever treat their waitress poorly (and thusly, the ones who NEED to read these rules will probably never see them), but I really had to get this off my chest.
Second, I came home tonight after a crappy night at the job to an immaculate, sparkling, clean-smelling, freshly polished, completely detailed, tidied, organized, pristinely arranged, and overall LOVELY house. It was like Mrs. Butterworth, Aunt Jemima, and Mr. Clean all came to my house and professionally detailed every nook and cranny. It was amazing. I was absolutely astonished and in love and.. a little bit turned on. I don't think our house has been that clean, that fresh, that polished in, well... I don't want to say...
I mean, it's not as though we don't clean our house. Eww. Gross. It's that the different areas are rarely, if ever, completed simultaneously. One week it's the floors, another week might be dusting, another something else, hell usually laundry, constantly a cycle to tackle the most pressing duty at the time; and then when company comes, we usually do a pressure-cooker jam of cleaning. But we haven't done them all at once probably since before I had my rock-crushing job. Oh God no. Do you think we have time for that?
Anyway, since everyone is away (and I mean everyone,) since no one likes us, since everyone else is in places like Florida (no word of a lie--THREE seperate families we know are there now) and Jamaica (yeah, mon) for Spring Break and our girls are livin' it up on their own down south with the grands, Kyle and I have been living like empty nested retirees with nothing better to do than, well... the things we are doing. (*Hee hee hee.) One of them being plans to clean whilst the girls were away just because we could without them getting underfoot, interupting, making it worse, or complaining.
But I, being the true procrastinator that I am, have been putting it off, but Kyle was the super good guy and did it all. ALL. Man I love that man. I just don't know how to thank him. Well, I can think of a few ways, but those are really not for this forum methinks. I don't know why he did it, I won't question it (even though I do--every woman needs a man like him and not many will get one,) but I am still astonished by the job and amazed by that man. Baby, if you're reading this, you know, after we're done, um, you know, well, I love you.
That being said and having given credit to the man I love being the awesomest husband on earth, I am jumping tracks. I now give you...
The Do's and Don'ts of Eating Out:
The harrowing tales of waitressing
DO NOT...
Flag your waitress down disrespectfully
Act as if your waitress is only waiting on you
Touch your waitress
Bark at your waitress
Roll your eyes at your waitress
Let your kids play with everything in sight (KEEP CONTROL OF YOUR KIDS)
Let your kids scream at the waitress
Let your kids roll their eyes at the waitress
Pretend that you're at home and that Rover will eat what you drop on the floor
Let your kids run loose. AT ALL.
Paint pictures with ketchup, jelly, syrup, or any OTHER kind of substance on your table.
Open your creamers only a little. Tell me, have YOU ever had a cream pop open on you? In your pocket? Down your pants?
Be a slob
MORE DO NOTS...
DO NOT
Treat your waitress as though she is beneathe you.
Treat your waitress as though her only job in life is to serve you
Forget that your waitress is human
DO...
Remember that you are going out to eat, that it is a treat, that eating out means not cooking, and that you are doing this so that someone else can clean up the mess.
Familiarize yourself with restaurant policy by asking questions politely. Especially if you
frequent one or more eateries.
Remember that you are a guest there, not a king/queen
Ask questions about your bill if you need to
Tip your waitress. Don't be a cheapskate. If you can't afford an appropriate tip, then don't go out.
Joke with your waitress
Smile
Remember that a little respect goes a long way and even though you will be tipping her for her service, that does not give you the right to treat her like a dog for your two dollars. If you remember that a little respect goes a long way, you are more likely to get a more pleasant reaction and far better service in the long run. Especially if you are a repeat patron.
---------------------
I wanted to make this funny, but I just couldn't. Nothing sets me on fire faster than degradation. I won't have it and no one--no one--deserves to be treated that way, I don't care what angle, creed, culture, or mood you come from. Not that anyone who reads this would ever treat their waitress poorly (and thusly, the ones who NEED to read these rules will probably never see them), but I really had to get this off my chest.
28 March 2009
Fail.
Woke up late, ran late, hair and make-up were awesome, still not to work in time to be there for ten-to. Punch in, run up, watch and float, think slow, cover tables, forget people, walk around, try to recover from molassis-ish-ness, no go. People pick, girls make cracks, I forget to laugh, I try to pick up speed, find the flip side, slow day, keep going, root beer slow, dishes pile, tables dirty, round and round. Eat breakfast on break, lose steam, wait for lunch, get bobbi pins, pull hair back, feel lighter, feel better!, get going, energy up, too little too late: half hour left of shift is all.
Sleepy at home.
Sleepy at home.
17 March 2009
Spring things
Nothing like a quick, short trip away to snap whiny whines RIGHT into perspective. That's obviously what I needed because now I barely remember what I was whining about. Ermm, bitching about, I mean.
My oldest girl did awesome in her dictation competition. She was one of a mere 5 other girls to be competing, and at least two of them speak French at home. Even without considering that much, it was awesome to see that she was, indeed, participating among peers in French! She did great and even though she didn't place and the judges said the scores were close, she walked away with poise, grace, confidence and most of all the support and love of her parents and the experience of it all. Then we let her pick out any place she wanted to go. Dairy Queen for Blizzards.
This was not to forget my little one, who came with me to the mall to go shopping for a first communion dress. It's not all white, in the tradition of communion dresses, but it's cute and she was totally smitten with it, which is all the world when shopping with this cutesty-angsty, super-picky, expensive-taste little 8-year old. This paired with a shrug-type little white cardigan from The Gap make it a clean, crisp, super-tailored look just right for spring, and in my opinion, perfect for first communion, if for no other reason because she is comfortable in it. These shoes, for the little one and this dress for the older one, too, both from Children's Place. My oldest picked these out to go with her dress. I got this and this for me. Vocal arrangement, of course, because I read the composer notes and was very excited about the idea of NOT having the melody predominantly throughout the piano part, so that I can eventually accompany myself singing, and so Kat and I can sing "What Is This Feeling?" Yay!! And synth, of course, so I can finally have my own portable keyboard instrument for ensembles, quick work, and hopefully soon... gigs.
All in all, a good trip.
My oldest girl did awesome in her dictation competition. She was one of a mere 5 other girls to be competing, and at least two of them speak French at home. Even without considering that much, it was awesome to see that she was, indeed, participating among peers in French! She did great and even though she didn't place and the judges said the scores were close, she walked away with poise, grace, confidence and most of all the support and love of her parents and the experience of it all. Then we let her pick out any place she wanted to go. Dairy Queen for Blizzards.
This was not to forget my little one, who came with me to the mall to go shopping for a first communion dress. It's not all white, in the tradition of communion dresses, but it's cute and she was totally smitten with it, which is all the world when shopping with this cutesty-angsty, super-picky, expensive-taste little 8-year old. This paired with a shrug-type little white cardigan from The Gap make it a clean, crisp, super-tailored look just right for spring, and in my opinion, perfect for first communion, if for no other reason because she is comfortable in it. These shoes, for the little one and this dress for the older one, too, both from Children's Place. My oldest picked these out to go with her dress. I got this and this for me. Vocal arrangement, of course, because I read the composer notes and was very excited about the idea of NOT having the melody predominantly throughout the piano part, so that I can eventually accompany myself singing, and so Kat and I can sing "What Is This Feeling?" Yay!! And synth, of course, so I can finally have my own portable keyboard instrument for ensembles, quick work, and hopefully soon... gigs.
All in all, a good trip.
08 March 2009
Reasons
I saw the light today. It started with a Ty and ended with a -lenol AND came with a realization that I have been, indeed, coming down with an ever-loving cold.
I slept so well last night that I woke up two hours before I was supposed to be at work this morning feeling well-rested, even after having taken a nap yesterday afternoon. Taking naps, even when desperately tired, is usually stupid. They wreak havoc on a good night's sleep. But it wasn't even a question yesterday. Given yesterday's mood.
When I woke up, though, the light shone softly through the window, the mattress felt soft and cozy, the covers tucked in around my chin, and the scratchy, pre-sore throat all worked together to explain why I've been SUCH a bitch the last two weeks.
Okay. Okay! I know. I know! It doesn't excuse the actions. But it DOES explain the feelings. The overall, extended period of run down irritation with everything. I was actually relieved to wake up with a sore throat. It offered SOME suggestion of why I just kept hitting a wall week on week, long after PMS had its fun run, constantly unable to rework life's accostic ways in my mind with some sense of peaceable perspective.
But here it was. In no uncertain terms. I was run down. And drugs are great. The headache building up at work was met head-on with some extra strength acetaminophen in the analgesics/first-aid cabinet at work; and the relief with which I was able to carry out the rest of my day brought about another realization (or more of a consideration) that any discomfort or pain drastically discolors my dramatic view of the world.
Eeeek.
I slept so well last night that I woke up two hours before I was supposed to be at work this morning feeling well-rested, even after having taken a nap yesterday afternoon. Taking naps, even when desperately tired, is usually stupid. They wreak havoc on a good night's sleep. But it wasn't even a question yesterday. Given yesterday's mood.
When I woke up, though, the light shone softly through the window, the mattress felt soft and cozy, the covers tucked in around my chin, and the scratchy, pre-sore throat all worked together to explain why I've been SUCH a bitch the last two weeks.
