Suburban Goddess

Some days I simply can’t take the crap. That damn Chronicle blog has been both the greatest and worst thing that’s ever happened to me.  It’s lead me to some amazing opportunities, opened doors to experiences I never thought possible, and introduced me to some incredible people.

It also leaves me wide open to the world.

This blog has been my private little corner of the Internet since 2005. Here I rant and rave about my percieved injustices, profess my love for my daughter, pour out my insecurities and share the conversations that make me laugh. Here I remain anonymous, like so many others who choose to put their life out there for the world to see. A few people care, billions do not… and I’m perfectly happy with that.

But the Chronicle… well, that’s a different story.  Occasionally a reader will blast me… brave behind their keyboards, they spew hateful epitaphs for no reason other than to try to belittle me and make me feel like a bad mother. It often makes me step back and read my own post again, to try to understand what would make someone react that way. It is here where I come to a simple reality that I do not want to accept.

Some people are just hateful.

It’s a lesson BFD has been trying to drill in my head since we met; I don’t want to believe that some people are just evil. I try to look for the good in everyone, believing that everyone must possess some form of it. If I can just reach that wounded part, that child within who strikes out with venom and pain… then I feel like my writing has purpose. It’s actually worked with a couple of readers; I would reach out behind the scenes and have a private conversation… I am genuinely interested in their lives.

But this one… she’s just a bitch. Cold and hateful, condescending and sarcastic…. and I think I know who she is.

I sent her a private message, but she will not acknowledge it. She only stalks my blog, leaving snide and nasty comments.  I checked to see if she posted anywhere else, and she had not until today… which makes me think she knows me. And she really, really, REALLY does not like me.

That fact does not bother me. There’s a laundry list of people out there who hate me… many for legitimate reasons and many for gross misunderstandings. What bothers me is the cowardice of hiding behind the keyboard. My name, my life, and my feelings are laid bare for the world to see… if you’re going to blast me, grow a pair and tell me who you are.

But then, that’s the consequence of choosing to live your life publicly. You paint the target on your back, so I guess I can’t really complain about it when someone decides to take a cheap shot.

“What’s the matter?”

“Have you ever had an overwhelming urge to smack the hell out of someone, but you couldn’t?”

“How long have we known each other?”

“So I’m rethinking this whole ‘action-consequence way’ of living.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who owns up to the consequences of my actions, no matter how stupid they are, and then bad things happen. Other people don’t seem to have bad things happen. It’s not fair.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like being honest on the Internet. Anytime I put my feelings out there, someone gets theirs hurt. It sucks.”

“Or you get fired.”

“That, too.”

“Maybe you should try keeping your big mouth shut for a change.”

“How long have you known me?”

“I was just checking to see if they’re still sending your child support checks to the right place, because Suz is getting info from them now.”

“Yeah, your new wife popped up on my insurance for some strange reason, too.”

“Really? That’s weird.”

“I thought so too; I asked them to remove her… it was no big deal. I told them you were a manwhore.”

“Thanks for the kind words, there.”

“You’re welcome.”

After 14 years, I’ve left design.

I guess I haven’t really “left” it, since I still have a stake in my photography company. But for the first time in a very long time, my day job has nothing to do with graphics. I thought I’d be distraught about this decision, but I’m not; the last job completely and throughly ruined me to the point that I simply need a break.

It wasn’t the work that did it.. it was the people. One person, in particular. A person who I thought, in this day in age, could no longer treat workers as this particular person did. I watched for six months as she degraded, tore down and demeaned hard-working people who had no other options. While you were on the clock, you were property… every single moment had to be accounted for and there was zero tolerance for mistakes.

The problem was, everything we touched was simply a matter of opinion. And no matter what your opinion was, it was wrong in her eyes.

I never understand people who feel the need to tear down others to make them feel better about themselves. Perhaps the lack of control in other areas of her life made her feel the need to flex her power over others. To be spoken to so condescendingly… it was maddening. I went from managing a multi-million dollar department to being someone’s personal bitch. I apologize for the vulgarity, but there is no other way to describe it; I was spending my days fielding calls from an 8 yr. old and being an overpriced copy machine. (“Scan this and send it to so and so.”)

I watched as she yelled at unsuspecting bill collectors who were simply trying to do their job. I watch her talk down to vendors. I watched her speak to a grown woman, an intelligent and bright lady, as if she were a dog not worthy of kicking.  She held our jobs over our heads, threatening to let us go any day… telling the others that they were basically worthless. I watched her demean her husband, speaking to him like an unruly child, or worse yet, like a complete moron. I do not condone hitting your spouse, but in her case, I think I would have forgiven him.

There were a couple of days I almost wished he would.

