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Oft expectation fails, and most oft where most it promises; and oft it hits where hope is coldest; and despair most sits.

11 Feb

In an attempt to soothe my aching head over my impending unemployment, I did some shopping on the weekend. (Most was needed stuff, and not for me. Sigh)

I picked up some cheap books-the bookstore having a 4 for 10$ sale, which makes it a “who cares if it sucks” sale.

One book in particular caught my eye, “A Year and a Day“, by Leslie Pietrzyk. It’s the story of a 15 year old girl whose mother kills herself, parking her car in the path of an oncoming train.

And oh, it makes me cry on the bus almost every morning so far.

I’ve searched for books on motherloss that would really hit the right tone, and for the most part, they don’t. They try to hard, they don’t understand the little missing pieces, or the fact that the larger hurt is underscored by the silences death brings. This book…it brings us to them. Tearing the house apart searching for recipes-I’ve done that myself, searching high and low for that crumbling Five Roses cookbook my mother had when first married, marked by flour and grease and her fingers. I never found it.

The anger. The lashing out in strange ways, at friends, at those who profess to care but have problems (seemingly) less than your own. The repentance. The confusion. The utter inability to process something as simple as Christmas. Having to be the adult. Having to not say what you want to say, wanting to scream at the top of your lungs,

“She’s DEAD! Not lost, not passed away. GONE.”

The vestiges of my former self, my younger, more fragile doppelganger, they live in this book. My memories came alive reading this, tears spring unbidden at the repeated “I’m fine.” through the book, the mirror of my adolescence, the constant refrain of “I’m ok, I’m fine” when all I wanted to do was fall into the arms of the speaker.

Alice, the girl in this book, she can’t fall either, the hurt in her heart far stronger than the need for comfort. The dry distance between her needs and wants, and the crippling prison grief becomes, especially at so young an age. Her need to comfort, and almost protect the pregnant 16 year old Paula, her helplessness. Her scorn for the one person she lets in, the one person who allows her to mimic her mother, Joe Fry. Her sweet pleasure in his gift of an acorn for her pocket, as she fiddles.

I could have been Alice. Well, except for the part where her dead mother speaks to her.

There’s a part where her brother has ran to Boston, and returned, and he’s talking about how he thought he saw her in a crowd, but realized it wasn’t her, and that this, THIS was when he knew she really wasn’t coming home.

I’ve seen my mother, in faces, side profiles, coats. And realized that despite not remembering her, not much at all, her face was imprinted on me, her movements. She’s never coming back either.

Seeing this written, truly seeing it as I have, it’s a blessing. It’s recognition.

It’s like home.


Yes, I am losing my job.

Some of it’s performance. Some of it’s having a poor manager, some is the needs of the business are outstripping my abilities. There’s a lot to it, most of which I don’t wish to get into publicly. I will say that as someone who has been with a company for over 8 years, it hurts. It hurts how this company treats tenured employees, and seems to consider tenure and accomplishment meaningless unless you’re an ass kisser.

I was once passionate about my job-loved it, loved that I helped action change for millions of customers. But in the last few years, that was smothered, as my job became more about making things “look good” than about actual change for Joe customer on the street. Things changed, my manager changed, and I no longer felt part of any team. Just another sucker doing shit work for a paycheck.

It hurts. I’ve been so proud keeping a job for this long, many years of it unmedicated, and succeeding that way. It’s almost like things only went south once I started achieving some measure of stability. Go figure. But I’ll never be uber organized, I’ll never be perfect, especially under pressure. I recognize these things in me, and realize that now, this isn’t the place for me, and at least for the time being, I need a job where I can just enjoy helping someone, a job which doesn’t find me working on the weekend and after “work” on a regular basis.

I don’t want that, and I never really did.

So I’m kinda scared, but kinda excited as well. I’m getting a reasonable severance, so I can’t complain, and they’re keeping me on till the bonus payout so I can get whatever payout is owed. So they aren’t completely inhuman. Having to sit through conversations about helping report automation learn the reports I was producing-that sucks. Hard. It’s like everything you worked for is taken away so easily.

I never truly felt like I was my job, and I’m glad of that. I’m happy, sated almost, to be done with this job, the constant panic and rush, never feeling like I had time or opportunity to truly do what I felt my job was. Excuses maybe, perceptions. But only hearing the bad stuff from a boss for months does this to you. Wears you down until you ARE that bad employee.

So we’re moving on. I hope to find something simple for now, easy, no stress. I’d love to take a month or two off, but I’d rather have a laptop. If I have an easy job again, I might start writing again. Reading Piertrzyk’s book has made me realize that I really do want to write that memoir of my childhood, even if I never do a damn thing with it.

Losing my job is making me realize all the things I want to do, things that are so much bigger than pulling data for someone.


This morning, walking to school, Vivian tried in vain to climb a snow-hill I promised her she could climb the day before. She tried and tried, and I grew irritated, knowing I was missing my bus. Finally I had to drag her off the snow hill and push her forward.

“You NEVER keep your promises to me!” she screamed. “You promised!”

Promises are funny things. They change when you least expect it.


Some days are worth nothing more than another hour snoring.

24 Sep

Ever have a year where you completely understand that the universe is out to assrape you as many times as possible to teach you various lessons about your life?

I think I’m having that year. And while I encourage change, as painful as it may be, since it always turns out for the best, I’m not really pleased with the universe at large.

