Our āNet connection went down at work early yesterday afternoon and STILL isnāt up. Shan saw the dumbshit in MIS going home at 5:30 p.m., but alas, the problem was not and has yet to be resolved. That aināt right. I remember when the network would go kaput at Two Strikes ā CTL would stay until dawn, if thatās what it took to make the network available for his colleagues the next morning. And then he would be there at 9 a.m., when everyone else arrived, to ensure that any last-minute problems could be addressed in a timely fashion. THAT was a work ethic. Not to mention, we typically knew either why things werenāt working, or we had a ballpark estimate of when we would get our files back. Not here at the Veggie Patch. Oh, hell no. Everyone popped their Zoloft and is quite happy to be staring at the walls. I just came home so that I could try to access the server from outside the firewall, but alas, no luck. Our dependence on technology is alarming — we can’t function without it anymore.
I wonder, though, with all of Shanās and my suspicions of being spied on by the associate executive assholes esquires (damn them and their titles!!!), whether dipshit is simply exporting all of our e-mails so that they can be scrutinized and held against us at a later time. Hmm. I killed off most of what was not work-related, as did IKEA Boy and Shan, which doesnāt mean that those e-mails are lost forever, but it will take them a little bit more time to find them in the system. Hee hee.
While the winter season here in NoVa is tropical compared to Western Pa., I still hate feeling cold. My shoulders are so tense, from trying to hold myself upright when I walk over icy snowdrifts (parking lots are sheets of ice down here ā granted, I know these store owners donāt have to mobilize for snow much, but come on ā I donāt want a concussion because I need to run to Wal-Mart for a tree skirt). Iām also tense when I drive, trying not to hit random ice patches at night and hoping that other drivers donāt hit them, either.
Speaking of tension, something Iāve noticed is at my last two jobs: I avoid learning who everyone is. I wasnāt always this way, but now, I cannot tell you who is whom. I looked at the phone list and realized that I canāt put a face with most of those names. Iāve been here six months, and I still canāt say, āHi ___!ā in the halls ācause I donāt know who they are. Nor do I care. How sad is that? Iād rather work for a start-up company (i.e., my OWN) and intimately know a handful of people instead of being able to exist without knowing who works on the other floors. Hell, Scottās two new people have been here for two weeks, and I have yet to even run into them in the hallways (heās the only straight man there who can remotely spark my interest, anyway). Besides, the girl looks like she needs lots of cake ā I saw her from behind, and I swore I could see her ribs through her sweater. She needs CAKE!!! Lots and lots of CAKE!!!
Mmmm. Cake. ā¦ (lol ā havinā a Homer Simpson moment. ā¦)
Had the most bizarre dream about JO (not to be confused with J-HO!) last night. Havenāt seen him in years, yet he popped into my subconscious. In the end, we were silently hugging ā almost as if we were clinging to each other for dear life. In the dream (and only there), bygones were bygones. I got the impression he was sick (something serious, but I donāt know what) and that he wanted to end our childhood war. I awoke feeling peaceful but curious why he would come to me in my dream, but then again, there was a bizarre cosmic connection that held us together for many, many years.
Then I looked at a calendar about an hour ago ā and realized that today is his 29th birthday. How very odd that I would dream about him on this particular morning, after all the birthdays of each other’s that we’ve missed.
Despite all the heartache between us, I do hope that heās OK ā for the past two or three years, Iāve felt like he isnāt. But I Googled him and saw that he has a great job in another state. Of course, that doesnāt mean anything ā¦ I live in a great place and am alternately bored, upset and even amused. Oh well. At any rate, I just want to say Happy Birthday, old friend ā¦ wherever you are.
Addendum
I called his work. Damn it if he didn’t answer. I apologized and said it was a wrong number. He was silent for a moment or two and said, “That’s okay. No problem.” And we hung up. I wonder if he knew it was me.
I’m not sure why I called. I certainly didn’t expect to talk to him. What would I say, after all this time? The last time we ran into each other was on a snowy streetcorner in downtown Pittsburgh, and even though I said hello to him, he acted as if I weren’t even there. But even after all the years and miles between us, I suppose I just wanted to know that he was, in fact, okay. And he is. And without him, so am I.
