Friday, June 12, 2009

A Long, Long Week

Have you ever had one of those situations where you don't feel like you're displaying an adequate amount of outrage, because you just don't feel it? Something upsetting happened at work this week, but I get the feeling that other people feel more deeply upset than I do. I wonder how much it shows...

I'll change the names to protect the innocent and guilty, because you never know who'll find you in cyberspace. So, sometime last week four of the important people in the company were fired unexpectedly: Beatrice, who'd been with the company for eighteen years; Fortinbras, who'd also been there years; Paris, who started a couple years after me; and Banquo who started even more recently than Paris. It's clear to the players who remain that the decision to let these people go rather than others had everything to do with consolidating contracts rather than competency or seniority. Well, Paris was kind of useless, and Banquo was new to his position, but the other two were both senior to and more competent than those whose jobs didn't meet the chopping block. In an ironic sort of way, I'm glad I didn't get Paris or Banquo's jobs, since I'd interviewed for both. Getting promoted, then fired, would have been bad.

I feel sad in a general sort of way for Fortinbras, Paris, and Banquo because losing your job in any situation sucks, but the only one I really feel outrage for is Beatrice. She's the only one of the four that I knew well, and I've always liked and respected her, while I haven't been anything more than indifferent to the other three. (Paris, however, has for years been a handy mental illustration of the exact opposite of my type, being too tall, too thin, blond and blue-eyed. I've never told him that, of course, but I'm sure he wouldn't care given I don't even have the right plumbing to be his type) It's hard to feel outrage on the behalf of people you don't even particularly like, and I'm afraid that I'm not very good at faking it. I guess I'll stick to murmuring "how terrible" because I'm not going to learn to act now.

Maybe it would be easier to be upset on their behalf if I wasn't so annoyed on my own. Who the powers that be have decided to do play certain roles (with different pay grades) this month is grating, especially knowing why one person is King Lear's undeserved favorite. I'm hoping next month will be brighter for those of us being ill-used, since the economy is trapping us into feeling grateful that we're even employed at all.

Alas, work is not the only reason this week seemed to go on and on. I had a cold early in the week, and on top of that four days on and off of feeling sick to my stomach for an entirely different reason did nothing for my mood. It does make me worry, however, that if I'm ever pregnant I won't get past morning sickness without killing anyone. I'm not looking forward to this week in July, because falling to the communists in July is always the worst "experience" of the year for me. If June was this bad, will next month bring one of those weeks when I'm too sick to eat for three days? sigh. If I hadn't finally come around to the startling realization that I might actually want kids, which is something I've thought about more over the past two years than the ten previous (oh, another potential thing to whine about, how the guy who unintentionally changed my mind is one who found me easy to leave behind and forget about! Nah, I'll spare you that particular self-absorbed sniveling), a voluntary hysterectomy would sometimes be tempting.

And there's more! I've spent a couple of months researching things for a children's book I want to write. The problem comes that the story isn't. I've written 4000 words in first person, and I don't like the narrator's voice. But I also can't think of a way to effectively convey the same story in third person, either, which is frustrating me and making me doubt that I'm ever going to figure it out. I need to find a way to work through this, or I'll put it aside forever, just like I always do. I can't even properly fail as a novelist if I never finish anything. Or, anything besides my first, pitiful novel that no one is allowed to read, that is.

I guess this week isn't all bad, though. I found out through a friend that a former friend, McDuff, might be going to China to teach next year. I hope he will, and that he'll enjoy it if he does. We can't be friends anymore because I don't want to hurt him by leading him on and I can't figure out how I mislead him so badly in the first place, but I do pray for him still and I want him to be happy - just not with or because of me. There's got to be a girl out there that's right for him, and I hope he finds her soon.

The only bright spot about the situation with McDuff is that the things that made me never consider him for anything more than friendship - his quietness and lack of assertiveness, at least until he went about things horribly wrong - are also spared us both the discussion that goes "I thought about it when I became aware of your interest and decided that we'd have great potential to make each other miserable due to our temperament differences: you're a moody wuss and I'm too often insensitive. So yes, I'd far rather be alone than with you." He hasn't tried to talk to me since I told him to leave me alone in November, and God am I grateful it wasn't messier.

So pathetic whining isn't the best way to start off a brand new blog, but it's what's on my mind. I promise to try to whine less in further entries. I can't promise to use fewer parentheses.

"We were born to f*ck each other/One way or another" - Iron & Wine, Evening on the Ground

No comments:

Post a Comment