I don’t write here much.  I don’t know why.  I/we started this blog to write when the mood struck me/us.  Yes, I know, are we one or more minds cavorting in the ethers?

The mood has not struck much lately.  My mind has been on vacation.  Unfortunately, it did not find rest and relaxation, in the true sense of vacation.  My mind’s vacation has been more of an imprisonment, with occasional bouts of Tourette’s-like verbal tics, not anything one would want to share.  Certainly, not this one.  So, today, I went for a walk to have a serious talk with myself.

The walk was nice.  The talk, not so nice.  I was outright belligerent with me.  I was beside myself, so I took the easy way out.  I stopped listening.  I kept talking, though, and eventually made peace with the silence I was exhibiting toward myself.  Huh?  Yep, this could be part of the reason I haven’t written here much.  That internal dialogue between me and myself is tiresome, and not ordinarily entertaining. 

Maybe I need more friends, you know, those people who call and ask if you want to go get coffee.  I only have one friend living nearby (in my house, actually, and we’re married), who asks me if I want to go get coffee.  I’m grateful.  That’s one more nearby friend than some people have, right?  We’re good friends, too, the kind that really listen most of the time.  Sometimes I have to work really hard at listening, because I’m talking to myself and it’s hard to carry on two conversations at the same time.

My other coffee-getting friends live far away now.  Some, very far away.  Airfares and out-of-body experiences are the only ways for us to go get coffee together.  Sad.  One’s expensive, and the other is…expensive.

While I was out there with my mind on vacation, I discovered a new obsession: trying to see small print without glasses.  It hasn’t been that long since seeing small print became a problem, so I still think I can wing it.  I’ve got news for you.  Once your eyes hit that magic age-related disintegration that blurs 12 point Times New Roman, it’s time to see an eye doctor.  People tell me you can get really good reading glasses for under 25 bucks at Costco, but do I go check it out?  NO.  That would mean I’m admitting that I can’t read the newspaper without holding it out at arms’ length.  God, I feel like my grandfather.  He wore glasses, but I can only remember seeing them on the table next to his chair.  I think I have a picture of him wearing his glasses.  Somewhere.  Doubtful I can find it, if it requires reading the label on a box in my closet.

Coffee and an eye appointment, there’s a thought.  Maybe I can get my friend who lives in my house and is married to me, to go with me.  Sounds like a really good time, huh.  We do have good conversations, all three of us.  Maybe we would have one of those conversations that brings my mind back from vacation, and I can get back to work.  Maybe the talk I gave myself today will sink in, and I can get back to work.  Maybe if I see small print better by wearing glasses, I can get back to work.  Maybe then, I can stop repeating myself.

Maybe then, I can write here more often.  It’s an exercise in brain connectivity.  I’ve been on vacation long enough.  Maybe.

…or in tonight’s scenario, Minding the Paycheck. 

My paycheck is, at the moment, the store.  Not the bricks-and-mortar store known to many in business, because I don’t own the store, the business.  I’m talking about the store of my family’s refrigerator and kitchen cabinets, the roof over our heads, the bills we pay monthly, and our ability to drive vehicles that require ridiculous sums of money to maintain. 

I paid $3.39/gallon to fill my car’s gas tank two days ago, and given my distance from home to work, that tank will last about 4.5 days, with an occasional trip to the grocery store.  My husband’s commute is even longer.  We have economy cars, but the limitations still present themselves every time we pull up to the gas pumps.  Driving our vehicles is only one thing that allows us to get to our jobs, and preserve our paychecks.

Another thing that allows me (in particular) to preserve my paycheck, is my ability to control what comes out of my mouth.  My innermost thoughts should remain closely guarded by my attentiveness to my surroundings.  This is pretty good advice for anyone holding a job.  But, it is essential, when functioning under an extreme amount of stress.  I am operating under extreme stress at the moment.  You can’t imagine, and I can’t share today…and for so many reasons that have nothing to do with my job, and plenty that do. 

