I have worked with many different people over the years.
There are some, that for better or for worse stick with you.
“Jeff” is one that will always annoy the hell out of me, even eight years later when I should be over it. He was supposed to be a professional. He was supposed to be out drumming up business for me. I could never take this guy seriously.
For the longest time I just couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
Then I realized.
All of his suits were too big.
But at the same time, they also seemed too small.
He was a biggish guy, not overly built, but kind of chubby, so I think that many of us thought that he had lost a lot of weight before he came to work for us, and that was why his suits didn’t fit, and you know he didn’t have enough money to get them all altered.
But then there was that part where some of them looked too small.
Not too small in the waist line. Too small in the length. The waist line was so big that often his belt would be doubled over the fabric, and make the waistband all bunchy. Like when we would wear my Dad’s pants and pretend to be hobos when we were little.
His pants were also always a little bit too short. Some suits were worse than others, but there was always quite a bit of sock showing. It probably didn’t help that he occasionally wore black sweat socks with his suits.
So then the day came and he was gone.
I was not sad, as I said there was always something about him that just seemed a little bit not quite right.
Years later, I was talking to an ex-co-worker about him and this is the story that came out.
It turns out that “Jeff” was in panic mode when he got hired on with the old company, and only owned one suit.
He had this friend, who sold him all the suits that didn’t fit him anymore.
His friend was as wide as he was tall apparently.
Which explains why Jeff’s pants were always too short, and too big around in the middle, and why his jackets looked like he was hauling an extra body around with him.
Believe it or not, I have come to this place many times in the last several weeks. I just couldn’t make any words come out when I would sit down.
I have a little green notebook in my purse where I have been jotting down ideas of things to blog about.
Whether it is some silly Meaism, or a story from my past, or something that has happened recently, those ideas have gone in this little notebook.
The thing is when I get here, and sign in, I kind of freeze, and no matter how many times I look at the pages of notes I have made in the little green notebook, I can’t pull the words together to form even one sentence.
Today, I opened the notebook, and then picked it back up and buried it back into the bottom of my purse.
I miss it here. I miss you friends out there so much. I hope you are still there. I hope you haven’t given up on me.
I won’t lie, this year has been a hard one. Most likely the hardest in all of my life. First my Mom getting sick, my old job, new job, Mack moving so very far away, I just haven’t dealt with it all too well. I am trying, but I am also trying not to get too lost.
I was just rattling around doing the best at I could at functioning for a while. The things I loved to do took a back seat while I tried to pull myself back together. I haven’t read an entire book in more than six months. I have bought several, started and stopped them. My cooking and baking has taking a hiatus, which has had a positive effect on all of our waistlines, but still. My blog and my blog peeps.
The thing is, that this blog is my best therapy. I have to tell myself that you guys don’t necessarily need a funny, jokey story where I make fun of myself, every single time you come here. Sadly, sometimes I just need to be me and vent my bad shit out so I can go on.
I think this is where I am. I need to get some of the bad out, so the good can come back in.
Even if it’s something short, I will be back daily for a while. I need to get back in the groove of things.
I may need to start things off by getting rid of this. It hasn’t done me any favors. I may go bury it in the backyard when I get home.
I first noticed her a little over ten years ago. She would come into my office, dragging two large heavy plastic reusable grocery bags, from a discount grocery store. They were packed to the limit.
Where I worked, it was common for us to serve clients who were quite well off, and also serve clients who could barely rub two nickels together. I could never quite figure out The Bag Lady’s circumstances. She looked clean, she looked kept, but she had those bags, and seemingly, nowhere to go.
I saw her everywhere.
On every single side of town.
She rode the bus, so I did see her frequently while I was at work. At least several times per week.
Always with those two stuffed bags.
She was older, definitely should have been retired. Frail enough that watching her carry those bags always concerned me, they looked so heavy.
I often wondered what she had in there. I would find myself thinking about it at odd times. If she were homeless, she might have all of her earthly possessions in those bags. What if someone stole them from her? What if she lost one? What if one of them ripped and she started losing things?
She went missing for a while. I didn’t see her. This was over winter, so then I really began wondering if she was one of the homeless as so many of them head south for winter.
Then when the weather started warming up I began to see her again.
Back with her bags.
Only this time they had multiplied.
The first time I saw her she had four bags.
Then at least six.
Then she was walking around with at least ten or more of these bags filled to the brim, so heavy she could barely carry them herself. She would walk two to four bags about twenty feet or so, then go back and get more bags, over and over and over again.
I couldn’t imagine how long it was taking her to get to wherever it was that she needed to be while carrying all of those bags.
Then one day, I realized she was gone. I hadn’t seen her for months. More than a few seasons had passed.
She was gone.
So were her bags.
