Attempt to Find My Passion v.1.1

With all of that information, where do I go? I once considered being like a “Jack of all Trades” – I thought a cute name for it would be “Jill of all Trades” – but from what I read everywhere, finding a smaller niche is more lucrative. Ideas might include:

Personal Assistant
Administrative Assistant (for what type of company? unknown)
Closet Organizer/Home Organization
Photographer
Event Planner
General Contractor
House Cleaner
Personal Fitness Trainer

I Just Don't Care

When I complain about my job, people want to know what makes it so bad. Besides the fact that the environment is just doom and gloom lately, there are The Bosses.

I’ve discussed Female Boss before. And actually, she found someone else to pick on (poor soul), and I think she feels bad for me that The Man was laid off. She’s okay…for now.

Quiet Boss, on the other hand. It’s like he is trying to drive me insane. I get so angry with him that I don’t even CARE if he just saw me roll my eyes at him, or that I angrily snap at him. In fact, he makes me angrier because I think he thinks I’m joking. But I’m not. DO YOU HEAR THAT, QUIET BOSS?!? I REALLY DON’T LIKE YOU. I AM ACTUALLY ROLLING MY EYES AT YOU.

Why, you ask? What on earth could he possibly do to annoy a person so much? Thank you for asking! I will tell you.

Scenario A: I have been in property management for ten years, commercial management for three and a half years. HE has been in commercial property management for ONE year. Being in property management, we deal with compliance issues. He asked me, “Is this sign in compliance?” References Exhibit A.

My reply: “No.”
Quiet Boss: “Why?”
Me: “Because it’s plastic. That material is not allowed.”
Quiet Boss: “Where does it say that?”
Me: “In this document (pulls document FROM HIS HAND and holds up document).”
Quiet Boss: “Can you show me where it says that?”
Me, sighing heavily and rolling eyes: “Fine.”

Now hold on. I must say a few things. The first is that I KNOW WHAT THE HELL I’M TALKING ABOUT, OKAY? STOP QUESTIONING ME AND LEAVE ME ALONE so I can go write blog posts. Second, doesn’t it sound like he has not looked through the document himself, or if he did look through it, he couldn’t find the section that mentions plastic? Okay then, moving on.

I find the section about plastic and show it to him. Here is what he says, “Oh, so you think this section applies to our situation, too?” TOO?!? That means that he looked through the document, FOUND the section he was looking for, and instead of just showing me the section and saying, “Hey, is this what this means?” WE HAVE TO GO THROUGH ALL THIS $&!%. That is a complete inefficient waste of time and it makes me want to take the document and paper cut his throat with it.

Scenario B: Our accounting program is stupid. It only performs one function for us and it doesn’t even do that accurately. It cannot perform any other functions, forcing us to do those things manually. Upon request from Female Boss AND Quiet Boss, I have researched, reviewed, compared, and reported many other accounting systems. Quiet Boss has yet to review them. It’s been about ten months since I gave it to him. He knows that our current program is temperamental and that even the makers of the program could not answer his questions on what it will do.

Quiet Boss: “If you do A and B on our accounting program, will I get this result?”
Me: “I don’t know.”
Quiet Boss: “But if you do this on the accounting program, will this number show up in this column?”
Me: “I don’t know.”
Quiet Boss: “Let me clarify. If you put this number here and this number there and press Submit, what will happen?”
Me: “If you don’t leave me the &@%$ alone, I’m going to put my fist through the monitor and then shove it up your @$$.”

IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW MANY DIFFERENT WAYS YOU ASK ME, our accounting system SUCKS and the answer is going to be THE SAME EVERY TIME. If you don’t like it, review the damn information I gave you ten months ago and get us something better.

Between not liking my job, being in a terribly depressing work environment, wanting to work for my dad, or ANYWHERE else for that matter, wishing I could stay home with The Man and The Boy every day, I no longer care. I don’t care about my job. I don’t care if I’m rude or unprofessional to my bosses. I don’t care if the work is done correctly. Heck, I don’t even care if it gets done at all.

It’s not challenging me anyway. Wait, I take that back. It is challenging me to not kill anyone.

I know it’s not a good place to be. It’s not a nice thing to treat my work this way. But I don’t know what else to do. Because, really, it’s all I can do to keep from sitting at my desk all day and bawling my eyes out from 8 to 5.

