200 Days

It has been a few weeks since I last sat at my office desk; not to work but to take it all in once time before my desk is deemed as part of the "hotel" system my agency needs.

It has been 200 days since the last time I actually worked at that desk. I said goodbye to my coworker Netta. I haven't seen her since then, but I haven't seen her name in any emails as "In Memorandum" (emails to inform us the someone within the agency has passed) so I guess that's nice. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I recognized any names in those emails.

Most days I sit at my desk, located behind my bed in my tiny studio (paid for by my agency to be a live-in caretaker of a wonderful gent that lives below me) for emails to come in. I send out emails and track data on excel spread sheets, then save them to the shared drive and then wait some more. My job as an interviewer is dramatized; no one wants a person outcomes measure done. at least not the staff... they have more important things to do. Those emails and weekly newsletters are lost among the chaos. I fear my job will be deemed "unessential" by 2021 and me to be booted to HR or perhaps the Training Dept.

I'm not mad.

Honestly, I don't think I could ever be mad. I was put on "Unpaid Administrative Leave" March 23rd and have been in a weird limo state until August. Even now I still feel like I'm floating among the masses as my boss fumbles to find a need for me administratively. If she ever retires I'm probably her replacement. I hate that feeling. She is a great asset and I'm only a shadow of what she could do.

Why me? I just want to live in the shadows, I would rather go go back to wiping butts.

52 Days

It'd been 52 days since I have seen my desk. Since I have said goodbye to my coworkers, not knowing if I would see them again. 52 days from entering my office and saying "Hello" to Lois, Gina, Netta, Bill, Noel... all the people I had just gotten comfortable around.

Today I just finished up my fifth week of my new very temporary job as a grocery shopper for group homes. I have shopped about 50 times, at the mercy of their shopping lists and their schedules, not knowing if I will have a full day or be waiting in my car for hours on a call that may or may not happen. I try to be chipper, greeting them as early as I am able (sometimes very hung over, the only way I can sleep a full night). It's a good thing they can't see my face behind the mask; as long as my eyes "smile" they don't have to know.

It has been a roller coaster of emotions this past month and a half.

I had the virus, and it wrecked me for the better part of a week. I said my goodbyes. I purged my life and came to peace with my life that I had, then things turned and I regained my straight. I started tasting again and could go for walks (not to the bathroom and back to bed). REAL walks. 

Life got better, but I still feel so empty. Am I just paddling in a circle?

I just signed a lease for a new move in as little as two weeks. It's free, in exchange for services provided to my downstairs neighbors (cleaning mostly). The family is amazing and very understanding. If I move again in a year I will lose it, mentally.

My life is still is boxes.

I feel lost.

Day 1

I know this won't last long, but it's worth a try.

My aunt and uncle had returned from their Florida trip late last night (I still think it was stupid, but they are adults). I had prepared... I have food, water, and a computer to pass the time. I had deep cleaned the house in the event I had the virus (worst case scenario)  ...All of this in an effort to pass the time while I wait for their two weeks to expire and it's safe to once again join the living space of the home. I had prepared to spend two weeks upstairs away from them in case THEY were carriers.

Worst case scenario has happened. I'm almost 85% certain I'm infected. I have a dry cough, I'm tired, can't smell or taste anything, and I've been sneezing up a storm. To top all of that off every inch of my body hurts, like I got hit by a very angry football player on his way to touchdown. When I lay down that side hurts, so I turn, then I turn again. I'm taking melatonin to at least get me to REM once.

I've just been sleeping mostly.

I've been isolated in my house since Wednesday, when I decided to leave work early due to being bored. Thursday I got the call from my boss: Nonessential. No surprise really, my boss had a good talk with me preparing me for the inevitable... no one really needs interviews for quality assurance. I decided to eat up the 100 hours I had built up in my PTO and then just be on administrative leave. I hope I still have a job when this is said and done. I really miss my job, my desk, my coworkers, the smelly fridge, the certainty of working 8:30am-4pm Monday-Friday.

I am just so fortunate to have a place, rent free, and no one that relies on me for income. Only thing I have to worry about now is car payments, but I'm ready and I have money.

I guess what I'm saying is even though I've been more connected as ever to my family and friends through the phone and my online presence I've never needed a hug more than I do now. And I can't even have that.

A New Me?

I've moved and have a new job within my company.

I'm still on the fence of being "happy".

I feel fulfilled and can do just about everything I can imagine within my company. I can access all the data need I for my job, and collect all necessary data needed for the company and provide support to those who need help accessing data. For some reason I feel like I'm missing something in my life.