Okay. Okay! I know. I know! It doesn't excuse the actions. But it DOES explain the feelings. The overall, extended period of run down irritation with everything. I was actually relieved to wake up with a sore throat. It offered SOME suggestion of why I just kept hitting a wall week on week, long after PMS had its fun run, constantly unable to rework life's accostic ways in my mind with some sense of peaceable perspective.
But here it was. In no uncertain terms. I was run down. And drugs are great. The headache building up at work was met head-on with some extra strength acetaminophen in the analgesics/first-aid cabinet at work; and the relief with which I was able to carry out the rest of my day brought about another realization (or more of a consideration) that any discomfort or pain drastically discolors my dramatic view of the world.
Eeeek.
07 March 2009
Clinical insanity
Before I gather my family and spend what remaining evening there is with them, I share this rant. Long day, many people, rudeness by one man sets off the whole day, same ol', same ol', more people, more ignorant/substandard consideration, turn-over through the roof, people sitting before tables are cleared, run-run-run, late breaks, late clock-out, run-run-run, stop.
Head full, feet throbbing, chest burning with undigested frustration (how can people treat people like that? how can people LET people get away with that?? not just work, life and friends, too, but now I am only thinking of work), home. Nap, pay bills, anger wells at shortage of cash, trying to calm, wanting to chew a bit, let it go, get perspective, overall day building up, and just desperately wanting to let it go, to not to care, to link to, to think SO MUCH about it. About stupid, rude people, about bills, about close friends and family, about kids telling kids stupid things and getting OH-WELL-ED TO DEATH.
Then other things. I'm TRYING to understand HOW to let it go, HOW to be a better person, HOW to put my life in a true, how-God-sees-it perspective but get lambasted, shot down, oh-well-ed, and sarcasm-drenched jabbed to DEATH by the people closest to me. And why do I let them?? Hell if I know. I am wrong, I am dis-illusioned, I am crazy, I am woman, I am American, I am... a MILLION things that are NOTHING. Nothing, incorrect, false LABELS that show me that no one--NO one--knows who I am. No one gets it. No one gives a shit enough to try. Because, well, I ADMIT (grrrr), it takes a freaking payload to do that.
And how could they. How could anyone. Possibly. Fathom. The entire depth with which I experience things, life. You'd have to be.... crazy.... to understand because it is a level deeper than "invested." I am invested.... in everything. Every life, every action, every reaction, every emotion (of others MORE than myself), every motion, perception, notion, or idea wells in me with a deep, deep, integral consideration. I have had to LEARN... had to teach myself, condition and otherwise monitor such intensity because people-----and it doesn't matter WHO they are, who I have ever known, ever lived with, ever befriended, ever disliked, ever associated with-----just cannot, do not know how to deal with this. They can't deal with it because they cannot fathom this. They cannot fathom this and why? Because they are self-absorbed even when they are being generous and in the meantime, I've cheapened myself into thinking and by thinking that me always going against what I want is somehow giving up a piece of myself for the overall peace. Regardless of the stupidity of such train of thought, how do I explain the depth, core-soaked level with which I feel and why would I even bother to explain ANYWAY?
I don't think for one moment this makes me better, either. It doesn't make a person better. It makes me a stupid person. It makes me SUCK. It makes me sick. I am just sick. SICK. and tired of doling out, extending the same compassion, understanding, perception-seeing, multi-side view-ability, self-denying bullshit when no one will do the same. I KNOW that the "self-denying" part of it is all choice, that I don't have to, that how much I do or don't do is up to me and that choosing to and complaining about it may, perhaps, assign me with a MARTYRDOM complex; but I CHOSE to do those things out of MY idea of living a life of Christ, what I really, truly, thought and worked hard to be what Jesus would want.
I'm sure Jesus himself didn't deny himself with the mentality I have. In fact, salvation would be screwed if that were the case. I have no more of an idea of all the things about Jesus' life and everything he did that wasn't mentioned in the Bible than anyone before me; so to know, albeitly very limited, how exactly He thought is next to impossible.
There is, at least, SOME idea (based on Bible accounts and historical contexts) and I know it is irrelevant and inapplicable when trying to micro-analyze either my life and is borderline blasphemous to think I have any comparison to His life. I just THOUGHT this way, the way I have chosen, might be one right way. You know? Not THE way, not anyone's way. Just one way. And a way that doesn't mean bleaching or bleeding my beliefs onto another person. Obviously, it's not working. People with less belief in Jesus than me are leading far less cranky lives.
I just don't get it and I am sick being disheartened by the human race. Not that I am above it. Not for a minute. I suck just the same and am at a current unrest at the constant shift in the undercurrent of things I'm still learning how to digest.
Head full, feet throbbing, chest burning with undigested frustration (how can people treat people like that? how can people LET people get away with that?? not just work, life and friends, too, but now I am only thinking of work), home. Nap, pay bills, anger wells at shortage of cash, trying to calm, wanting to chew a bit, let it go, get perspective, overall day building up, and just desperately wanting to let it go, to not to care, to link to, to think SO MUCH about it. About stupid, rude people, about bills, about close friends and family, about kids telling kids stupid things and getting OH-WELL-ED TO DEATH.
Then other things. I'm TRYING to understand HOW to let it go, HOW to be a better person, HOW to put my life in a true, how-God-sees-it perspective but get lambasted, shot down, oh-well-ed, and sarcasm-drenched jabbed to DEATH by the people closest to me. And why do I let them?? Hell if I know. I am wrong, I am dis-illusioned, I am crazy, I am woman, I am American, I am... a MILLION things that are NOTHING. Nothing, incorrect, false LABELS that show me that no one--NO one--knows who I am. No one gets it. No one gives a shit enough to try. Because, well, I ADMIT (grrrr), it takes a freaking payload to do that.
And how could they. How could anyone. Possibly. Fathom. The entire depth with which I experience things, life. You'd have to be.... crazy.... to understand because it is a level deeper than "invested." I am invested.... in everything. Every life, every action, every reaction, every emotion (of others MORE than myself), every motion, perception, notion, or idea wells in me with a deep, deep, integral consideration. I have had to LEARN... had to teach myself, condition and otherwise monitor such intensity because people-----and it doesn't matter WHO they are, who I have ever known, ever lived with, ever befriended, ever disliked, ever associated with-----just cannot, do not know how to deal with this. They can't deal with it because they cannot fathom this. They cannot fathom this and why? Because they are self-absorbed even when they are being generous and in the meantime, I've cheapened myself into thinking and by thinking that me always going against what I want is somehow giving up a piece of myself for the overall peace. Regardless of the stupidity of such train of thought, how do I explain the depth, core-soaked level with which I feel and why would I even bother to explain ANYWAY?
I don't think for one moment this makes me better, either. It doesn't make a person better. It makes me a stupid person. It makes me SUCK. It makes me sick. I am just sick. SICK. and tired of doling out, extending the same compassion, understanding, perception-seeing, multi-side view-ability, self-denying bullshit when no one will do the same. I KNOW that the "self-denying" part of it is all choice, that I don't have to, that how much I do or don't do is up to me and that choosing to and complaining about it may, perhaps, assign me with a MARTYRDOM complex; but I CHOSE to do those things out of MY idea of living a life of Christ, what I really, truly, thought and worked hard to be what Jesus would want.
I'm sure Jesus himself didn't deny himself with the mentality I have. In fact, salvation would be screwed if that were the case. I have no more of an idea of all the things about Jesus' life and everything he did that wasn't mentioned in the Bible than anyone before me; so to know, albeitly very limited, how exactly He thought is next to impossible.
There is, at least, SOME idea (based on Bible accounts and historical contexts) and I know it is irrelevant and inapplicable when trying to micro-analyze either my life and is borderline blasphemous to think I have any comparison to His life. I just THOUGHT this way, the way I have chosen, might be one right way. You know? Not THE way, not anyone's way. Just one way. And a way that doesn't mean bleaching or bleeding my beliefs onto another person. Obviously, it's not working. People with less belief in Jesus than me are leading far less cranky lives.
I just don't get it and I am sick being disheartened by the human race. Not that I am above it. Not for a minute. I suck just the same and am at a current unrest at the constant shift in the undercurrent of things I'm still learning how to digest.
23 February 2009
Grrrrrrrrrr!!!
I mean it!
What IS it with people who feeled compelled to justify themselves or exhault themselves by commenting against another's opinion? There are contrasting opinions, surely, that urge further development of a topic and perhaps encourage interesting discussion; and then there are just juxtaposed assertions that people make to contradict what you JUST said.
Does this make them feel better? What is the angle of thought that brings them to those conclusions?
Speaker 1: Is that the one you're talking about?
Speaker 2: Yeah.
Speaker 1: (knowing full well of speaker 2's blatant feelings on the matter) I've never had a problem with her
Speaker 2: *silence*
Okay, so then it's just a matter of opinions, but there was a whole dialogue of facial expression and body language to lightly pepper the whole verbal exchange with other-meaning-ness. The order of comments would be redone as follows:
Speaker 1, eyebrows raised, curious but focused eyes, face rigid: Is that the one you're talking about?
Speaker 2, leaning in, head tilted slightly: Yeah.
Speaker 1: with former knowledge of speaker 2's blatant feelings on the matter, corners of mouth back, as in half smile or bitter taste, speaks through teeth: I've never had a problem with her. Recovers with smile.