Leap of Faith

Yesterday was the first day in his entire five years of life that The Boy stayed with The Man’s parents all by himself. Not because they aren’t good people, or they live far away, but because they never respected our wishes regarding one issue.

We would ask them over and over to do one thing (or NOT do one thing actually), and they flat out refused. They recently moved out of their old, yucky house, and they moved into an old, clean and fresh-smelling, LEASED house. Where there are rules that you have to live by, or you don’t get to keep living there and would then be homeless. Do I like that they don’t love our family enough to not do what we ask when we ask it, but to only do it when a stranger who controls the roof over their head? No. This is a sore point for me so I am not going to discuss it any further here because it’s not the point of this post (and I feel my blood starting to boil…okay, deeeeeeeeep breath).

What IS the point of this post is that I was a little (okay, a lot) freaked out that we had no other alternative than to let The Boy stay with The In-Laws by himself. But he was safe and had a lot of fun and after babysitting time was over, The Mother-In-Law made lunch for The Boy and The Man.

This all happened yesterday and I wasn’t stressing about it yesterday. At all. I was actually at peace about it. Maybe because I was more focused on this. Plus, I figure The Man turned out waaaaaaaaay better than I did, so it has to be better than letting my parents watch them. Which they do. A lot. Maybe I should start freaking out about that. Or at least saving for his own therapy sessions.

Toner on the Pants

We all know a pregnant lady’s hormones are anything but stable. Therefore, her behavior can be erratic at times.

I experienced said erratic behavior during my pregnancy. One time. Okay, maybe a few times. But let me tell you about this one time.

At our office, I was the go to girl for everything. A word document is not formatting properly, the copier is jammed with paper, and the coffee maker isn’t making a full pot of coffee. Come ask me was the standard response.

Normally, I relish this feeling of importance, as though they could certainly not live without me. Who would fix their problems? People pleasing issues much?

I get a call (from two cubicles over), Hi, my printer needs new toner can you come help me? Already I’m a bit peeved; can’t you at least TRY to switch the flipping toner cartridges yourself first? Yes, fine, I’ll be right there. I walk over, open the new toner box, pull out the new toner cartridge and set it down. I retrieve the old toner cartridge from the printer, pick up the new cartridge, set it in the printer, close the lid, and she’s good to go. As I am putting the old cartridge into the box, I notice a black smudge on my khaki capris. Correction: on my MATERNITY khaki capris.

That was enough to send me spiraling into a paroxysm. Maternity clothes were expensive, and I did not purchase a lot of maternity clothes because I knew they were only going to be worn for a short period of time. I went into my co-pregnant co-workers cubicle and began to wail. How could this happen to me? Why couldn’t she change her own damn toner? It’s not that hard! I do EVERYTHING IN THIS OFFICE!!! My co-worker comforted me and I eventually calmed down.

I washed the pants and the black smudge faded, but the stain never fully came out. They weren’t even my favorite item of maternity clothing. And after we decided that we weren’t going to have any more children I gave all of my maternity clothes away to various pregnant friends.

But I am still saddened when I think of those capris. They were just never the same after that incident.

Therapy

The Man and I had an appointment with our therapist (we’ll call him PS) last night. Our normal schedule is to see him about once every four weeks. Our last appointment with PS was April 2nd. Two days before The Man was laid off. When The Man told me he was laid off, I really wanted to make an appointment sooner than our four week appointment. I didn’t, because I didn’t want to be a melodramatic patient who overreacts to situations. I wanted to deal with the situation on my own, or at least try. The Man didn’t seem bothered by it (something I still don’t understand for the life of me), so I should be able to get over it fairly quickly, right?

A couple of days before our scheduled appointment, I received a call from PS. He needs to reschedule. Fine, we reschedule, and it will be six and a half weeks since the last time we saw him.

I trust The Man. It took a long time for me to really trust him. I don’t trust anyone else the way I trust him. I trust PS, a person I have only known for two years, almost as much as I trust The Man. I don’t trust anyone else in this entire world half as much as I trust these two people. So when something happens in my life, these are the two people I depend on to help me get through it.