I have tried the dating sites a few times; each time I'm met with a disappointing realization that anyone my age has no idea what I'm talking about, or they are significantly older. Both leaving me very unfulfilled and depressed.

Now I'm at a point when the only moment when I feel "I get it" is when I'm tight as a boiled owl. And I get it to a sense, I'm out of my gourd. I'll regret it tomorrow, but I get it now.

But for now all I can do is drink to the individual who I cared for, who has passed away as of this past Thursday, and all those who I cared for. I'm sorry I could have done more for you.

Five Stages

I found a dark spot the other day. A slight discoloration between the knuckles on my left hand, so delicately placed between my forefinger and the middle finger.

At first I thought Oh, my hands are dirty, but no matter how hard I scrubbed it didn't come off. Then I thought I might have dyed my skin with something. Nope. NOPE. A dark fleck that signifies nothing more than me getting old has appeared in the one place I can't hide.

I'm only 25 to crying out loud! This shouldn't be happening. Don't these things happen to middle aged women and those who have kids? I'm not old! I'm still young! This isn't fair, I haven't done anything with my life and why are my hands punishing me?!

I'll do anything, ANYTHING, to get my hands back to how they were. In high school I had dainty hands that could so anything and played the flute with precision. I'll go back to playing if that's what it would take. I'll find the fountain of youth and beg to have my hands back. Take my car, take my apartment, take my savings! Give me back my youthful hands!

I knew this would happen. I've already wasted a quarter of a century fooling around. I play games all day, drink beer like it's going out of style. I don't fit in any of my clothes from college. I'm fat, slow, non-flexible, and now this. I've lost a part of myself and my hands are telling me.

I look at my hands now and they start to resemble my mother's hands. At my age she was already married with a kid and had started a business with my father. They are working hands. I start to see that maybe this is okay. I'm not a child anymore and my hands, much like my face, is a reflection of my dedication to better myself. If I could look anything like my mom at her age I'll be happy. Maybe they make a cream for this, too.

to whom it may concern

dear wood on terracotta,
i know you're not to blame
it isn't like you gotta
but i appreciate it all the same

i sleep during the day
because i go to work at night
and there's no other way to say
that this has been a blight

when you make that music at two
and then once again at four
the only reasonable thing to do
is lie writhing on the floor

it shakes me from my dream
and i break out in a sweat
stifling back a saddened scream
as i add on to my sleep debt

so i beg of you to help me to,
and put in a little labor,
silence your seating before i do
love, your downstairs neighbor.

A Bologna Sandwich

Bologna. I never thought I even liked bologna, but here I am eating a bologna sandwich. Lots of things have changed, but I feel like bologna is a good place to start.

Ever since 2012, when I graduated High School and made the transition into "adulthood", I feel like not only my life has changed, but also me as a person. I've had a few heartbreaks (one of them I still regret), got a degree, had a few odd jobs, landed the dream job, moved out, crashed my car, got a new one (burnt that one out too) and grew a fervent love for beer and bologna.

As I sit here currently eating I can't help but reminisce my earlier years and start to think that I had made a few questionable decisions. Then I think if I had to choose one thing about my past that I would have changed I wouldn't. Why? I wouldn't be here where I am today and I wouldn't have found true peace over a slice of processed meat. I might be across the sea missing my family, or still at home hating my family. I could have stayed at my old job scrubbing dishes for less than minimum wage hating my job, or gone back to my seasonal job at the Institute (shout out to Ellen for being one of the best bosses out there.) I wouldn't be working as Direct Support for a non-profit organization just making ends meet eating this double-crust sandwich. I'm happy.

I haven't been this truly happy in a long while. One of the last times I was truly content with myself I was at the park during the summer with my feet in the creek. The wind was making the trees creak ever so slightly and I was just standing there staring as the water rush between my toes. I had not a care in the world. I had no where to be and no one to impress... no homework, no job pressures, no bills. I knew I had food waiting for me at home and a family that would greet me at the door. Now I return home after a ten hour shift at eight in the morning to no one. I'm always tired and I somehow never have food in my apartment except for bologna. Somehow today felt profound and I felt strangely nostalgic over a sandwich.

When did I grow up? Was it college? High School? Was it after my first job or after I moved out? Am I just thinking too much and this happens to everyone at one point in their lives? Do those people eat bologna, too?

So many questions, but now my sandwich is gone and the feeling is fading.
Maybe it was just the beer.