Speaker 2: *silence*
What is really going on is that I am biting my tongue. To keep from saying exactly what, I'm not sure, but I feel so instantly terrible. I am bitten, defensive, and then puffed up just as fast, like a blowfish of post-indignation and fuming incredulousness. I mean WHO says these things? Why? I figure the answer is people who are looking to make themselves feel good and cover their own arses for the things they've said or done before. I suppose so. Reading back over those words even now, they seem unconvincing on virtual paper.
It's like an underlying jab, You cant handle HER? This reaction by a person I barely know making me feel though I am this underdeveloped thing--it tends to suggest who the real contestant for growth should be, even though every last moment and every last trial of my entire adult life has gone into refining and readjusting my perceptions so that I am very much a world-is-my-oyster kind of person.
I would maybe just chaulk this up to how I read things. I've been known in the past to read too far into things (this being a general theme for the way I've emoted throughout my life), but this really takes on a new theme. I have been very aware of my ability to stretch the meaning of a look, facial expression, posture, so I've kept them in check, but I need perspective.
I mean it!
What IS it with people who feeled compelled to justify themselves or exhault themselves by commenting against another's opinion? There are contrasting opinions, surely, that urge further development of a topic and perhaps encourage interesting discussion; and then there are just juxtaposed assertions that people make to contradict what you JUST said.
Does this make them feel better? What is the angle of thought that brings them to those conclusions?
Speaker 1: Is that the one you're talking about?
Speaker 2: Yeah.
Speaker 1: (knowing full well of speaker 2's blatant feelings on the matter) I've never had a problem with her
Speaker 2: *silence*
Okay, so then it's just a matter of opinions, but there was a whole dialogue of facial expression and body language to lightly pepper the whole verbal exchange with other-meaning-ness. The order of comments would be redone as follows:
Speaker 1, eyebrows raised, curious but focused eyes, face rigid: Is that the one you're talking about?
Speaker 2, leaning in, head tilted slightly: Yeah.
Speaker 1: with former knowledge of speaker 2's blatant feelings on the matter, corners of mouth back, as in half smile or bitter taste, speaks through teeth: I've never had a problem with her. Recovers with smile.
Speaker 2: *silence*
What is really going on is that I am biting my tongue. To keep from saying exactly what, I'm not sure, but I feel so instantly terrible. I am bitten, defensive, and then puffed up just as fast, like a blowfish of post-indignation and fuming incredulousness. I mean WHO says these things? Why? I figure the answer is people who are looking to make themselves feel good and cover their own arses for the things they've said or done before. I suppose so. Reading back over those words even now, they seem unconvincing on virtual paper.
It's like an underlying jab, You cant handle HER? This reaction by a person I barely know making me feel though I am this underdeveloped thing--it tends to suggest who the real contestant for growth should be, even though every last moment and every last trial of my entire adult life has gone into refining and readjusting my perceptions so that I am very much a world-is-my-oyster kind of person.
I would maybe just chaulk this up to how I read things. I've been known in the past to read too far into things (this being a general theme for the way I've emoted throughout my life), but this really takes on a new theme. I have been very aware of my ability to stretch the meaning of a look, facial expression, posture, so I've kept them in check, but I need perspective.
18 February 2009
Tonight I was taking care of the dining room while my co-closing partner-in-crime waitress-friend, K, was covering my back with all the side chores when "SHE" comes in.
I barely notice her, I'm around and around with the coffee, getting drinks, taking orders, punching them in, covering everyone. She comes in with someone I assume to be her boyfriend. I've seen them together before. She is pregnant. Not that that matters. Except I could never roundhouse her grouchy ass if my life depended on it.
Take one: I stop at the table, ask for drinks. The snotface boyfriend straightens up and orders a chicken burger. I have my hands full. I say okay. I smile. I am still trying to commit other requests to memory and think if I could just get over to the till, set these down...
"Just plain. But with pickles."
Say what? Back up, dishes, cloth and coffee pot. "What's that?" What I mean: "what the fuck do you want NOW, you whiny, bitter, unhappy little prick?"
At that instant, I am in danger of forgetting table 6's request. Pie. Platter. No. Ice cream? No, cheese, but... gotta put these down. Just give me two seconds, please. I'll be right back.
No dice. He's not reading the dish-laden pleading in my eyes OR hands, probably because it's overlaced with sheer albeit momentary hate. In fact, he's not even looking her eyes. They look scowled and disconnected. Was he bitterly caught up in this pregnancy? Did she have him by the cranky, snotty, sour-faced balls? Has every moment in their lives been one trapped moment to another?
I don't hate anyone. I also don't care. They deserve each other for all I can tell. A match made in the respites of hell.
I say, "so you just want chicken and pickles?" This is not the strangest request I've heard. And I say in a way that means "just the chicken burger and pickles. No lettuce, tomato, or mayo."
"No. I just want---" blah, blah, blah, his voice fades. I get short.
Me: "Let me set these down 'cause otherwise I'll forget." I say this with my own trickling snotiness. I call it attitude. I walk away.
I've waited on this unhappy miserable couple before. She is usually the only female among two or more males accompanying her. Who really knows why, but I'm just sayin'... Maybe she is the cool, one-of-the-guys girls, but she is just too snotty to be cool. And they all seem as snotty as she is. So when I figure THAT just can't be, I figure the obvious opposite. I mean, she IS pregnant.
Yes, that wild snickering you hear is me.
I was warned about her the first time I waited on her. She didn't seem that bad. I've worked with worse. My mission in life is to take what seems impossible and work it over to a possibility. I walk away from the experience unscathed. I say this so you can know how much worse it gets...
I don't have time to think about how to better deal with this table. I have six other tables on the go and the coffee crowd is trickling in. They are my first stop every round I make. They'll survive. Put in all the orders, drop off my dishes, regain my brain, go around with the coffee again. I am ready, I brace myself to confirm Thorn In Ass-Man's order.
Take two: "Okay," smile, "you wanted a chicken burger with pickles?
TIAM: "Myeah-s."
Me: "Okay." Half-smile. Nod. Around I go again. Everyone is happy. It is somewhere around nine. Anyone coming in to order food is chatting and content, even the picky coffee-crowd food orders are happy.
Or at least I try to go around.
"And could I get a glass of water?" She Devil blurts out.
Hmm? Again, back up, pause, double check.
Me: "Water? Sure." Around I go. Note to self: GET WATER BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE!
I go around, put the chicken burger into the system, check on everyone, get to the back. I forget the water. Chicken burger comes out, I coffee the other male to have joined the table. I still don't bring water. Let me side note by saying this is NOT the kind of woman who is appreciative of good service in the best of moments. And this was a lesser moment for me.
I begin to make another pass of coffee, water not even on the brain, go by Miserable Bitch's and TIAM's table. As I go by, she barks at me.
"Could I GET my water?" I systematically feel bad for forgetting, then it passes. She is snippy and sneery and I feel like slapping little hoochies like this across the face at the best of times. There's no reason for that kind of attitude. Didn't your mama teach you? No? Okay, I'll do it, I'll slap your face, I'll knock you clean off your ass, b****!
I think about spitting in her water, horking a loogie in it. I go back to the kitchen to hide for a moment.
Let me back up and say that it is important to note that I have an instant temper in this very exact kind of situation. Actually, that is an understatement. I actually feel muscles in my body recoil and patience snapping like a bow string, and everything goes into some kind of Joker-like senselessness in my brain. I'm not going to go apeshit or fly into a murerous rage. It DOES make me want to start backhanding assholes. Just backhand them so hard they feel knuckle, head bobbling backward, lips hitting their teeth, their reactions stunned, maybe a little trickle of blood because obviously their mamas didn't teach them how to be good little boys and girls.
I grunt. K laughs because she knows what I am going through. I go back and get two waters. I'm thinking about which cup is hers, not wanting to fill one, not wanting to bring it to her, not WANTING... her to get her way. Her snotty, snotty way. I fill it anyway. I don't spit in it. I don't even stick my dirty, bleachy, greasy finger in it.
I bring it to her table and slam it down. I do not go by their table again. They leave and they don't tip. All I can think of is...
"Don't F*** with the people who serve you your food!" (Don't watch past the kitchen scene if you gag easy.)
Disclaimer: This does not, nor will this apply to anyone else, any other customer, anyone else I have ever waited on or will wait on. This is just for my sick, sick amusement.
I barely notice her, I'm around and around with the coffee, getting drinks, taking orders, punching them in, covering everyone. She comes in with someone I assume to be her boyfriend. I've seen them together before. She is pregnant. Not that that matters. Except I could never roundhouse her grouchy ass if my life depended on it.
Take one: I stop at the table, ask for drinks. The snotface boyfriend straightens up and orders a chicken burger. I have my hands full. I say okay. I smile. I am still trying to commit other requests to memory and think if I could just get over to the till, set these down...
"Just plain. But with pickles."
Say what? Back up, dishes, cloth and coffee pot. "What's that?" What I mean: "what the fuck do you want NOW, you whiny, bitter, unhappy little prick?"
At that instant, I am in danger of forgetting table 6's request. Pie. Platter. No. Ice cream? No, cheese, but... gotta put these down. Just give me two seconds, please. I'll be right back.
No dice. He's not reading the dish-laden pleading in my eyes OR hands, probably because it's overlaced with sheer albeit momentary hate. In fact, he's not even looking her eyes. They look scowled and disconnected. Was he bitterly caught up in this pregnancy? Did she have him by the cranky, snotty, sour-faced balls? Has every moment in their lives been one trapped moment to another?