Although I trust The Man and I know he loves me more than anyone else in the world, he doesn’t always understand me. And I don’t always understand him. But PS understands both of us, and he explains me to The Man in a way The Man can comprehend and he explains The Man to me in a way that I can comprehend. So when The Man and I don’t see eye to eye, PS can usually help us figure it out.

I don’t like change. And not in the normal “I don’t like change” baloney that everyone says at least once in their life. I hate change. With all my heart. It does not feel safe to me. I experienced so much change as a child. An unhealthy amount of out of my control change, with nothing stable to hold on to. I was not taught to cope with change, just forced to do it. So I developed compulsive behaviors as a defense mechanism because those felt safe. Washing my hands, counting, touching objects in a certain way, rigid routines. Obviously, I didn’t realize WHY I was doing this. I actually just came to that realization last night. I never knew why I did those things, only that I eventually felt bound to those things instead of in control of them.

Shortly after we started to see PS, he helped me get my life back and I am no longer tied to these compulsions. Obviously I still have certain routines, as does everyone, but they do not define my day. I didn’t think they would ever go away, but it actually didn’t take nearly as long as I thought it would to break those habits, some of which I had been doing for a good twenty-five years. For that I am forever grateful to PS. However, I no longer have those “safe” obsessions to lean on when change occurs in my life.

With no obsession my world feels really out of control. The Man doesn’t have a job; he’s gone on an interview in a completely different line of work. Those are the two major things, but because I don’t have something stable to rely on, all of the little changes seem magnified. I feel like the small changes are pointing at me and laughing, as if to say, “Let’s see how she handles this one. Ha!”

Small things, like getting an unemployment notice back that states I missed a box on the original form; the fact that I missed a box on the original form – that is so unlike me; The Boy not going to school anymore; getting new furniture in our house; having the company who interviewed The Man postpone the second interview; The Man is taking over all of my normal chores like laundry, cleaning, etc. (which is certainly a positive change, but a change nonetheless!). All of those things feel like giant, unmanageable situations. When, intellectually, I know they are not.

PS suggested finding a “tree” – something unchanging that I can always go back to when things in life are changing. His tree is the Bible verse Joshua 1:9: “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go.”

I like that verse, but I don’t know yet if it’s my tree. I like the idea of a Bible verse being my tree. Because The Bible doesn’t change.

I mentioned a little over a month ago that I didn’t like my new bed. It’s a little better now. I sleep fine on it but I don’t feel like it’s mine yet. PS encouraged me to think of something that would make it feel like mine. I think The Man, The Boy and I are going to write our names on the back of the headboard and on the back of the dresser. Just in the corner, small letters, “Daddy,” “The Boy,” and “Mommy.” And then I think I’m going to lie on the bed and look through my Bible until I find my tree. That will make the bed my bed, if I find my tree on it.

And if I chose the verse from Joshua, or another verse from that book, I can call it my Joshua Tree.

If it were my choice, here is how I would love to handle change – don’t have any change. This could be achieved by staying in bed, hidden under the covers all day, every day. No moving from the bed ever. Or getting someone to commit me to a mental institution, where I would happily sit in a plain room, staring at the wall, strapped into a straight jacket, rocking back and forth all day. I’m serious. Those two options actually sound APPEALING to me. Since I have chosen to be a mom and a wife, those options are not available to me. Consequently, I have to force myself to function properly even though my brain is screaming for me to STOP! GO BACK TO BED! DO AND SAY CRAZY THINGS SO THAT YOU DON’T HAVE TO DEAL WITH REALITY EVER AGAIN. YES, that will fix everything.

Next appointment: three weeks. Although I think I have made huge strides in a positive direction in the last two years, it’s obvious that I still have a long journey before my mental health is restored. My hope is that one day my brain will not be fighting me. That I will prefer life over crawling into a hole. Then I can be a good example for The Boy, and prepare him for changes that come in his life.

Delay

The Man called to follow up with the company who interviewed him last month. They originally said he would hear from them anytime between the middle of May and the beginning of June. Not wanting to appear desperate, he did not call right on the 15th of May. Wanting to appear interested and responsible, The Man followed up with the company today. I think he did the right thing to wait a few days, even though I was like CALL ME AS SOON AS YOU TALK TO THEM AND DON’T FORGET TO TELL THEM THAT WE’LL ACCEPT PAYMENT IN PENNIES IF IT MEANS YOU HAVE A JOB!!!

