a poorly-lit damp basement.

It’s odd, my life right now.  I’m caught in this place where I’m not exactly happy where I am, but I can see relief on the horizon.  I feel like (and understand that I am imagining here) a surfer who can see the perfect wave coming, and knows that if they can just hold on for a little longer … then they can ride it in.  If I can make it through the summer, things are going to get better.  I keep telling myself that.

It’s not just the new baby either.  It’s our home situation, all the stress that keeps piling up, and we try to keep shoving it down, knowing that it will be better when we’re not BOTH trying to get out the door in the morning.  I told a friend last weekend, we never fight over either one of us spending too much time with Mini (which is what she said she and her husband snipe at each other for).  We’re both exhausted and at the point of “it’s YOUR turn to deal with him.”  Not the terrible twos, but the whiny screechy I’m-not-going-to-use-any-words monster who is ALSO exhausted and ready to eat and go to bed at the end of the day, just when we are trying to get home and do the same ourselves.  The witching hour, indeed.

One of my sorority sisters died. 

Breast cancer.  She was first diagnosed when she was 29?  Maybe younger?  I can’t bear to go back and look.  Went through treatment.  Went through remission.  Ran marathons.  Grew her hair back.  Was diagnosed again, only this time it had spread to her liver.  Went through treatment again.  Kept running marathons for another 14 months.  Until she couldn’t anymore.  She was only a few years older than me, beautiful, vivacious.  And the world is a little bit darker now that she isn’t here.  I’m still a little in shock, a bit of an emotional hangover.

Another of my friends is pregnant.  Due 8 days after me.  Her first baby, and she is wonderfully excited.  And I want to tell her to enjoy every minute of it, but I also want to warn her that the next year is about to be one of the hardest times she’ll face in her young marriage.  Then I sigh a little inside and wonder if the next year is going to be as hard on us as the first one was with Mini.  Because, dear god, I do NOT want to repeat that again.  At 16 1/2 months, we’re just now getting back onto a somewhat even keel.

My work is wonderful, when I get to actually do something.  When I’m not babysitting people who aren’t qualified to do what they were hired to do, but think that they are such wonderful little shiny snowflakes that we should be thanking them for showing up and blessing us with their presence each day.  When people who are NOT my peers (higher on the foodchain) are trying to engage me in a peer-level interaction that puts a burden of knowledge on me that I KNOW should go to their supervisor … but I can’t, because then I would be stepping outside the chain of command.  And then I would have to work with them each day with them knowing that I “talk.”  But if I don’t say anything and they do go, then I will. be. screwed.  So let me say it here, since I can’t say it there: I don’t care about your “secrets.”  I have to do this job whether you are here or not, so sell your house and quit your job and move away and leave me out of it.  We are cogs in this machine, and if you leave — they’ll hire someone to replace you.  Just like they will every other one of us.  Get over your glorified sense of self.  And that goes for you too, Mr. I-think-I-am-entitled-to-knowledge-outside-of-my-level-of-authority-because-I-don’t-realize-my-job-title-doesn’t-mean-anything-in-the-company-hierarchy.

I have a few hours tonight, and I don’t know what to do with myself.  I don’t have a book to read, or a magazine.  Manly and the baby are in bed, and I think I should go too, but then I’ll toss and turn and end up sorting the pantry at 2 am again.  Because at least then I’ll be productive. 

Meh.  Maybe getting all this out will help.  Probably not, but I can hope.  And maybe it will all go poof tomorrow.

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4 thoughts on “a poorly-lit damp basement.

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