The stress of the place was killing me. I would start the day in the typical “hacker” pose, hunched over my keyboard, but as the days progressed, my shoulders would tighten to the point that they touched my earlobes… a sharp, stinging pain appeared at the top of my spine. I would not realize, but when she would enter the room, I would hold my breath… until finally my body would involuntarily gasp for air. The dread that I would feel in the morning made it nearly impossible to get out of bed… and I could feel myself falling into a deep depression. Hell, you probably winessed it.

My relationship was suffering. My health was affected. All I wanted to do was quit, but I was trapped by the heavy burden of my responsibilities… until I cried out for help.. and you answered.

The flood of emails, tweets, IMs, and calls were amazing. Those of you who had leads, sent them. Those who didn’t at least offered your support. And within 48 hours, I had a new job.

This morning, I walked into an office with a window. There was a fresh pot of coffee. And most importantly, my new boss greeted me with a jovial smile and pleasant attitude… cracking jokes through the course of the day as the administrative assistant and I talked like normal human beings instead of prisoners in a concentration camp. I felt lighter…almost giddy. I was a human being again.

When I got home, there was a new sense of purpose. I WANT to sit in front of my computer again, digital pen in hand and ideas rolling around my head. I’ve been in hard-core production roles so long that I forgot how to be creative just for the hell of it.

Maybe this is a good thing. No matter what, it’s at least a step in a better direction. Tomorrow, I’m actually looking forward to going to work.

“I need a vacation.”

“Then take one.”

“I can’t afford it.”

“Then shut up until you make some money.”

I went home this weekend for a whirlwind tour; the drive is ridiculously harsh, but sometimes it just needs to be made.  There are a lot of things weighing on me at the moment… my financial situation, insecurities, my father’s health… it feels like I’ve lived with battery acid running through my veins since last June when I got the phone call. Since then, an avalanche of unfortunately events and bad timing have all but yanked the rug from beneath me. I’ve had a hard time getting back on my feet and putting my life back in order.

I’m often accused of playing the victim, and I’ll admit, it’s a role I’m comfortable with. It’s easy to be a victim; it doesn’t require much of a backbone and everyone always extends a “oh, you poor thing,” enabling you to give in to the drowning emotions that sometimes overwhelm you. It’s in this position that perspective becomes reality; just because your problems aren’t that monstrous, they are percieved to be from your angle. Regardless of perspective, you have to admit it’s been a tough year for me. My father’s diagnosis, my job loss, my house getting broken into… it’s a bunch of things that would take their toll on anyone, much less all within a four month period. That being said… well…. I have to get over it all.

It was the moment I pulled into the driveway that I realized the problem; I had not returned home to re-group throughout my issues. After I lost my job, money became too tight for the drive, so I had not been home in over six months. It’s no wonder I felt so lost; I was forgetting where I’d come from. The moment I walked in the door, I found the elusive peace I’d been searching for the past few months.

Here, I was surrounded by my people, a warm familiarity that is wordless, but wraps around you like a warm blanket. Geographically, it is a short drive away, but the moment I cross the state line, it’s like landing on a different planet… only here, the aliens are friendly. With really good food.

Since I’ve moved to Houston, Texas has tried to work it’s magic on me. While I enjoy life here, and I’ve made some wonderful friends, there is nothing like home. At home, everything is small, contained, and comfortable. There’s no sprawling urban landscape; there simply can’t be because you’re surrounded by water. Everyone seems to know one another, and there’s an unspoken code of loyalty that everyone lives by. It’s hard to describe if you didn’t grow up there. But the feeling was overwhelming this time… as my life continues to hang in a state of limbo, I have the overpowering urge to say “screw it all,” and just go home.

After a near collapse yesterday, I dragged myself back into work today because if I am not working, I am not getting paid. Considering I’m running in the red already, every day I spend hacking in my bed just puts me that much further behind.

My current job is basically non-contracted contract work. No holidays, no sick days, no benefits. The hours are strict and the boss is king. You come in on time, you do as you’re told, and you don’t ask questions because if you do, you weren’t paying attention the first time you were told the instructions.

Basically, it’s the opposite of everything I ever wanted. But it’s a paycheck, and I have responsibilities that must be taken care of.

I had a moment of self-pity as I dragged myself out of bed this morning. I looked in the mirror, and a tired, withered, frizzy redhead stared back at me with red-rimmed eyes and a horrible complexion. I looked heavenward and asked God my typical statement, “Why? Why me?”

And I swear I heard him answer, “Duh, stupid. Because you made every choice that lead you here.”

I *had* a gravy job. I just got greedy. No one put a gun to my head to marry that man I married; I chose to. My current financial situation? Get another job or cut back. Life really *is* that simple.