I don't hate anyone. I also don't care. They deserve each other for all I can tell. A match made in the respites of hell.
I say, "so you just want chicken and pickles?" This is not the strangest request I've heard. And I say in a way that means "just the chicken burger and pickles. No lettuce, tomato, or mayo."
"No. I just want---" blah, blah, blah, his voice fades. I get short.
Me: "Let me set these down 'cause otherwise I'll forget." I say this with my own trickling snotiness. I call it attitude. I walk away.
I've waited on this unhappy miserable couple before. She is usually the only female among two or more males accompanying her. Who really knows why, but I'm just sayin'... Maybe she is the cool, one-of-the-guys girls, but she is just too snotty to be cool. And they all seem as snotty as she is. So when I figure THAT just can't be, I figure the obvious opposite. I mean, she IS pregnant.
Yes, that wild snickering you hear is me.
I was warned about her the first time I waited on her. She didn't seem that bad. I've worked with worse. My mission in life is to take what seems impossible and work it over to a possibility. I walk away from the experience unscathed. I say this so you can know how much worse it gets...
I don't have time to think about how to better deal with this table. I have six other tables on the go and the coffee crowd is trickling in. They are my first stop every round I make. They'll survive. Put in all the orders, drop off my dishes, regain my brain, go around with the coffee again. I am ready, I brace myself to confirm Thorn In Ass-Man's order.
Take two: "Okay," smile, "you wanted a chicken burger with pickles?
TIAM: "Myeah-s."
Me: "Okay." Half-smile. Nod. Around I go again. Everyone is happy. It is somewhere around nine. Anyone coming in to order food is chatting and content, even the picky coffee-crowd food orders are happy.
Or at least I try to go around.
"And could I get a glass of water?" She Devil blurts out.
Hmm? Again, back up, pause, double check.
Me: "Water? Sure." Around I go. Note to self: GET WATER BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE!
I go around, put the chicken burger into the system, check on everyone, get to the back. I forget the water. Chicken burger comes out, I coffee the other male to have joined the table. I still don't bring water. Let me side note by saying this is NOT the kind of woman who is appreciative of good service in the best of moments. And this was a lesser moment for me.
I begin to make another pass of coffee, water not even on the brain, go by Miserable Bitch's and TIAM's table. As I go by, she barks at me.
"Could I GET my water?" I systematically feel bad for forgetting, then it passes. She is snippy and sneery and I feel like slapping little hoochies like this across the face at the best of times. There's no reason for that kind of attitude. Didn't your mama teach you? No? Okay, I'll do it, I'll slap your face, I'll knock you clean off your ass, b****!
I think about spitting in her water, horking a loogie in it. I go back to the kitchen to hide for a moment.
Let me back up and say that it is important to note that I have an instant temper in this very exact kind of situation. Actually, that is an understatement. I actually feel muscles in my body recoil and patience snapping like a bow string, and everything goes into some kind of Joker-like senselessness in my brain. I'm not going to go apeshit or fly into a murerous rage. It DOES make me want to start backhanding assholes. Just backhand them so hard they feel knuckle, head bobbling backward, lips hitting their teeth, their reactions stunned, maybe a little trickle of blood because obviously their mamas didn't teach them how to be good little boys and girls.
I grunt. K laughs because she knows what I am going through. I go back and get two waters. I'm thinking about which cup is hers, not wanting to fill one, not wanting to bring it to her, not WANTING... her to get her way. Her snotty, snotty way. I fill it anyway. I don't spit in it. I don't even stick my dirty, bleachy, greasy finger in it.
I bring it to her table and slam it down. I do not go by their table again. They leave and they don't tip. All I can think of is...
"Don't F*** with the people who serve you your food!" (Don't watch past the kitchen scene if you gag easy.)
Disclaimer: This does not, nor will this apply to anyone else, any other customer, anyone else I have ever waited on or will wait on. This is just for my sick, sick amusement.
17 February 2009
Geminian postables
Gehhhhht up.
Get up.
Get up, get up, get up. Go. Now. Get up and go to the gym. Get up and go now.
Gehhhhht up, gettin' up. *even tone*
--But I don't WAN-NA
Get up. You can feel your belly resting on its own self, can't you?
--Yeahhhh. But I don't wahhhh-na.
I know. So get up. You know you feel better when you've been going.
--Yeahhh, but it's harrrd. I don't have the time. I don't wannnnna.
Make the time. You've been working evenings. You have time in the mornings. You knowwwww you feel better in the mornings and your overall day.
--Yeahhh. True. I do. But that means giving up sleeping in.
Well that's a tough one. We DO like to sleep in.
--Yeah.
Yeah.
--Well.
Well.
--Well maybe we could just this once. But then what about when my work schedule changes? 'Cause you KNOW we hate change. Hate reaccomodating.
Yeah. It's too bad, hey? I used to think I adapted easier.
--Yeah, me, too.
But look at the overall picture. Wouldn't you rather lead by example? Show your daughters how to take care of themselves?
--Absolutely
And you have a pass already. You found Kyle's pass today, so you know the number to sign in at the gym.
--Yeah.
--Okay fine.
*Gemini post #1
Get up.
Get up, get up, get up. Go. Now. Get up and go to the gym. Get up and go now.
Gehhhhht up, gettin' up. *even tone*
--But I don't WAN-NA
Get up. You can feel your belly resting on its own self, can't you?
--Yeahhhh. But I don't wahhhh-na.
I know. So get up. You know you feel better when you've been going.
--Yeahhh, but it's harrrd. I don't have the time. I don't wannnnna.
Make the time. You've been working evenings. You have time in the mornings. You knowwwww you feel better in the mornings and your overall day.
--Yeahhh. True. I do. But that means giving up sleeping in.
Well that's a tough one. We DO like to sleep in.
--Yeah.
Yeah.
--Well.
Well.
--Well maybe we could just this once. But then what about when my work schedule changes? 'Cause you KNOW we hate change. Hate reaccomodating.
Yeah. It's too bad, hey? I used to think I adapted easier.
--Yeah, me, too.
But look at the overall picture. Wouldn't you rather lead by example? Show your daughters how to take care of themselves?
--Absolutely
And you have a pass already. You found Kyle's pass today, so you know the number to sign in at the gym.
--Yeah.
--Okay fine.
*Gemini post #1
15 February 2009
Yo. *click click* She-Bitch. Let's go.
I know I'm PMSing. I know it because this kind of grumpy doesn't just get reasoned away. I am beyond reasoning. It's never seemed that extreme, but I know I must have been downplaying it for years because I've always put the filter on between my brain and actually broadcasting it.
One. Everyone and everything pisses me off when I'm PMSing. There are exceptions, but I will get irritated by everything. I don't know WHERE this comes from or WHY, but I know that I become a sight-losing, objectivity-thrown-out-the-window, perceptiveless she-bitch. I try and steer Kyle clear of this She-Hulk metamorphasis, but sometimes he gets caught in the crossfire, poor guy.
Two. It's gradual and blindsighting. For Kyle. For everyone else, there's Mastercard. (Or is it VISA?) Okay, comedic flitting break done. It's gradual and blindsighting and creeps in like the plague, unaware, unassuming, and then BAM! it, that, those, them... are culprits in everything. People. Dummies. Co-workers. Acquaintances. Former high school classmates. A scheming circle around me to somehow fall out of the Stupid Tree and crawl under my skin. As though fate has nothing better to do than spite me. Psh. Whatevs.
Three. I am beyond reasoning. Far beyond. Trying to put things in perspective, context, reality---gone. All gone. The ability TO reason and to be reasoned WITH leave and float to a place of magic and mystery that I still have yet to chance upon in my journies, extract, GRAB... and pull back, rendering me a useless bulk of hideous transformation with no ETA of my sanity. Experiences that have made me a better person are forgotten and experiences that could make me a better person or matter don't even make the radar.
Not really that bad, you say? Shyeah! You try living in this head. I'm hungry, I'm tired, have to get up early, and am watching an old replay of The Bodyguard on CMT. I'm just not really helping myself here. Will check in another time soon...
One. Everyone and everything pisses me off when I'm PMSing. There are exceptions, but I will get irritated by everything. I don't know WHERE this comes from or WHY, but I know that I become a sight-losing, objectivity-thrown-out-the-window, perceptiveless she-bitch. I try and steer Kyle clear of this She-Hulk metamorphasis, but sometimes he gets caught in the crossfire, poor guy.
Two. It's gradual and blindsighting. For Kyle. For everyone else, there's Mastercard. (Or is it VISA?) Okay, comedic flitting break done. It's gradual and blindsighting and creeps in like the plague, unaware, unassuming, and then BAM! it, that, those, them... are culprits in everything. People. Dummies. Co-workers. Acquaintances. Former high school classmates. A scheming circle around me to somehow fall out of the Stupid Tree and crawl under my skin. As though fate has nothing better to do than spite me. Psh. Whatevs.
Three. I am beyond reasoning. Far beyond. Trying to put things in perspective, context, reality---gone. All gone. The ability TO reason and to be reasoned WITH leave and float to a place of magic and mystery that I still have yet to chance upon in my journies, extract, GRAB... and pull back, rendering me a useless bulk of hideous transformation with no ETA of my sanity. Experiences that have made me a better person are forgotten and experiences that could make me a better person or matter don't even make the radar.