My job, however, has become something on which I can depend (to the degree that anyone can, given the current U.S. economic picture).  I liken my job to a vacation at times, because I can escape into the strategies, the tasks, the people – and all else hides at the back of my mind for a while.  I love what I do for a living.  I do not love working within certain contexts of my company.  (Who does?)  All in all, though, I’m fairly content with my position and my alliances with coworkers, subordinates, and superordinates.  Not all of those people to whom I report are respectful of my personal challenges.  Quite the opposite.  

While I don’t understand it, there are people working in high places, who seem to enjoy not only observing subordinates dealing with personal tragedies, but banking on making them appear incompetent.  While I can’t imagine living with my personal tragedy (though I do it daily), I can’t imagine living their lives either.  That they should find something invigorating in not only watching us work through our pain, but that they add to it whenever convenient is…beyond me.

I used to be the proud owner of a very thick force field, one that kept the outside out, and the inside in.  Since experiencing a life-changing event some months ago, my armor is thin and permeable.  I work hard at offering my lifetime of professional experience to coworkers, friends, and family.  Many who have experienced losses similar to mine, retreat to bed, never to recover to their former strength. 

Today, I wobbled.  I let my guard down.  That thin, permeable armor I was working so hard to protect, dropped to the carpet of the office with barely a sound.  What I was thinking came out of my mouth as though someone would care.  Someone cared alright, just not in the way I had hoped in that nanosecond before the words left my lips.  That someone cared enough to avoid all contact with me in the aftermath.  He cared enough to avoid responding to me verbally, or by eye contact.  He cared enough to make it known to others, that I had just been shunned. 

What I said out loud for all to hear, was the truth, as told to me by peers and subordinates alike.  The effect was astounding.  If I make it past tomorrow with my paycheck intact, I will be amazed. 

I’ll keep you posted.  I can, because you don’t support my family, nor sign my paycheck. 

Word to the wise: coworkers are not friends, they are coworkers, and just as dependent on their paychecks as you are on yours.   

Some memories take us back in time to thoughts of loved ones, fun times, the good ol’ days, the bad ol’ days, successes, and near misses.  They can bring up all sorts of dormant emotions, and we may or may not want to revisit them.  Normally, we have a choice about making that trip down memory lane, and other times, the memory slams into us so hard, that choice doesn’t enter the picture.

This happened to me yesterday.  I was in a fairly decent frame of mind to start my day.  Then, SLAM.  I read an article before leaving for work that took me to a place of great sadness in my life, a place that will always be a part of me, but not all of me.  I couldn’t shake off the sadness, though.  It was like it crawled inside my mind, and infected all the work I regularly do to stay clear of getting stuck in that time.  So disappointing, to know that no matter how hard I worked at pulling it together all day, the memories surrounding that time will always be there, and it takes so little to throw me into regression. 

By the evening, I was a mess.  By the late night hours, many of them spent doing research on the subject, and writing emails, I had slowed down some of the agitation and anger.  Not much, but enough to go to sleep. 

This morning, there it was again.  I took the day off work, something I rarely do, even for fun.  I figured if I wasn’t able to process my thoughts clearly, I would be of little help to others at work.  It was a good choice, and soon I realized I could make more choices about how to spend my day, that would feel like I was being actively mindful of that very sad part of my life, and could do something to throw the information I had read in the article, back at the world.  I picked an activity that had relevance, went out into the world, talked to friends who got it, and came home relieved.  The coffee wasn’t a bad idea either. 

I had to choose finding a way back to me, the me I am today.  I did.  I’m back. 

Normally, I plan on needing my mind in good working order on a daily basis.  Not so much, today.  A truly lazy Sunday.  How cool is that?

I read a book (okay not all of it), cleaned the house just enough to have visitors and hope they wouldn’t notice how feable my attempt was, watched TV, wrote on several blogs, looked up a bunch of writerly research, and ate a good meal.  Just one.  How much of my mind did this take?  Not much.  Enough to be sure not to include my mind in the bowl with the brownie mix.  Nah.  Not gonna make ‘em.  I’d have to read the directions on the box.  Like I said, this is a lazy Sunday.  And, I’m beat from it all.