Did she or didn't she?

Yeah, I knew I needed to follow up on whether mom made it down or not last year.  Seeing as how it's a whole year later, and I am far-removed from the sadness in her disappointment in me (and lack of enthusiasm in my attempts to get her together with her MI-local surviving sibs), I can say, "Yes, she finally did make it south." 

There, I said it.  Now, can we move on?

That was then - 2022.

I am coming to the end of another blissful holiday/vacation period (2023).  Saved a goodly number of vacation days over the year, and spent them all when it would feel the absolute best.  And don't you know there were plans for mom to come down to spend the season with family roiling on a gentle simmer, too?  Doesn't it just figure.

Well, you know it happened again - the stalling on decision making and committing to the plan.  To A plan.  To ANY plan.  I knew there would be date changes and shifting and capitulating, but it honestly never occurred to me she would straight up cancel....and never say anything.  

OK. 

OK, yes...maybe it did sort of squeak around in my brain that she wasn't really sincere in her desire to be here, but it wasn't honestly a huge thought...that she was planning on not coming...that she was going to cancel out.  But, I mean, shoot.

Of course, not saying anything is easiest to do when you simply don't respond to someone's (mine) texts, email, and phone messages.  She totally blocked me.

I am starting to see the brilliance in not making plans, or expecting people to follow through on 'things', and simply flying solo through life.

We shipped her gifts.

Oh, yeah, Merry Christmas everyone.

Will it or won't it? Is she or isn't she?

I've had all of this glorious time off.  Eight fantastical vacation days (which equals weeks, ultimately) saved over the work year - which sometimes took more willpower than I knew I had not to use.  There were so many months strung together during the year where there were 'holiday droughts,' and it was all I could do not to give in to the temptation of using one of my hard-earned vacation days for a slightly longer weekend.

Oh, I know you understand all-too-well what I'm talking about. Can I get an "amen" from the congregation?

And with all of this time, I totally thought I could (and had plans to) kick into gear the final cleaning frenzy to make the place ready for Christmas and visits, very small gatherings, and one special guest.

Mom was scheduled to arrive late in November and be with us into December, but that changed.  Then the new date blew by without any fanfare, which bumped into the dastardly-timed Snowmageddon.  

You know what I'm talking about.  That much-forecasted blizzard that stopped all travel and turned out the lights for hundreds of thousands.  The monster storm that slapped the ever-loving snot outta much of the country...sure, you remember it.  But not us.  Nope.  MI saw nothing like the rest of the mid-west, great plains, and Ohio Valley received.  Well, maybe the U.P. had a snootful of the powder, but the L.P. managed to duck it successfully.  Go figure.

Anyhow, she (yup, still talking about mom) scheduled and canceled because temps were going to be drastically low, and this is a concern for her in the land of Lake Superior.  So, out of fear for her plumbing, she has opted to stay home until after Christmas.  Yeah, I get it, but by the time she does get here, it will be time for me to head back to work.

Did I get the cleaning completed?  No, but I am still renovating, so there's always going to be some sort of clean-up going on anyhow.

Work related - sort of

People always ask me, "How do you do it?  I would never put up with that," they say, "...the way [unnamed person] talks to you.  Why do you let them?"  Others ask, "Don't you ever feel like just leaving when it happens?"

Don't be silly - of course I do (EVERY DAY), but here's what they don't know:

Personally, I think those people are simply jealous.  [insert internal laughter]

"[Unnamed person] is mine!" I tell them, "And you can't have them."  To which the automatic, and very swift response is, "I don't want [unnamed person], you can have them!"

Yeah, that's kinda what I figured.

There are days when the thought of smacking this person upside the head with a handy portion of a broken pallet is quite appealing, but then reality creeps in. 

Where would I hide the body?

How much digging would it entail?

Would it be worth the possible jail time?

Most importantly, do I get to keep all of my paid vacation time and quarterly bonus?

Hey, it pays to be objective.

Dumfounded and Disappointed

To my immediate right is a content Odin - our one-eyed pirate cat.  Off in the distance, and high in the cat tower, is a blissfully snoozing Simon.  He is a little put off with me since I have twice now evicted his treefrog girlfriend.  That in itself is a long story, so we'll save that for another time.

You're sharp if you've noticed the odd time and date of this particular post.  If it didn't dawn on you that I penned it during work hours on a work day, don't feel badly about your sad powers of observation.  

No, I am not playing 'hooky,' per se', but I am using a little PTO because my hip pain has actually caused me to call out "uncle!" for the first time.  Not responding to the pain meds as I would expect...and I could only imagine my worthlessness in trying to work this morning, all the while praying to find a comfortable position to sit or stand in at my desk to get through the day.  And then there are the endless inspections and sorts, reviews of returned shipments, etc, etc.  Lots of hoofing around, but thankfully less of the physically aggressive outgoing inspections of thousands upon thousands of cartons for accuracy and correctness and no damage.  Oddly enough, our customers really hate the incorrectly labeled and/or damaged stuff - go figure.