Not really that bad, you say? Shyeah! You try living in this head. I'm hungry, I'm tired, have to get up early, and am watching an old replay of The Bodyguard on CMT. I'm just not really helping myself here. Will check in another time soon...
11 February 2009
MySpace Import: Nov '08
Friday, November 28, 2008
Bass flute
Category: Fashion, Style, Shopping
I can't help it, but here we go again with the music scene thing. I'm leaving rehearsal tonight when I notice that *C* left her cello bow on the pew to be buried under all the choir folders. Folders that should not have been allowed to go there, I mean, I'm just sayin'...
I pick it up, being the gracious observer that I am, and give a shout out to its owner in the back of the church, who positively identifies her possession. My sole and solitary purpose is to unearth the delicate bow from under the folders where it lay, place it on top of the piano in the church, right there, one step away from where I am standing, and remove it from harm's way.
Now, let me side track by saying that in this moment, I recall a story from the recesses of a high school band concert where I was allowed the play the bass flute for a winter piece we played. After our concert, we all had to take our chairs and stands off the stage in the auditorium and put them back in the band room, which was through the door at the back of backstage. In wanting to be efficient, I set both my flute and the bass flute down. On the floor. Of the bandroom. Where people (60-piece band, namely) are walking back and forth. With stands. On tiered floors. Jumping, flying, wrestling, scuffling, scurrying, and all other various sorts of banging around, trying to clang and clunk their way into reassembling the band room.
Without warning and coming through that upper band room door with a stand and chair in each of my hands, the first chair flute player (we'll call her KG), starts reaming me out from down in front, in the presence of all, about having the bass flute on the floor. She is unglued and her tirade comes out in peals of maniacal outbursts that mention expense, irresponsibility, et al.; and with anger that 'might' have made someone wonder, at that moment or even now, what her investment was. Embarrassed for being dumb and pissed as hell for the censure, I move the flute ipso facto and put it in its case. Then I go home.
I was so pissed at her absolute lack of tact and ability to deal with it in a way that we could both keep our dignity, but in the end she was right. I left a multi-hundred (maybe thousand?) -dollar instrument on the floor in a moment of poor judgment to get stepped on, crushed, maybe bent. And who would have had to pay for it? It was completely reckless. But I learned my lesson.
Fast forward to the current story. This bass flute story flashes through my mind in a fleeting milisecond as I turn around with the bow in my hand. The husband of said bow owner is there, just there, in a moment, in between me and the piano. Just as momentarily, I am stopped in my tracks of realization, realizing I have his wife's bow in my hand and knowing it is an expensive piece that I really have no basis in holding.
I offer a piddling, half-instantly-intimidated explanation. I am just about ready to get worked up in my mind about this. This is the same Super Talent of the north, who is known "far and wide" for the music he has written, the instruments he has played (namely, the piano), and overall ability to wow the crowds with his alleged greatness; and who, in the matter of one and a half years, I've been able to work with alongside (and in spite of) and learn a great deal from.
I also really enjoy the change and challenge of working with him when I have the opportunity to as I always push myself more than I would on my own when I know he's right there and several steps (and years) ahead of me; but this element is lost when the territorial superiority comes creeping in and I am "reminded" that I am just an insecure peon in the life and wake of the who's who in the musical community. In other words, I let it get to me at ALL and read far much into things that no one else does and just figure that everyone else buys into his diplomatic b.s.
Yes I know.
But as I offer explanation to the husband (*Y*), I also regain (remember) my confidence, set the bow on the piano, and get a less-than-there "ok" from him. Actually it sounds more like a half-laugh at a less-than-pathetic joke.
And then I notice everyone is quiet!
Super quiet. Like if everyone is watching me; and then suddenly I'm aware that they may or may not be waiting for me. So I book it. But I'm just as instantly aware that I was half-lingering, just gathering up papers and books that other people had left laying around, and making sure I had all my own stuff; and it makes me self-consious and feeling loser-ish. I have just executed a move that I have laughed at other people for, dwelling after practice because they have nowhere to go or want to get invited to stay or whatever or however it works.
So it adds up in my head faster than a locomotive gaining speed and the half-laugh "ok" combined with people waiting for me to go, people who have been in this group, a group I fleetingly expressed an interest for once upon a time, people I've associated with, people I've mingled and associated with musically and socially who, although reasonably wait for me to leave, somehow make me feel not good enough. Ousted. And even though I wouldn't have time to be in that specific group nor would I be so unreasonable as to think I could join them so close to the concert or be of accompanying assistance when they have *Y* there, I can't help but feel inadequate or unnecessary just the same.
That being said, it's over. Situation done, gone, and past. Life goes on. I just can't help feeling unappreciated or pushed aside because this is not the first time this has happened. It makes me doubt my ability and gives me justification to be angsty, which I don't like and is cause for me to eat crow when I go back into these kinds of groups, made of up of the same people, in a small town, where there is rarely any deviation from the status quo, and where deviation is met with the same kind of reaction a bitter cashew might have; and where none of that kind of negativity has any place in who I am right now or ever. This rant has far more to do with reaction (of others) than it does my sense of self and ability. But maybe it has to do with how I read into things, too. I just know I sense things others do not, even though it gets me into trouble when I take it too far.
End of rant.
*** I'd like to comment here that it's crazy what the mind will do to itself. Especially mine. I think it's even crazier to illustrate it on paper (or virtual space, as it were) because writing in a style or a way that will help people understand makes my craziness all that more concrete, but it still doesn't generally make sense to the general whole and it's still left out there not making sense to the average person; but my point is that the main point THEN was about being in this ridiculous, absolutely heedless position of having this bow in my hand because I was trying to take care of something the other gal should have been taking care of. It was ludicrous. And as my friend, Celia, pointed out, it should have never been left there to begin with as any competent string player knows damn better than to leave their bow unattended and at risk.
Bass flute
Category: Fashion, Style, Shopping
I can't help it, but here we go again with the music scene thing. I'm leaving rehearsal tonight when I notice that *C* left her cello bow on the pew to be buried under all the choir folders. Folders that should not have been allowed to go there, I mean, I'm just sayin'...
I pick it up, being the gracious observer that I am, and give a shout out to its owner in the back of the church, who positively identifies her possession. My sole and solitary purpose is to unearth the delicate bow from under the folders where it lay, place it on top of the piano in the church, right there, one step away from where I am standing, and remove it from harm's way.
Now, let me side track by saying that in this moment, I recall a story from the recesses of a high school band concert where I was allowed the play the bass flute for a winter piece we played. After our concert, we all had to take our chairs and stands off the stage in the auditorium and put them back in the band room, which was through the door at the back of backstage. In wanting to be efficient, I set both my flute and the bass flute down. On the floor. Of the bandroom. Where people (60-piece band, namely) are walking back and forth. With stands. On tiered floors. Jumping, flying, wrestling, scuffling, scurrying, and all other various sorts of banging around, trying to clang and clunk their way into reassembling the band room.
Without warning and coming through that upper band room door with a stand and chair in each of my hands, the first chair flute player (we'll call her KG), starts reaming me out from down in front, in the presence of all, about having the bass flute on the floor. She is unglued and her tirade comes out in peals of maniacal outbursts that mention expense, irresponsibility, et al.; and with anger that 'might' have made someone wonder, at that moment or even now, what her investment was. Embarrassed for being dumb and pissed as hell for the censure, I move the flute ipso facto and put it in its case. Then I go home.
I was so pissed at her absolute lack of tact and ability to deal with it in a way that we could both keep our dignity, but in the end she was right. I left a multi-hundred (maybe thousand?) -dollar instrument on the floor in a moment of poor judgment to get stepped on, crushed, maybe bent. And who would have had to pay for it? It was completely reckless. But I learned my lesson.
Fast forward to the current story. This bass flute story flashes through my mind in a fleeting milisecond as I turn around with the bow in my hand. The husband of said bow owner is there, just there, in a moment, in between me and the piano. Just as momentarily, I am stopped in my tracks of realization, realizing I have his wife's bow in my hand and knowing it is an expensive piece that I really have no basis in holding.
I offer a piddling, half-instantly-intimidated explanation. I am just about ready to get worked up in my mind about this. This is the same Super Talent of the north, who is known "far and wide" for the music he has written, the instruments he has played (namely, the piano), and overall ability to wow the crowds with his alleged greatness; and who, in the matter of one and a half years, I've been able to work with alongside (and in spite of) and learn a great deal from.
I also really enjoy the change and challenge of working with him when I have the opportunity to as I always push myself more than I would on my own when I know he's right there and several steps (and years) ahead of me; but this element is lost when the territorial superiority comes creeping in and I am "reminded" that I am just an insecure peon in the life and wake of the who's who in the musical community. In other words, I let it get to me at ALL and read far much into things that no one else does and just figure that everyone else buys into his diplomatic b.s.
Yes I know.
But as I offer explanation to the husband (*Y*), I also regain (remember) my confidence, set the bow on the piano, and get a less-than-there "ok" from him. Actually it sounds more like a half-laugh at a less-than-pathetic joke.
And then I notice everyone is quiet!