I am still here. I will be back in this place. I have been dragging around a bunch of baggage. My brain has been so heavy it’s been hard to put all of my stuff away, and walk away without any of my bags, but please know this…..
I miss you. I miss this space and the cheap therapy it gives me. I miss making people laugh, I miss reading your stories.
I don’t know what happened to the bag lady. I hope that some family member intervened and either got her some mental help that she may have needed, or helped her into an assisted living facility of some sort who could also help her.
I am calling this in from my phone. Ignore typos and deliriousness. Also, no bullets points.
My husband and I planned with her mother to discuss the drinking problem with step-daughter number 2. We were supposed to do it all together, bit her mom couldn’t wait, and it blew up into a horrible texting thing vs. an in person serious thing. I have been so angry I haven’t been thinking straightly.
I may come back and revisit this again, but that is the very, very short version.
My Mom has a fracture in her hip. (Holly, Mom may not have mentioned this to L yet it is breaking (not funny) news.) She sees an ortho tomorrow. She is freaking out. There home would not be condusive to rehab. Way too many steps, she is panicking that she will have to go to a home for rehab. Please pray that this does not happen. I do not think any of us could deal with this at all.
I set my oldest step-daughter up with a guy that I work with and they really like each other. Like REALLY like each other. They ate on date number five this weekend. I am super thrilled. He is a nice guy and has his shit together.
Also speaking of my OSD, I went over to her house on Saturday afternoon while she filed a police report against her son’s father. While our grandson was with us Friday night, he called E1 33 times and sent her over 50 text messages. Calling her every name in the book and demanding to know where his son was. It was her weekend. WE asked for him, as it was boys sleepover night and we had baby L too. He has gotten wind of her dating this nice guy and wants to try to fuck it up. He is a douche bag. I just pray that he doesn’t scare this new guy away. He is a keeper.
Yesterday, I restricted and hid from view my husband’s ex-wife on FB. I don’t know what I was thinking adding her, because she irritates the hell out of me. Anytime I comment on something the girl’s have posted it seems like she has to try to “one-up” my comment. I know this is dumb, but I hate that loon boon so much that everything she does annoys the shit out of me.
I had a call from one of the companies that I had multiple interviews with while un-employed. They want me to come in for yet another interview. Although I am not super in love with my job, I just don’t think I can go back for a fifth interview with this company. It is ridiculous. If they wanted me they should have hired me in March when I first spoke with them.
This is it for now. My thumbs are getting tired and my battery is running low.
When I was younger, I was a swimmer. I took private lessons from the time I was an infant, and my Mom could drag me to the pool. Both of my parents were extremely anxious around water, my Dad couldn’t swim, and my Mom really just didn’t like to. My Mom has a cousin who died at two years of age in a pool. She was quite passionate about my sister and I being good swimmers.
I took to the water. I loved it.
I had a swimming instructor who taught me to do a dead man’s float. Along with treading water, this was a strength and conditioning type thing he made me do periodically. I have asthma, so making sure I was taking time to breathe was an important part of our training.
Lately, I feel like this. Like I am just floating along on the water. Arms splayed out, taking a deep breath when I can, or when I have to, and then just going back into the float.
Arms and legs splayed out. Taking in air when I have to.
Just floating along.
I sort of feel over-whelmed, and under-whelmed at the same time. I just can’t quite get out of this funk. I am worried that it is here to stay, and that I can’t get my happy back.
I am not finding joy in many things lately.
I know that I need to snap out of it, and I know that I will. I just feel a bit like I am drowning instead of pulling my head out of the water to take that deep breath of air that I need.
I miss my friends in my computer.
I miss writing.
I miss my daughter.
Having Mack so far away, is so hard. I have never gone this long without a hug from my big girl. Even when she was a Yellow State, I still saw her at least once a month. It’s been five weeks since she left.
I miss my Mom. (I know she is still here, I just miss the way she used to be. Seeing her sick is hard. One of the worst things I have ever had to deal with. I fucking hate it.)
I miss being close with my sister.
I miss going to work and loving what I was doing, and being excited to be there.
I need to make some changes, but I need to also get the courage to make those changes. I need to be able to think things through, and start slow.
I know that I cannot keep on floating along like this.
The Dead Man’s Float is a survival tool, it is not intended to be used forever.
In no particular order, I give you the crap in my brain.
- We have now Skyped with Mack (and her boyfriend, sorta) twice now.
- This is a great way for Mea and Mack to talk to each other.
- Mea can be her silly self, and show off for her sister, and for Mack and I to see each other’s faces.
- We are taking Mea to the drive-in on Saturday.
- We are keeping it a surprise, but my husband and I are both excited to take her to experience something we both did as kids,
- My friend whose husband was recently diagnosed with stomach cancer, was given really bad news this week. According to the doctor’s the cancer laughed at the chemo.
- He went through twenty weeks of 24/7 chemo, had his stomach removed a few weeks ago,.