They informed him that he is still in the running as a candidate for the job. However, they said that the meeting with the corporate office (based in the UK) has been postponed until the middle of June.

The Good News:

1. The Boy is not going to day care, which will give us about $750 extra each month. And it will give The Boy and The Man a lot of quality video game time together.

2. I think we are going to pay off our car, which will give us $435 extra each month. And I’m told our insurance may go down if we own our car? I’ll have to look into that.

3. He still has plenty of time to collect unemployment (it lasts like a year or something).

4. We have our stimulus check to help out a little bit.

5. He can work for my dad until he gets a new job, which is flexible and has the potential to pay A LOT.

6. I’m pretty sure I can get my doctor to double my antidepressant/anti-anxiety medication.

The Bad News:

1. More time passing until he has a steady paycheck, digging into our (almost non-existent to begin with) savings, diminishing the chances that we go to Disneyland this year.

2. You’d think that by saving $1,185 a month The Man could stay home. But he can’t. We would have to cut out both cell phones, all cable and internet, therapy, life insurance, send The Boy to public school, and finish paying off some debt we have. As luxurious as those things sound, it is currently not an option to give up any of them. Maybe as we get more desperate our perspective will change.

3. When The Man has to go on appointments while working for my dad, the only option is for my in-laws to watch The Boy, which is going to require a LEAP OF FAITH on my part. And perhaps tripling the previously mentioned medication (see Item #6 above).

The Man says he is still looking for a job. The more time that passes, the more I am discouraged by the fact that there are just no jobs out there right now.

Last year around this time, I started looking for work in the Bay Area. Without even trying, I can pretty much double my income by working over there. Everyone (aka my parents) told me, Oh the commute sucks, you’ll get tired of it, don’t do it. I went on a couple of interviews, was offered one job, but turned it down because I didn’t feel any chemistry with the company.

When we decided where we were going to send The Boy to kindergarten, I liked that it was right down the street from my office. I knew that this would be a big transition in our lives (read: *sniff* my life *tears*), and I wanted to be close by for the transition. So I stopped looking for a new job.

Now that The Man is not working, I wonder if I should start looking for another job again. If I made as much as I see being offered on job web sites, The Man wouldn’t have to work, The Boy could go to the private school we want to send him to. The Man could be at home with him in the afternoon, and he would be close by if The Boy needed anything. I just wonder; at what expense? To be gone for fifteen hours a day instead of the ten hours that I’m already away from him? To be far away – what if something terrible happens? To miss special activities because I work so far away? But The Man could be there. I don’t know.

Then there is the option of working for my dad. I’m not going to write out loud or say out loud what his expectations are. Let’s just say that he is VERY optimistic about our future, and I could potentially start working for him in the middle of July. Right now though, that doesn’t seem like weeks away; it feels like DECADES away.

Our pastor gave a message at church on Sunday and what I got from it was that we need to trust God. Do you think He’s trying to tell me something? Maybe I should listen. Because I hear He’ll get through to you one way or another. But I don’t know how to make my heart trust someone else 100%. My brain doesn’t work like that, I think understandably so. Especially Someone I have never seen. My brain tries to tell my heart, Okay, we’re going to trust Him. It’s okay. It’s in His hands. Then my heart feels like an exposed, gaping wound, so I immediately shut it back up because I don’t want it to get hurt. It is safe behind my protective barrier, where I only let in what I know it can take.

I want to know all of the answers RIGHT NOW. Even if they aren’t going to happen right now, I want to know what will happen. That would make my decision making process so much easier.

Working Like a Team

I didn’t get a very peaceful shower yesterday, which actually did not bother me, probably because I normally do get to take peaceful showers.

The Boy wanted to watch Phineas and Ferb OnDemand in my bed while I took a shower. I knew it would only take about 15 minutes for him to watch it and only ten of those minutes I would actually be in the shower. So I put the cable on Disney Channel for after the show was over. All he had to do was press “Exit” on the remote after his show was over and then he could watch Disney. That’s it. ONE button.