Anyhow, I managed to get myself out the door and into the car this morning, but found it impossible to lift my leg comfortably enough to shift gears without complete pain.  Usually, (lately) I've been able to get myself started on a drive to wherever and ignore the feeling while driving.  More like I can distract myself - to an extent - to get the job done, only to be further pained by getting out of the car once I've arrived at my destination, and hobbling around until once again crawling back into said vehicle for the next leg of the day.  So it's no wonder by the time I get home it's all I can do to take off my shoes and settle into a comfortable position until the cats need feeding.  

Yes, Hipzilla has finally taken its toll, and I can no longer ignore it or blow off the pain.  In less than a month I will be having hip replacement surgery.  Still wrapping my head around this thought.  As a child of the '60s this is not how I thought my sixties would play out.  

As I was saying, I was on the way to work when I found myself crying from the pain.  Crying!  I mean, I have cried a couple of times now, facing the realization of what is ahead, and I am not happy over it.  And while I am not talking about my mom coming to town to stay with me (for a MONTH) - hang on, I have to cry again - I couldn't believe how that took me over.  It sidelined me.  I had to pull over to compose myself and figure out what I was going to do; go to work or turn around and go home.  I pulled back onto the freeway and drove another two miles before getting off at the first exit and stopping to text my boss.  Then I sat for a few minutes before pulling back onto the expressway to return home.

Yes!  I came home to try another round of something for pain, and ice packs.

In the meanwhile, I have eaten my 1/2 a meatloaf sandwich and had a cup of tea.  I am now drinking a large bottle of ice water and seriously contemplating a bowl of steaming cream of wheat.  The ten-year-old in me seems to think this would be the best remedy for what is ailing me.  Can't argue with ten-year-old wisdom.

So, until I write again, I hope this finds you well and free of worries and ailments.

Keep it that way.

?

Back in June, I thought I would get back to journaling a little bit here and there.  Maybe not to the extent I was 'visiting' with you (whoever you may be) in years past - when I was hopeful somebody cared to keep up with me - but maybe a brief something once in a while just to say "hello."  Something to let the world know I was actually still breathing.

However, something interrupted this little train of thought, and I never got back to it.  Perhaps my insecurities got in the way (there is quite a load of those).  Or, since it was just after returning to work following emergency surgery for an intestinal blockage...yeah, I hear you. "Ick."  Ah, or maybe I just couldn't think of anything to say.

So why is it that this entry is dated June 19th and I started off  with, "Back in June..."?

I guess I am the Simone Biles of blogging.

Time to start Christmas shopping

Yup, I'll get started now - better late than never.

Sadness

I don't go looking for it; it just shows up.  The day can be as positive as ever, but the hours come to an end and there it is. 

Is it the lonesomeness or the loneliness?  One of these feels like being endlessly homesick while the other feels like exile.  

Both are hideous (and possibly avoidable), but one is definitely given to you and the other is sought out.  Either way, with either outcome, the sadness materializes and brings you to a low you didn't see coming. Couldn't see coming.  

I should say "I" since I am speaking of my own experiences, but the little bit of distance this difference in verbiage affords me makes it seem just that much less painful.

Wow, that is a complete cop-out on my part, and I know I'm trying to fool myself.  Sad is sad, and sadness is real.  My sadness may subside over time, but how do I make it leave me alone until I am stronger?

I don't know this for certain, but I am of the frame of mind that a pill shouldn't be the way I handle it.

Is it the lonesomeness or the loneliness?  

When I reached out to a years-long friend to get together recently, and was put off several times, I wanted to believe the first one or two rejections were legitimate reasons, but the last two attempts?  Well, let me just say I now know were met with less than genuine responses; but because I wanted to believe the reasons (because the alternate thought I was entertaining was not ideal for fighting the sadness).  I hung up the phone thinking, 'some other time.'

I bought being gently rebuffed, until I found that this person ended up getting together with other people instead, and I then I fell apart inside.  Tried not to take it personally, but that is easier said than done.  This was a friend.

It's heartbreaking.

It's an eye-opener.

It's demoralizing.

It's trust-breaking.

It's a horrible way to reinforce learned behaviors - learned over a lifetime of a poor self worth.  Does anyone have any extra self-worth I can borrow, or have, or pay you for?

This all makes me feel like walking off into the distance; like disappearing and finding a new place to blend into the woodwork.  At least if I make the effort to never be seen right from the start, the lack of interaction won't hurt, as much - right?  

