Caterwauling

From the “should I say it or not say it” files, I’ll say it but probably wish I hadn’t.

Mom gets so mad at me when I tell her stories from work and she realizes I cuss or go yam-tastic in front of important people.

You know, I have so few joys in life that BEING MYSELF is about the only thing I have to show for my 39 years on this planet.

And I like me. I hope others do too. At least I’m not boring. THAT would make me want to kill myself.

So today she’s mad at me again, saying I could get fired for being my usual over-the-top self.

You know, it’s like getting screwed at my apartment building. They seem to have all the rights even though they continually disappoint me and I pay dearly for the privilege of being screwed with my scandalous panties on.

So basically the place where you spend 10-ish hours of your day and 2-ish hours commuting to/from isn’t a place to actually enjoy yourself, either.

Which, believe me, I KNOW. Fun and work don’t mix. But I forget too easily that the only place where I was able to be myself without fear of consequence, well, I don’t work there anymore.

And even then, if we’re being honest, I’ve muffled many a scream. Or screamed after-hours. You know, when NOBODY ELSE was there to hear it.

I don’t know. I’m sick of spending a lifetime pretending to NOT be me, to impress people who may or may not be in my life after a certain period of time, who may or may not even CARE one way or the other what comes out of my mouth as long as I’m loyal and do what I can to keep us all in business.

Is it too much to ask to find a nice guy to marry who’s a trust fund baby so I don’t have to worry about this shit anymore?

Did you also know that your brain generates 50,000 thoughts a day? Or that you consume approximately 14 different types of food each day? (Data found in a book. Yes, I read offline!)

My day wasn’t insanely busy. I haven’t had a “slow” day since like 1973, when I was FORMING IN THE WOMB, so I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Here are some of those 50,000 thoughts:

1. While my “underling” was busy identifying a problem that I should have had the wits about me to see coming or at least to research, I was busy placating somebody who was whining that he didn’t like this past weekend’s WordPress upgrade and that, no, my tech team didn’t do anything to fuck up his life.

2. I spent 10% of my day doing real work and 90% playing messenger/therapist/fluffer. And avoiding someone’s calls because everyone else has An Opinion and frankly I just couldn’t be arsed today to deal with this particular fire.

3. My crypto-fascist apartment overlords are pissed off that I have a welcome sign on my door and they say they will terminate my lease because of it. And … if I could get a few days off of work, I would be GLAD to pack and RUN.

4. What the hell are we hanging in there / fighting for anyway? Not just at home. Everywhere. What if the one reason we’re all adhering our codependent asses to each other is just a pipe dream?

5. I took a wrong turn onto 95 and found myself mindlessly barreling toward Daytona Beach. But, what would really stop me from flooring it and never looking back? NOT MUCH.

I’ll blow my bandwith if I go to 50,000. But these are the things I think when I’m not psycho-busy. No wonder they keep me overloaded. Thinking is dangerous … and not dangerous for me …

Had to pull down my last post since it got reblogged by a good friend who wanted to use my real name to give me credit. (Read, the less my real name is associated with this page, even though everyone I’ve ever worked with has it bookmarked, the happier I am.) If you want to see the post, hit me up on Faceypages.

I do have more tips for job-seekers. Stay tuned as I meet more degenerates lovely people!

Just to put the epitaph on the “oh God I think I’m gonna hurl if I hire this candidate” saga.

Just received this e-mail:

“I am sorry for you and (Delightful Company) that things did not work out.”

Sorry for me.

That one’s going in the Human Resources Hall of Fame. And mine!

I hear a lot about some mythical concept called “Inbox Zero.” Which, judging from the 40-odd thousand unreads in just ONE of my Gmail accounts, well, that’s not something to aspire to anytime soon.

But I read a good piece on about getting your mental inbox to zero. And that is basically to write down everything that’s been nagging at you — big and small — and ranking it in priority. And then calendaring the damn thing and DOING it.

Yesterday I put down a bunch of stuff on paper. Which, I love lists. Lists are lovely. Writing is half the battle with me.

Let’s just say I checked one of those things off my list today. I think people think I’m crazy for the decision I made. (Which I have shared with you in recent posts. No need to rehash the insanity.)

Maybe the kid did have another offer that warranted five calls this morning and two e-mails. *shrug* Honestly, I think we discount our gut feelings far too often. And I’m satisfied that I have honored mine.

Does that mean I go another year without a day off? I sure as hell hope not. But I do want to be able to continue wanting to come in each day and look forward to everything and everyone I will encounter.

So, anyway, there’s a part of me that wants to feel bad … to question myself even after playing Devil’s Advocate all weekend … to think that maybe this was supposed to be a challenge I needed to take on.

And yet, the absolute joy of not only writing down an item, but also taking it off the list with relish, trumps all.

Of course, back on the list is to do the whole miserable process all over again. But I’m OK with that. More than OK, actually. In fact, I can’t wait to go at it with fresh eyes now that the dread and fear is out of my heart.

So my candidate decided to negotiate with my voicemail all weekend.

It was kind of interesting to listen to the descent into madness. Or, more like working his steps till he finally came to the “acceptance” part.

Basically he supposes he can make it work if he gets promoted in six months and gets bonuses.

I often quote Whitney Houston in “Waiting to Exhale,” but I have to say it.