And that got me thinking to how much I take for granted. I really do… many single mothers are toiling away at crap jobs living in tiny apartments trying to scrape by because the baby daddies don’t take care of their responsibilities. My job may not be uber-glamourous, but it pays the bills. And it’s still in the field I want to work in; it’s just not the ideal environment. I know many graphic designers who have given up altogether on the design field, and now are simply waiters, retail people or worse: just unemployed.

I wish that I could stay focused on the things I do have, instead of constantly looking for the things I don’t. I need one of those little angels on my shoulder, only mine would wear black leather and thump me on the head every time I start whining about how horrible my life is. “Hey! Stupid! Shut up and look around!”

Oh yeah. Duh.

Despite my trainer’s unexpected exit, I’ve forged ahead with the whole “fitness” thing. The comments about my shrinking waistline have been motivating, as well as BFD dragging my lazy butt off the couch (“I just want to take A NAP!!”).

After a particularly heavy dinner last night, someone who will remain nameless (BFD) decided that we should go work out.

“I’ll barf.”

“You’ll be fine. We’ll take it easy; we’ll just do legs tonight then sit in the hot tub for a while.”

You know, it’s funny how your head will filter out certain things.  I totally missed the “do legs” part, choosing to focus on the “hot tub” part. Even so, going to the gym after ingesting a pound of red meat was not really high on my list of priorities, and I was, shall we say, a bit… uhhh…. whiny.

I made it through the short half-hour workout with a minimum amount of complaining, but my legs had the internal structure of Jell-o at that point, so I was more than ready for the hot tub. As I sank into the hot water, I realized I was facing the sauna and steam rooms.

“What’s the point?” I asked BFD. He said something about sweating out toxins, which I am a bit skeptical of but there must be some merit to it, since every fitness club I’ve been to has these rooms. Either that, or there’s a whole lot of suckers out there. I mean, Dr. Phil has a career, you know? After relaxing for a few moments, he motioned to the sauna.

“You want to go try it out?”

“Sure. Why not.”

The stifling heat hit me like a brick as I walked into the room of other sweaty bodies. I sat down on the cedar bench and squinted for a moment. The heat coming off the rocks reminded me of a pit of charcoal, and I wondered who the insane individual was that came up with this idea. Hey, let’s heat up some ROCKS and then BAKE OURSELVES. I tried to remain silent, but I kept having an image of Betty Crocker turning into a cannibal, and this was her grand plan for dinner.

“Holy crap, it’s hot.”

“Uh huh.”

(pause)

“I can’t breathe.”

“I would think you’d like it in here; you’re always cold.”

(pause)

“Seriously, this must be what barbeque feels like.”

“Do you want to try the steam room instead?”

“Yes please.”

The air outside the oven felt blissfully cool as I pulled a deep breath into my lungs. But the relief was short-lived as we entered the steam room. I wasn’t expecting the sudden rush of an overwhelming peppermint smell; apparently, someone at the spa was into aromatherapy. Lucky me.

I had a really bad experience many years ago with a certain peppermint liquor, and the smell immediately transports me back to that memory: but this practically WRAPPED itself around me and pulled me down to a place where I could not breathe. I realized quickly that it was slightly cooler the lower I slouched, so I sat on the lowest bench and tried to keep my head low. Of course, all of this was highly entertaining to my workout partner, who kept snickering at my obvious discomfort. Again, I tried to refrain from complaining, but after a few moments, I realized that the peppermint air had a peculiar aftertaste…

“UGH. It tastes like a sweaty peppermint in here.”

BFD laughed.

“No, seriously… you can’t taste it?” I stuck out my tongue and wrinkled my nose. “If you dipped a peppermint in sweat and then ate it, this is what it would taste like!”

Before he could answer, my eyes caught a glimpse of a thermometer hanging on the wall.

“Holy crap!! Is that right? 120 degrees?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Great. We go from baking to boiling.”

“Do you want to get out?”

“No, no. I’m good. We can stay a little bit longer.”

“Are you sure?”

“Uh huh.”

(pause)

“This is like New Orleans after Katrina hot.”

“Let’s go.”

“Oh, thank you.”

I sat next to him on the pew, my hand on the lump on my forehead and a pout on my lips.

He smiled, and taking the pen, he scribbled something on the program.

“Your mine.”

I removed the pen from his fingers and added the apostrophe and “e.”

He shook his head.

I can’t help it.

*SOMEONE pointed out that without a little background, it looks like he hit me in the head and claimed me as a possession. ANYONE who knows me, knows I would not tolerate that type of behavior; the knot I spoke of was self-inflicted by my own clumsiness. Again, those who know me would just assume that; I am an unspeakable klutz. That’s what made it funny.

Guess you just had to be there.