Super quiet. Like if everyone is watching me; and then suddenly I'm aware that they may or may not be waiting for me. So I book it. But I'm just as instantly aware that I was half-lingering, just gathering up papers and books that other people had left laying around, and making sure I had all my own stuff; and it makes me self-consious and feeling loser-ish. I have just executed a move that I have laughed at other people for, dwelling after practice because they have nowhere to go or want to get invited to stay or whatever or however it works.
So it adds up in my head faster than a locomotive gaining speed and the half-laugh "ok" combined with people waiting for me to go, people who have been in this group, a group I fleetingly expressed an interest for once upon a time, people I've associated with, people I've mingled and associated with musically and socially who, although reasonably wait for me to leave, somehow make me feel not good enough. Ousted. And even though I wouldn't have time to be in that specific group nor would I be so unreasonable as to think I could join them so close to the concert or be of accompanying assistance when they have *Y* there, I can't help but feel inadequate or unnecessary just the same.
That being said, it's over. Situation done, gone, and past. Life goes on. I just can't help feeling unappreciated or pushed aside because this is not the first time this has happened. It makes me doubt my ability and gives me justification to be angsty, which I don't like and is cause for me to eat crow when I go back into these kinds of groups, made of up of the same people, in a small town, where there is rarely any deviation from the status quo, and where deviation is met with the same kind of reaction a bitter cashew might have; and where none of that kind of negativity has any place in who I am right now or ever. This rant has far more to do with reaction (of others) than it does my sense of self and ability. But maybe it has to do with how I read into things, too. I just know I sense things others do not, even though it gets me into trouble when I take it too far.
End of rant.
*** I'd like to comment here that it's crazy what the mind will do to itself. Especially mine. I think it's even crazier to illustrate it on paper (or virtual space, as it were) because writing in a style or a way that will help people understand makes my craziness all that more concrete, but it still doesn't generally make sense to the general whole and it's still left out there not making sense to the average person; but my point is that the main point THEN was about being in this ridiculous, absolutely heedless position of having this bow in my hand because I was trying to take care of something the other gal should have been taking care of. It was ludicrous. And as my friend, Celia, pointed out, it should have never been left there to begin with as any competent string player knows damn better than to leave their bow unattended and at risk.
BORING. Boring, boring, boring.
It's hard to blog in a small town. If even one person knows you blog and has the slightest amount of interest in passing the link on, your news is spilled out and all over the table like sputtering coffee beans and the 6 o'clock news. You have to find a balance. The balance of giving a shit and not giving a shit. Alas, my people-flitting skills and enormous pride fit me in the Give Too Much Of A Shit category. Besides that and the fact that I'm a mother of two, very perceptive, not-so-little girls whose lives suffer the ramifications of the tentative, theoretical antics of "that woman" should I decide not to exercise discretion. That sucks.
There have been so many things I've wanted to specifically (and might I add humourously) (look at that--Canadian spelling) spill the beans over, rant, vent, label, whatever and I'm finding that I just can't. I feel very limited as to what I can post and regret being too candid or liberal when the whiplash comes from me not thinking beforehand. And why would I just not think beforehand? Because I'm just tired at the end of the day and what fun is sensible reading of sensible minds?
I guess this would contradict this earlier post somewhat, at least in my mind, the point of starting this TO have a place to freely digest in the form of spewage. I.e. online rantfest, diatribe dolings, epistle-like ponderings, and the like. But I just can't bring myself to spit it out, no matter how much I want to, because even when I say I don't care, I still do.
Okay. I will try again tomorrow. I'll try to blog about work or stupid people. Or both.
There have been so many things I've wanted to specifically (and might I add humourously) (look at that--Canadian spelling) spill the beans over, rant, vent, label, whatever and I'm finding that I just can't. I feel very limited as to what I can post and regret being too candid or liberal when the whiplash comes from me not thinking beforehand. And why would I just not think beforehand? Because I'm just tired at the end of the day and what fun is sensible reading of sensible minds?
I guess this would contradict this earlier post somewhat, at least in my mind, the point of starting this TO have a place to freely digest in the form of spewage. I.e. online rantfest, diatribe dolings, epistle-like ponderings, and the like. But I just can't bring myself to spit it out, no matter how much I want to, because even when I say I don't care, I still do.
Okay. I will try again tomorrow. I'll try to blog about work or stupid people. Or both.
02 February 2009
The phone really isn't that bad
I just read an old entry and, while I don't have time to write much here and now, I feel compelled to rectify certain emotions.
1. The phone isn't that bad. I have had, shall we say "hang ups" about getting on the phone, anxieties over dialing (yes, I am one of those), and overall negative experiences with others on the phone in my previous lives, but I am starting to learn how to use it, essentially, in a way that fits my personality and my life. All it took was a little getting used to and some growing up.
2. I was PMS-ing. The motherload of all excuses.
1. The phone isn't that bad. I have had, shall we say "hang ups" about getting on the phone, anxieties over dialing (yes, I am one of those), and overall negative experiences with others on the phone in my previous lives, but I am starting to learn how to use it, essentially, in a way that fits my personality and my life. All it took was a little getting used to and some growing up.
2. I was PMS-ing. The motherload of all excuses.
28 January 2009
These people just don't get it.
These people are just too nice!! What the hell? WHY... am I not allowed to be grumpy or pissy or feisty or WHATEVER without being BUGGED about it? Why I am even bugged about being "bugged"? Especially when they are, after all, JUST trying to be nice and concerned...?
Tired perhaps. I just "got word" (i.e. looked at the schedule) that I'll be doing the closing shift for a majority of the month of February and I'm suprised to find how NOT happy I am about this. I really thought I was more flexible. It surprises me that I cannot just be okay with this. I will just have to get over it, wrap my little head around it, but not without kicking my feet and pitching just a teeny, TINY little fit about it.
I mean, I knew when I applied (signed on, agree to employment, etc.) that I wanted to be flexible. I am fortunate in my life that, even though I have kids, I also have a husband who maintains the same hours as my kids and can be with them when I have to work something other than a day shift.
But I DID say I preferred days; that I would be willing to do the odd weekend or evening shift, but that I preferred days. I've been working mostly days, my kids need me to be a part of their lives, and now I'm stuck working the closing shift with all the school-aged kids.
Which I don't like. They like me, and I don't know why, and for the most part, I get along with them, but they're just not old enough/matured enough to appreciate/identify/apply the kind of work ethic that comes from needing the job, as opposed to wanting extra cash.
But now, for the month of February, the majority of my shifts are evening and closing shifts and I just can't get over how unhappy I am about this; and even though it is only, for all intense purposes only one month, and the month the owners need and deserve the vacation they are going on, AND the shortest month of the year, I still miss all this time with my girls. I stagnate somewhat in their lives. I lose touch (a bit) with what's going on. I just feel like that's unacceptable.
Plus, I don't get home until late, which I also hate, because there's no time with girls, no time with Kyle, and I already have trouble with mornings as it is. I hate starting the day late, and working late is the super-epitome of that. I just hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it. It's a change. And I have this whole thing with change, being totally aware of it, wanting to be accepting of it and generally taking change up the tail pipe wherever it creeps in; but where I'm starting to find that my hellbent desire to protect the good of my family meets change with an ugly scowl.
And especially with this??? Why do I-I-I have to be the one that gets the shaft? The short end of the stick? The one stiffed with the lower-end shift? Why is it that I am always getting the shit end of the stick because "you can handle it, Amy"? Just because I can and am capable doesn't mean I want to. It doesn't even make it "all better" any more. It's a horseshit excuse to relegate the small girl, the easy-going girl, the will-do-anything girl to the gallows. And it's horseshit.
I'm just getting so angry. Maybe it's best to wrap this up right here.
Tired perhaps. I just "got word" (i.e. looked at the schedule) that I'll be doing the closing shift for a majority of the month of February and I'm suprised to find how NOT happy I am about this. I really thought I was more flexible. It surprises me that I cannot just be okay with this. I will just have to get over it, wrap my little head around it, but not without kicking my feet and pitching just a teeny, TINY little fit about it.
I mean, I knew when I applied (signed on, agree to employment, etc.) that I wanted to be flexible. I am fortunate in my life that, even though I have kids, I also have a husband who maintains the same hours as my kids and can be with them when I have to work something other than a day shift.
But I DID say I preferred days; that I would be willing to do the odd weekend or evening shift, but that I preferred days. I've been working mostly days, my kids need me to be a part of their lives, and now I'm stuck working the closing shift with all the school-aged kids.
Which I don't like. They like me, and I don't know why, and for the most part, I get along with them, but they're just not old enough/matured enough to appreciate/identify/apply the kind of work ethic that comes from needing the job, as opposed to wanting extra cash.
But now, for the month of February, the majority of my shifts are evening and closing shifts and I just can't get over how unhappy I am about this; and even though it is only, for all intense purposes only one month, and the month the owners need and deserve the vacation they are going on, AND the shortest month of the year, I still miss all this time with my girls. I stagnate somewhat in their lives. I lose touch (a bit) with what's going on. I just feel like that's unacceptable.
Plus, I don't get home until late, which I also hate, because there's no time with girls, no time with Kyle, and I already have trouble with mornings as it is. I hate starting the day late, and working late is the super-epitome of that. I just hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it. It's a change. And I have this whole thing with change, being totally aware of it, wanting to be accepting of it and generally taking change up the tail pipe wherever it creeps in; but where I'm starting to find that my hellbent desire to protect the good of my family meets change with an ugly scowl.