Ten minutes into my shower, he comes in and says that the Disney Channel is not on. I ask him to go tell me what the yellow numbers on the cable box say. He goes and checks and then comes back and says “820.” What? Disney Channel is 54, how did it get to 820? Okay, so I tell him to go get the remote. He brings it to me and I show him “Last” and tell him to press that, which takes you to the last channel you were watching. He presses it and then comes back. It’s not on Disney Channel. I ask him to check the yellow numbers on the cable box again. As he is walking out to do that he says, “Okay, but Mom, the numbers are blue not yellow.” Wait a minute…the blue numbers are on our alarm clock. So 820 was the time, NOT the channel. I call him back in and tell him that’s the clock, please check the yellow numbers on the black box NEXT to the clock. He says it says “55.” In my head I’m thinking that means that when he his “Last” the last channel it was on was 55, but when I turned it on before the shower I switched from ESPN (32) to Disney (54) so how it ever got on 55 is beyond me. I ask him to bring me the remote again. I show him to push the “Channel” button down one. He comes back in and says YES! It is on Disney Channel. Okay, dude, go watch it. He goes out and I feel a sense of satisfaction. I am VERY proud of The Boy and myself for working together like a team. Then he comes back into the bathroom. “I can’t hear it.” Okay, bring me the black remote, which is different from the remote we have been using. He brings me one of two black remotes. Is this it? No, bring the other one. He brings the other remote and I show him the “Volume” button and tell him to press the plus on it a few times, but DON’T make it go over the number 15 because that is too loud. Okay. He goes off to adjust his volume and again I’m like, yes, we are awesome. He comes back in and says the screen went fuzzy and made a loud sound. I asked him which button he pushed and he showed me the volume button but it is right next to the channel button and I’m thinking that he changed the television channel. Which is near impossible for ME to fix when I’m standing right there, so there is no way I am going to be able to talk him through it. I tell him sorry but he can’t watch it now. He says, “It’s okay, Mom. I turned it off and I’m going to go read books in my room.” And that’s where I found him when I was done getting ready.

All of that effort for no return on the television; but huge return on a ridiculous story and for The Boy to read books on his own. It was really precious to see him sitting on the floor next to his bookcase with a pile of books he pulled out on the floor. I felt 100% content when I opened the door and saw him.

Extreme Not Paying Attention

The Boy has turned not paying attention into a sport. An extreme sport. He could win in the Olympic event of Not Paying Attention.

Sometimes he’s in a zone watching television and fails to realize that we are speaking to him. I get that. Sometimes he is off in La-La Land and fails to see the corner of the car door and runs right into it. I even get that. But those are just Bronze Medal worthy examples compared to what he did yesterday.

I was in the shower and he comes in and says he has to go potty. I hear him lift the lid and I hear him flush and then he leaves. A few second later he comes in and says he needs to change his shorts because they are wet. I peeked out of the shower and said, “How did they get wet?” I saw that the crotch area was soaked and I said, “Didn’t you just go potty? Where were you sitting when this happened?” He said he wasn’t sitting anywhere and assured me nothing in my bedroom or his bedroom was wet (I checked later and nothing was wet). He said he didn’t know how this happened because he just went potty in the toilet. I asked him if he forgot to pull down his shorts before he went potty. He thought for a second and then said yes. So he basically just stood in front of the toilet and peed in his shorts! And he didn’t even realize it until after he flushed, left the bathroom, and who knows what else he did before he’s like, Oh! My shorts are sopping wet and it’s a LITTLE uncomfortable. Seriously, dude, what the heck are you thinking about?!?

THAT is Gold Medal material.

Word Play

Real Word: Marbles
The Boy's Word: Narbles

Real Word: Good Grief
The Boy's Word: Great Grief

Real Word: Evolve
The Boy's Word: Revolve

Real Word: I don't care
The Boy's Word: I don't matter

Mislead

I REALLY appreciate the well wishes and encouragement of those reading my blog and commenting. However, I need to clear up a little misunderstanding. I started to chronicle my pregnancy at the beginning of April. A pregnancy that occurred six years ago. The Boy is five now and we are not having any more children. Ever. I am simply writing about the things that were important to me so that one day The Boy can read about a time before he existed.

Thank you so much for your comments; I really do appreciate them. But I want to be clear that I am not pregnant.