- They gave him two months to a year.
- So sad.
- I just don’t understand this sometimes.
- Why would the doctors put him through that horrible surgery if he was that bad?
- I am filing this under things I will never understand.
- For the record, cancer is a mother-fucker.
- I submitted something I wrote to a writing contest online.
- I am nervous about it, but I am also glad that I actually put myself up for the challenge.
- Thanks to Polly, I overcame my fear and submitted something.
- This may be a first step to doing something more with my writing.
- Thank you Polly.
- I had to work on Saturday.
- We work once every 6 weeks.
- There is no coffee to be found in our downtown prior to 7 am.
- I did not know this.
- A total coffee fail.
- I got to work at 7, and had to wait until 9:30 to have some caffeine.
- They didn’t turn the lights on in our office.
- I think this was by our manager’s choice.
- No coffee, being at work at 7, and no lights, made for a very sleepy morning.
- As I was going through caffeine withdrawal, I thought about how Jen completely kicked her coffee habit.
- I am too weak to give it up.
- Thank goodness that only happens once every six weeks.
- My husband told all the big girls that we would take all the grand-kids overnight sometime soon.
- I seriously think he may have lost his mind.
- Six kids ages 10 months to ten.
- Please pray I live through this without killing any of them or him.
- I may go hide in my bedroom with the baby all night, and let him deal with the big ones.
- I have been giving serious thought to a tattoo, or rather, two tattoos.
- Meaning of each of the girl’s names in their handwriting.
- Mack wrote hers out for me, “Born of Fire.”
- I still need Mea to do hers, “Mine.”
- Then I will figure out where to put them, thinking the inside of each wrist, and where I am going to go to do this.
- When I told my husband that I was thinking of doing this, he thought the big girls would be weird about not being part of it.
- They are not weird about it at all.
- I did actually think of doing all of their names.
- E1 and E2 both have good name meanings.
- E1 is “Ever Powerful”, and E2 is “Peace.”
- C is the problem.
- All the way around, as there are still all the issues, but her name is a problem.
- C’s name means “Chalk Landing Place.”
- So, the answer to that is no.
- That is just not going to happen.
- I know not everyone checks the meaning of their children’s names before naming them, but I think it is a pretty important part of the process.
- Their names are part of them, as essential as their eye and hair color.
- If I would decide later to do something for them, I may do the flowers for their birth months or something along those lines.
- I also don’t plan on turning into a crazy tattooed lady either.
- So there is that.
With that, I am done.
Things have been, in a few words, strained, difficult, awkward, hostile, between my middle step-daughter, and my husband and I, for a while now. There have been more than a few things that have transpired that have caused distress in this relationship, but something that I found out yesterday may truly be the last straw for me.
Friday, was my oldest stepdaughter’s thirtieth birthday. There was a big party, a party bus, much debauchery. All in good fun.
I am working on setting up my oldest step-daughter with a guy that I work with. This may come back to bite me in the ass at some point, and is probably a blog post of its own for another day, but needless to say, she and I were texting back and forth last night, about the possibility of this date, and about her birthday party.
She mentioned that they all had a good time, but that C was really drunk, really early, and made an ass out of herself and embarrassed the other two girls. I asked if she drove to and from E’s house, and she said she didn’t know, but that she wouldn’t be surprised if she had, because she does it all the time.
Then she said that she does it all the time with her girls in the car.
C has a cousin that lives over by E, and C is frequently over at her cousin’s house drinking, while their kids play, and then she drives them home back to our side of town, as C and her children live near us.
The one time Mea spent the night with C and her girls, they went over to her cousin’s house.
I am so pissed I could just scream.
Not only that she is driving around with my grandchildren in her car after she’s been drinking, but if I find out that she drove drunk, or even buzzed, with Mea in the car, I would probably kill her.
She should know better.
Maybe I should have known better too.
The truth is even the last time wasn’t the first time. Before she turned 21, and when our oldest granddaughter was still very small, she was pulled over for an OWI. She went to jail for a night, and had to have a breathalizer thing put on her car for a year.
The youngest granddaughter’s father just got out of prison last week for running over a kid while drunk driving.
There is a pattern here. In her own life, and in the lives of those around her, and the biggest problem I have with it all is the kids. They don’t deserve any of this mess, and they certainly don’t deserve to be driven around in a car by a mother who has been drinking.
As for what I should do with this information I just honestly don’t really know. There is a part of me that thinks I should confront her about it, and there is another part of me that thinks I should call DHS privately.
What I know is that she needs help. In some way, shape or form, she really needs help. She obviously hasn’t learned from her past mistakes, I just don’t really know what to do.
Friends, what do you think? Put yourself in my shoes, what would you do?
I feel like the answer is staring me in the face, and I just can’t quite get to the answer on my own.