And especially with this??? Why do I-I-I have to be the one that gets the shaft? The short end of the stick? The one stiffed with the lower-end shift? Why is it that I am always getting the shit end of the stick because "you can handle it, Amy"? Just because I can and am capable doesn't mean I want to. It doesn't even make it "all better" any more. It's a horseshit excuse to relegate the small girl, the easy-going girl, the will-do-anything girl to the gallows. And it's horseshit.
I'm just getting so angry. Maybe it's best to wrap this up right here.
20 January 2009
Hurling M & M's
I'm really not that into... ANYTHING. (Right now.)
Everything is pissing me off! And why is that? I haven't got a hot clue in hell reason for why. Unless, that is, of course, you consider Post Menstrual Syndrome, which doesn't even exist yet (so far as the medical community has registered, anyway) and that grinding M & M's fiercely between your teeth means SOMETHING.
Noise pollution/overload? The fan from the downstairs bathroom is driving me to a fist-slamming mode of frustration because it is one of about a trillion other things in this house that works like it was from the fifties. Oh wait, it WAS from the fifties. Okay, maybe not the actual fan assembly. More like the 80's and the house was built in the fifties. But whatever. The main problem is: it's loud and it reminds me of all the other little projects that are forced into a semi-existing priority list between my husband, me, and the house. The humming carries upstairs, vibrating the living room floor, and creating this overall drumming underlay of sound that makes it difficult to focus on the important sounds--my girls' voices, my husband's voice, and all of the horrible, ear-peeling, window-shattering voice auditions that Simon comments on during the beginning stages of American Idol.
Then there's work. Usually, I can separate work from home and leave it there, shake it off, and go to the next thing; but I have found myself unusually irritated today. How hard can it be? Just take the order, punch it in, serve it hot, make sure the drinks are flowing, and follow procedure. For some reason it was in the air today that 'higher ups' (i.e. a more experienced server) felt their need and purpose in life was to show me how I was NOT doing what I needing to be doing via the Babysitting Method. In other words, proverbially taking me by the hand and showing me via the visual demo how to do something I had, for all intense purposes, simply forgotten to do. Something that can be funny if it`s made to be funny, but is something I find, in any other case, virtually and pragmatically insulting.
A better way? Just point it out in words, tell me I f***ed up and go about your business. In other words, tell me what I did wrong and then leave me the hell alone. It`s a respect thing. And it goes both ways. I don`t need you OR your dog telling me what to do if it`s not going to be delivered in the same respectful way I would deliver to you.
I guess I can abide in that method insofar as it being one I would use, without intent to insult, to ensure that what I was saying was being heard and understood. There is and always has been a teacher at the root of my soul. But for some reason, when it is the other way around, I find it belittling and even laced with sarcasm. Why would that be?
Perhaps this is it. The sole reason for my irritation when all is said and done (and the rest of it only adding the the mix, rather than being the cause)--coming into this kind of attitude once more--this superiority complex. I am half inclined to say that if this is how it's going to be, then change my shift now, because I won't put up with it. Another B. Another small- or narrow-minded small town dweller whose ambitions to be superior do not rise above the local level or personal level (as in to become better than they are even within their surrounding, but simply content to make everyone else seem smaller.) Another batch of simpletons content to carry themselves as a self-perceived big fish in a small pond. Or better yet, a self-perceived better fish in THE (any) pond.
Like it or not, I do understand and have known for years that these kinds of attitudes do exist and I`m going to run into them no matter where I work, what I do, or where I go. So why the big deal? Why does this entire situation, which seemed small and easy to shed, warrant this entire diatribe of a blog? It really is something that this whole unit of spillage came from something that seemed so relatively insignificant in the whole of things.
Maybe just because the manner in which this is all brought out seems so very condescending. I mean this is not to say that I am above them, myself. I could say that it's not really that complicated a job, that a well-trained monkey could do it, etc., etc., but that's a lie. You have to have a certain amount of finesse juggling coffee cups, drink trays, dish trays, handling dishes when clearing, and most importantly handling trays of hot food, coffee pots, and other various juggling acts around babies in highchairs. You also have to have the willpower and brain to punch in exactly what was ordered, missing nothing, keeping track of multiple tables of multiple orders, pouring drinks, serving soup, putting steak knives on steak orders and dipping sauces with the chicken nuggets, and figure out how to kindly ask the cooks to fix their mistakes or help you fix yours.
But it doesn`t take a degree or any amount of formal training to be good, or even mediocre, waitress. A lot of things get missed and no waitress in the world is exempt from mistakes. You forget to bring table 2 their glass of water and table 4 hasn't ordered yet. You come back from the kitchen, forget what mission you were on, and get sidetracked by another customer who flags you down for napkins. Meanwhile, table 4 is still waiting, they have kids who are screaming, the phone is ringing, another order is buzzing in your pocket, and the touch-screen till is causing you flustered grief. It happens to the best of them. So what makes any one of them think, especially when they`ve never even left their surroundings to attain new life experience, both within and out of work-related situations, that they are somehow better because they can snidely `show you` the right way to do something?
Considering I've never done this, I think I'm doing pretty good. I try to greet everything and everyone with a smile or at least can-do attitude, and maybe that makes me appear ditzy, but I get what the customer wants, I fix their orders, I work for their satisfaction, I get the job done, and every waitress experiences scenarios like that every day. Just like I have done with any other job I've ever had.
Quite honestly, I think I irk the shit out of *her.*
And quite honestly, she irks me, too, with her `specific` ways of doing everything even though it`s not her restaurant. For me, though, her quirks are not problematic. Life goes on and I ignore her for the most part. Nod my head and smile and do it my way anyway.
It just lends itself to the theory and further philosophy of moral fiber, personal belief systems, self-psycho-analysis (not to my degree, of course, because I take it too far, usually) and most of all, ability to cope, to adapt, to modify, to see change as growth and not loss of control.
But, I digress. That is not my problem and I absolutely refuse to deal with her. I am not her problem. She is not mine. I do everything that I can to make the job easier for everyone else, because that`s the way I work, and then I just keep on moving. I had much difficulty getting away from conflict or tension daily with the other job, getting away from that person, getting away by means of discussion or distraction with others, but in this new scenario, there are plenty of scenes to bounce off of and thusly, find recovery (both in the mistakes I make and in getting breathing room from that other person.) I will not allow this woman, no matter how much she tries or how little I know to talk to me, treat me, act towards me in the same manner as the dictator of yore. I just find it difficult to walk around intention to avoid confrontation and sulking when they have been confronted. Life is life, people. Confrontation happens all the time. Too little is as unhealthy as too much.
That being said, then it`s really time to get off the defensive side of the board and create an offense. I really need to not care if she likes me or not (which I don`t think I have to this point---working with the other guy really made me realize that I really, REALLY don`t give a flying s*** about what the other one thinks because I`m doing the job I need to do and the jobs that need to be done and doing them well, with a competent, capable mind, and doing enough to help others out, too) and I need to just go about my job like I have been, not giving a shit. I guess it just boils down to control and no one will ever get mine.
Everything is pissing me off! And why is that? I haven't got a hot clue in hell reason for why. Unless, that is, of course, you consider Post Menstrual Syndrome, which doesn't even exist yet (so far as the medical community has registered, anyway) and that grinding M & M's fiercely between your teeth means SOMETHING.
Noise pollution/overload? The fan from the downstairs bathroom is driving me to a fist-slamming mode of frustration because it is one of about a trillion other things in this house that works like it was from the fifties. Oh wait, it WAS from the fifties. Okay, maybe not the actual fan assembly. More like the 80's and the house was built in the fifties. But whatever. The main problem is: it's loud and it reminds me of all the other little projects that are forced into a semi-existing priority list between my husband, me, and the house. The humming carries upstairs, vibrating the living room floor, and creating this overall drumming underlay of sound that makes it difficult to focus on the important sounds--my girls' voices, my husband's voice, and all of the horrible, ear-peeling, window-shattering voice auditions that Simon comments on during the beginning stages of American Idol.
Then there's work. Usually, I can separate work from home and leave it there, shake it off, and go to the next thing; but I have found myself unusually irritated today. How hard can it be? Just take the order, punch it in, serve it hot, make sure the drinks are flowing, and follow procedure. For some reason it was in the air today that 'higher ups' (i.e. a more experienced server) felt their need and purpose in life was to show me how I was NOT doing what I needing to be doing via the Babysitting Method. In other words, proverbially taking me by the hand and showing me via the visual demo how to do something I had, for all intense purposes, simply forgotten to do. Something that can be funny if it`s made to be funny, but is something I find, in any other case, virtually and pragmatically insulting.
A better way? Just point it out in words, tell me I f***ed up and go about your business. In other words, tell me what I did wrong and then leave me the hell alone. It`s a respect thing. And it goes both ways. I don`t need you OR your dog telling me what to do if it`s not going to be delivered in the same respectful way I would deliver to you.
I guess I can abide in that method insofar as it being one I would use, without intent to insult, to ensure that what I was saying was being heard and understood. There is and always has been a teacher at the root of my soul. But for some reason, when it is the other way around, I find it belittling and even laced with sarcasm. Why would that be?