“Pretty close to resistible, Lover Man.”

First, see prior post: I Offered Someone a Job and I Regret It

So I get a voicemail on my work line, which comes to my cell phone. Now, I have told said candidate that you will not catch me at the office on a weekend. I also said, “Think about my offer over the weekend and we will speak Monday.”

So for him to leave a rambling, over-the-top voicemail on a line I am not answering — mind you, when he said he had to accept/refuse another offer by 4 p.m. Friday — cemented my nasty gut feeling that he wasn’t worth the trouble.

He said he might be able to make my numbers work (um, I gave him what he wanted) but he really needed to know the scope of the position. And he still has questions and concerns that he’d like to discuss.

I do not know how much more I can tell him. Because if paying him significantly more than the market rate for someone who actually has relevant experience isn’t enough, well I don’t have anything else to give.

You shot your wad, kid. Nice knowin’ ya.

I felt like I had the upper hand and didn’t have to give away my power. But then I did.

I had a shitty candidate pool. I fished the one decent candidate out of the bunch and I feel like the girl who just waited for SOME boy to look at her. Not the right boy.

The kid is young but very bright. Good editor. Good head on his shoulders. Not the most interesting person on earth but I thought, for having a year and a half of experience, I could mold him into something great.

And then he’s asking for my salary. Like, playing hardball with me and demanding an answer ASAP.

Homey don’t play that. I take time to make decisions. Not much time — I needed to sleep on it. But I didn’t have that. He put me on the defensive with a phantom (I think) other offer for a huge salary that frankly I think he should take.

I had just talked to my girl S and to HR about the fact that I was not attached to the outcome. I was willing to raise my offer a bit but I think he’s already out of his depth and I would feel like I am “giving” it to him rather than him earning it.

Also, some punk who was born while I was in college bossing me around on the first day of the relationship? I don’t want to continue it this way.

I did give him a final offer and told him he has the weekend. But I want to retract it.

I told my boss, before that final call, that I wanted the weekend to think about a counter offer. Me. My power. My PSYCHIC power, which I didn’t say. I wanted the night to sleep on it.

He said meet the kid halfway and be done with it, with a raise in six months.

I told the kid a raise ONLY IF he is pretty fucking exceptional.

I feel powerless and walked over and angry. And if this dumbass actually admits what I’ve felt all along — that he’s playing us — I am going to be all over his ass for the slightest thing.

I said before all of this that I would rather be alone than wish I were. No I am not a fan of the 72-hour workweeks. At all. But I like my team. The wrong person will fuck it up.

And I didn’t sleep last night. I am sick over the situation and want it undone. In the two short hours of fitful slumber I did have, I saw myself walking out because I could see him aligning with the boss and making my life hell.

I am so angry. I did not want to be pushed into making a rush offer. And I was. I let myself be. This kid isn’t worth it. He really isn’t.

Is it the money? Partly. I wasn’t making that salary till I was like 32. But moreover, these people won’t let me put mom on our health insurance — and I work my ass off for them — but this fucking kid out of nowhere rates? I mean yes I made the offer.

But goddamn it what is in it for me, other than finally getting help from someone I think is only interested in helping himself?

So the weekend work rush (and today’s) was all to support something scheduled for tomorrow morning that, IMHO, should never have been scheduled for tomorrow morning.

I got my final piece of the puzzle done at 5:35 p.m. today.

And everyone who can put that puzzle piece into place … left for the day.

And this is the “oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit” moment over a deadline that was almost impossible for me to hit.

But I hit it. It just hit back.

I have an interview tomorrow. No, not for a new job. But for a helper. And I have no time to prepare because OH HEY there’s more to do that didn’t get done thanks to this crazy deadline.

HR sent me a candidate. They just hired a girl for another division and her boyfriend wants a job here. At least he’d be willing to make the commute.

But MAN the girl is a fucking BITCH to walk past. I’ve tried to say hello to her at least six times. She just ignores me. Not that I wanted to hire her stupid boyfriend anyway (what with divisional secrets and all — no need to have them comparing notes).

But man, TRY to be nice to the hiring managers on staff, eh?

Mom’s been getting sicker and weaker (and yet we just got turned down for Medicaid for her again this week. I’m about ready to say her name is Consuela on our next application and see what happens).

So I’ve been picking up some slack around this glorious dump. This after working an awful lot. And after spending Good Friday and Easter working instead of hanging out with her.

Which, I hated to do, because when it has come to my family over the years, you never know which holiday is going to be their last.

The other day, she said, “You work so hard for us.”

And she cried.

She feels so bad that everything falls on me. I count my blessings that I still have most of my health and about half of my spirit left.

And I have my momma. For which I thank God multiple times a day.

I know all the preachers say we can’t tell God what to do, nor beg Him to help us. But rather to be grateful for what we have and especially grateful for what we cannot see.

Doesn’t stop me from arguing with God about my momma’s health and the lack of means to get it fixed. And even when I try the “Thank You for the miracles you’re working in my momma,” I don’t really get any results that way either.

I know you’re supposed to detach yourself from all outcomes, but I can’t. I have to work like a mule to keep the financial ship (there and here) afloat. I just really and truly hope that all this butt-busting and not, say, spending time with my mom can pay off for us.

She understands. I’m glad somebody does. Because I will wrestle with it till my dying day, no doubt.