Today was the first time, ever, I’ve gotten written up at work, and folks, that’s a HUGE thing for me. I knew it was coming. All things considered, I have NOT been present at work the last few months. I’ve shown up, did the bare minimum. But I haven’t been the me they hired. I haven’t been able to focus, or see through all the black shit swirling in my brain enough to really do my job.

I basically got called on all my shit today. I wish I could be surprised, or even indignant, but I’m not. It was all true. What killed me was being perceived as someone who couldn’t do her job, someone less than able.

Someone worth getting rid of.

I’m on a 30 day “plan”. It terrifies me. I’m so woefully under confident in myself when it comes to work skills, mostly because I fell into what I’m doing and any true “skills” analyzing data have been self taught over the last few years, along with an inherent ability to see the forest for the trees. I’m also scared because I don’t know how to condense 8 years with one company doing a large variety of things, from UAT to reporting to ISO reviews, into a coherent resume. I’m scared because I think I might NEED that resume sooner than later.

I’m scared because I had already started looking around at other things anyway.

I’m burned out where I am. My boss is being supportive-she understands what’s been going on, but she can’t make excuses any longer. I just feel….worn down. I have this huge craving to go work at fucking Walmart as a cashier just to have no real stress anymore, to just sit and smile and talk all day long.

As if right?

I’m over the shock. I know myself-I know I can pull shit together and make it happen. But what if at the root of all this is not wanting to anyway?

Anyone need a virtual assistant? I give good excel…..

(and Happy Birthday to me right? This just HAD to happen the day before my birthday, while suffering through labour worthy cramps. Go ME!)

Saturday Randoms

24 May

-We’re walking out of a grocery store towards the garden center, and as usual, Rosalyn is doing the 3rd old funny walk, and manages to land flat on her face. Mogo helps her up through the crying, tells her she’s fine and says “Don’t worry, you’re a tough cookie.

She screams “I am NOT.A.TOUGH.COOKEH!”

-I hate Twitter. I’ve decided. I sat on the fence for awhile, but I’ve know really convinced myself it’s an utter waste of a normal person’s day. I don’t care what you’re watching/eating/doing/not doing/touching. Why would you care about what I’m doing?!? And who has TIME?

-I will pay money to see the sun. I will also pay money to have my lawn mowed since ours hates me and apparently have mower pneumonia.

-My father is gone for the summer. I love my Dad but sweet FUCK he can drive a person nuts. My kitchen is mine again. Now I just need to clean out the fridge. Ick.

-Value Village rules. I got a Little People Garage playset for 2.99. I almost bought it for 39.99 a few weeks back. So BOOYAH Toys R’Us. In your face.

-Falafel heartburn is fucking awful.

If you were wondering

14 May

Walking 3 miles or so in 17 mile a hour winds SUCKS ASS.

I say it almost every day, but the weather here is horrible. It’s either freezing or windy as shit. Just no wind-that’s really all I ask…

However, watching some moron trying to drive around the barricades blocking off a road, despite the giant “Construction Zone-NO ENTRY” sign and the person yelling frantically at them nearly made the whole thing worthwhile….

I now sit in a “visible” area at work, so if I’m not around during the day, it’s not personal. I just figure that using the internet at work inappropriately isn’t something to do near members of the HR department.

Today’s lottery of crap.

3 Mar

Either I’m a hypochondriac, or I have cancer. Cause every freaking day something else is wrong!

I’ve had the migraine from hell since Saturday night, which is now accompanied by a light headed, gonna faint feeling. My breathing and I have met in the spirit of truce-I have agreed to make minimal my ingestion of crap, and it has agreed to let me eat sushi and hummus while drinking litres of water.

I’m so freaking tired.

Vivian puked last night, and man, let me just say that there’s nothing nicer than a warm pile of puke underneath paper towels. Really makes you happy to be there. Then my brave little girl puked dutifully in the chocolate bucket later, without even waking us up.

She’s so much better at this sick shit than I am.

I feel like hell, and this is SOOOO not the week for it as we’re prepping for meetings in the US next week. Which means I have to fly.

Despite my love for Target, I have no desire to go. I feel bad enough that the thought of getting on a plane, and having a hotel room by myself for a week isn’t attractive.

I quit smoking for this?

Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

15 Feb

I have a head cold.

I have the stomach flu.

I fell down my front steps last night, causing my back to scream at me today.

I slipped on some ice this morning, putting a hole in the knee of my favorite pants.

Can someone take February out back for me so I can kick his ass? Please?

I think I’ll move to Australia.

Well today sucked.

13 Feb
  • Stats were low on this site, which as we know makes me all hinky and weird. It always coincides with a post that I’m fond of, which then makes me want to shut the damn thing down for a split second. Not that I would. I’m far too full of myself for that.
  • Trudged through the snow to the shrink for a “all is well” appointment. Learned she’s going on a cruise in March on her vacation. HATE HATE HATE
  • It’s snowing again. Then raining. Then I’m sure it will snow again.
  • Rosalyn is now sick.
  • I now seem to also have the flu.
  • I’m exhausted-I should be working, but I don’t have the energy.
  • The only thing preventing bum pukes is drugs. I’m hungry, but afraid to eat.
  • My father made me dinner…it was…….interesting. I appreciate it, but there are some colors food just isn’t meant to be.
  • Did I mention I’m exhausted?