Perhaps this is it. The sole reason for my irritation when all is said and done (and the rest of it only adding the the mix, rather than being the cause)--coming into this kind of attitude once more--this superiority complex. I am half inclined to say that if this is how it's going to be, then change my shift now, because I won't put up with it. Another B. Another small- or narrow-minded small town dweller whose ambitions to be superior do not rise above the local level or personal level (as in to become better than they are even within their surrounding, but simply content to make everyone else seem smaller.) Another batch of simpletons content to carry themselves as a self-perceived big fish in a small pond. Or better yet, a self-perceived better fish in THE (any) pond.
Like it or not, I do understand and have known for years that these kinds of attitudes do exist and I`m going to run into them no matter where I work, what I do, or where I go. So why the big deal? Why does this entire situation, which seemed small and easy to shed, warrant this entire diatribe of a blog? It really is something that this whole unit of spillage came from something that seemed so relatively insignificant in the whole of things.
Maybe just because the manner in which this is all brought out seems so very condescending. I mean this is not to say that I am above them, myself. I could say that it's not really that complicated a job, that a well-trained monkey could do it, etc., etc., but that's a lie. You have to have a certain amount of finesse juggling coffee cups, drink trays, dish trays, handling dishes when clearing, and most importantly handling trays of hot food, coffee pots, and other various juggling acts around babies in highchairs. You also have to have the willpower and brain to punch in exactly what was ordered, missing nothing, keeping track of multiple tables of multiple orders, pouring drinks, serving soup, putting steak knives on steak orders and dipping sauces with the chicken nuggets, and figure out how to kindly ask the cooks to fix their mistakes or help you fix yours.
But it doesn`t take a degree or any amount of formal training to be good, or even mediocre, waitress. A lot of things get missed and no waitress in the world is exempt from mistakes. You forget to bring table 2 their glass of water and table 4 hasn't ordered yet. You come back from the kitchen, forget what mission you were on, and get sidetracked by another customer who flags you down for napkins. Meanwhile, table 4 is still waiting, they have kids who are screaming, the phone is ringing, another order is buzzing in your pocket, and the touch-screen till is causing you flustered grief. It happens to the best of them. So what makes any one of them think, especially when they`ve never even left their surroundings to attain new life experience, both within and out of work-related situations, that they are somehow better because they can snidely `show you` the right way to do something?
Considering I've never done this, I think I'm doing pretty good. I try to greet everything and everyone with a smile or at least can-do attitude, and maybe that makes me appear ditzy, but I get what the customer wants, I fix their orders, I work for their satisfaction, I get the job done, and every waitress experiences scenarios like that every day. Just like I have done with any other job I've ever had.
Quite honestly, I think I irk the shit out of *her.*
And quite honestly, she irks me, too, with her `specific` ways of doing everything even though it`s not her restaurant. For me, though, her quirks are not problematic. Life goes on and I ignore her for the most part. Nod my head and smile and do it my way anyway.
It just lends itself to the theory and further philosophy of moral fiber, personal belief systems, self-psycho-analysis (not to my degree, of course, because I take it too far, usually) and most of all, ability to cope, to adapt, to modify, to see change as growth and not loss of control.
But, I digress. That is not my problem and I absolutely refuse to deal with her. I am not her problem. She is not mine. I do everything that I can to make the job easier for everyone else, because that`s the way I work, and then I just keep on moving. I had much difficulty getting away from conflict or tension daily with the other job, getting away from that person, getting away by means of discussion or distraction with others, but in this new scenario, there are plenty of scenes to bounce off of and thusly, find recovery (both in the mistakes I make and in getting breathing room from that other person.) I will not allow this woman, no matter how much she tries or how little I know to talk to me, treat me, act towards me in the same manner as the dictator of yore. I just find it difficult to walk around intention to avoid confrontation and sulking when they have been confronted. Life is life, people. Confrontation happens all the time. Too little is as unhealthy as too much.
That being said, then it`s really time to get off the defensive side of the board and create an offense. I really need to not care if she likes me or not (which I don`t think I have to this point---working with the other guy really made me realize that I really, REALLY don`t give a flying s*** about what the other one thinks because I`m doing the job I need to do and the jobs that need to be done and doing them well, with a competent, capable mind, and doing enough to help others out, too) and I need to just go about my job like I have been, not giving a shit. I guess it just boils down to control and no one will ever get mine.
10 January 2009
I HATE the phone.
What am I supposed to do? I guess I just don't have the kind of... whatever you call... skills, habits of keeping in touch like other people. Computer is the fastest easiest way, but that doesn't make it bad. It just makes it convenient. I say I am never too busy for friends and family, but I've just spent SO MUCH OF MY DAMNED LIFE ON THE COMPUTER that it's easier. The phone is an intrusion on life. I hate it when it rings, I hate dialing, I hate everything about Alexander Graham Bell's damned invention.
I mean what the hell? Email/write every few months to get all the info because I couldn't be bothered before? It's all that I can do TO ask, to remember to ask, to remember to BE nosey! I really don't know the difference between nosey and caring except the mindset. Bullshit!! I call when I do because that's when I can stand waiting no longer. And why do I wait? Because I hate being on the phone! I hate calling and inconveniencing people. The EASIEST excuse for not doing something, but also the TRUEST for me. Wow. She really damned me. I hate phoning. Hate it, hate it, hate it. It seems more impersonal than anything and I DO NOT LIKE hearing problems I cannot fix, cannot say anything about, monitoring what I say, filtering everything that comes out of my mouth, trying to explain without gesture, eye contact. It is a weekness, much like some of those who hate writing. WHAT am I supposed to do?
I hate it when people phone to "get the scoop" because I think it's nosey. I hate gossip, I hate gossiping, I feel less of a person. I think I hate phoning because no one listens when I talk anyway and because EVERYONE seems to take things I say the wrong way. It doesn't matter how I say it or that I have good things to say! Or that I've learned a million ways to filter or communicate. It all just comes out like poo-poo anyway! It's just ANOTHER venue for people to find a way to take me WRONG!
And maybe I'm just so damned pissy about it because I'm so damned worried about coming off "exactly the right way." Well then, that's not such a fault, is it? I can honestly say I AM NOT trying to get it right or perfect anymore, but if the people closest to me are having the problem, then whose problem is it really? MINE. And that pisses me off. So why be on the phone? I just want to exchange dialogue, not exhert this drama over words. Maybe I should go on a word hiatus as well. Because I haven't fared any better there, either.
I hate it because you can't read conversational cues like when to shut up. Or start talking. I hate being interupted and I hate interupting. Hate both with a passion. A fierce passion. I hate dead silence. I hate condescending tones on the phone. I hate crying. Hearing or doing. I hate it. I've only JUST begun to appreciate talking on the phone with Kyle. And he's my husband!! I hate being checked up on, I hate having to stop what I'm doing to listen and I hate inflicting the same on others. I hate hearing my voice when I DO talk and I hate how I'm condemned for talking or ridiculed for talking fast. I HATE being on the phone!! I LOVE that texting has become so readily available. I love that emails can be read at the reader's LEISURELY convenience. I love that emails are far less intrusive than its aural counterpart.
I hate the phone.
I mean what the hell? Email/write every few months to get all the info because I couldn't be bothered before? It's all that I can do TO ask, to remember to ask, to remember to BE nosey! I really don't know the difference between nosey and caring except the mindset. Bullshit!! I call when I do because that's when I can stand waiting no longer. And why do I wait? Because I hate being on the phone! I hate calling and inconveniencing people. The EASIEST excuse for not doing something, but also the TRUEST for me. Wow. She really damned me. I hate phoning. Hate it, hate it, hate it. It seems more impersonal than anything and I DO NOT LIKE hearing problems I cannot fix, cannot say anything about, monitoring what I say, filtering everything that comes out of my mouth, trying to explain without gesture, eye contact. It is a weekness, much like some of those who hate writing. WHAT am I supposed to do?
I hate it when people phone to "get the scoop" because I think it's nosey. I hate gossip, I hate gossiping, I feel less of a person. I think I hate phoning because no one listens when I talk anyway and because EVERYONE seems to take things I say the wrong way. It doesn't matter how I say it or that I have good things to say! Or that I've learned a million ways to filter or communicate. It all just comes out like poo-poo anyway! It's just ANOTHER venue for people to find a way to take me WRONG!
And maybe I'm just so damned pissy about it because I'm so damned worried about coming off "exactly the right way." Well then, that's not such a fault, is it? I can honestly say I AM NOT trying to get it right or perfect anymore, but if the people closest to me are having the problem, then whose problem is it really? MINE. And that pisses me off. So why be on the phone? I just want to exchange dialogue, not exhert this drama over words. Maybe I should go on a word hiatus as well. Because I haven't fared any better there, either.
I hate it because you can't read conversational cues like when to shut up. Or start talking. I hate being interupted and I hate interupting. Hate both with a passion. A fierce passion. I hate dead silence. I hate condescending tones on the phone. I hate crying. Hearing or doing. I hate it. I've only JUST begun to appreciate talking on the phone with Kyle. And he's my husband!! I hate being checked up on, I hate having to stop what I'm doing to listen and I hate inflicting the same on others. I hate hearing my voice when I DO talk and I hate how I'm condemned for talking or ridiculed for talking fast. I HATE being on the phone!! I LOVE that texting has become so readily available. I love that emails can be read at the reader's LEISURELY convenience. I love that emails are far less intrusive than its aural counterpart.
I hate the phone.
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