No boo-hooing here, just stating what I feel is the a better way to exist.

What a fool I've been (?)

Well, a friend posted this on her facey spacey timeline today, and it struck a familiar chord in me. 

There have been so many times over the last dozen years or so (truly, I think I've been haunted by this feeling for more like the last 20 years) where I question my level of stupidity and self-worth.

I can't recall < that sort of experience or memory, BUT I can vouch (with the help of hindsight) many times [stress M A N Y times] having been handed an opportunity that I let slip away because - as I told myself (convinced myself) - that it just couldn't be that easy.  Sometimes I can even envision myself not even letting those times 'slip away' so much as (I think) I ran from them.

MANY times something so wonderful and right up my ally, answer to my dreams, perfect for my skillsets, and *the EXACT* right thing I have always wanted to do with my life, materialized like a Stephen King fog and enveloped my path!  Like a gift, the perfect future was laid out before me and I thought to myself:

"This sort of thing just doesn't happen like this.  There must be a catch...or, this is a trick of some sort.  I'll be sorry if I accept the opportunity because it is just too good to be true."

Hindsight has slapped me hard, and I feel the splinters from God's 2x4 between my eyes.  I have been inattentive to His gift many times over because I did not feel the love with the offer, I only felt the shame of not being worthy.

I can only pray for one more chance, one more love tap of His 2x4 - one more chance to say, "Yes! Thank you."  

Do you think it will happen?  Will I recognize it for what it is and take the leap?

Does God love fools (enough)?

Responsible versus responsibility

For the longest time now, at work, I have been responsible for the quality issues at the DC.  Not that the WH Lead would allow me to do my job to the best of my abilities, or that he would assist me in the endeavor (because there were many instances where he handicapped my efforts whenever possible - and several of the Material Handlers have said as much).

Timeline is this:
I was hired in January 2018 -
worked under the Quality Manager (trained by and directed to perform basic menial tasks...he wanted an admin, basically).  He was pleasantly surprised that I trained easily and accomplished tasks quickly, correctly, and efficiently.  Our WH Director assigned other duties and short-range tasks to keep me busy, and because I was more than capable (she knew I would do the work and keep it to myself).

He (QM) was wooed to another facility in June 2018 -
He attempted to take over the impossible task of managing a systemic collapse at his 'new' facility assignment, while also pseudo-watching the goings on and questions that arose at our location.

By July -
we were basically on our own, borrowing moments of his time and attention that his new bosses begrudgingly spared.  I was not prepared for the everyday issues that popped up (beyond my scope) because he refused to share information or impart training that could have helped mitigate problems at a low level.  However, I managed to chronicle and respond to Sales, CSRs, management and our suppliers, to keep communication moving and prevent material returns from building up and containment issues from becoming stagnant.  Again, this was all while trying to work against the wall of opposition from the WH Lead.

August arrived -
and I was tackling problems that were, at first, understandable and easy to keep track of.  Unless a PPAP or Material Cert request popped up, or some absolutely technical debacle cropped up (which I would steer towards our Engineering staff and former Quality Mgr), I was doing well - given the circumstances.  Our WH Director was supportive and proactive, and she sought to understand my role and functions (as she met with the Quality Manager and myself to better define my tasks and abilities in his absence).  She wanted to delegate more responsibility my way, which was fine.  All of that would require some training and direction (again, which I was ok with), but the training and hand-off of responsibility would never come.

September thru December -
came and went; no movement was made in finding a replacement for the QM role (mostly because he didn't want to replace himself).  We had our year-end inventory, which I was not included in, and then enjoyed a pleasant holiday break.

Also somehow, through this same time period, the WH Lead was allowing an alarming number of mis-pulled and mislabeled materials to leave the facility.  These growing issues greatly annoyed our customers and resulted in a lot of fees, returns, and 8D situations.  He was told to watch the one very responsible party in his shipping crew creating the bulk of trouble, but never did.  This would become a very unmanageable situation for him because he refused to take responsibility.  His 'fix' would become my new task - 95% of my new workload for the coming year.

January 2019 -
Upon the return to activities in the new year, our DC Director made the announcement she would be retiring - which, I guess, she did every year.  No one held their breath, but her attitude did seem lighter in some respects and more fretful in others.  Her most immediate goal was to work with our former QM (my now non-boss) to find his replacement at the DC.

Sometime late in January A-dude joined the team as a year-long temp Quality Manager.  If he proved himself, he would be hired the following year.  If not, well...

Things went from worse-than-bad to WTH?! at breakneck speed.  By the time A-dude showed up, I had already been 100% inspecting every effing labeling job leaving the WH.  Every label on EVERY package.  Add that monumental chore to the other tasks of my own that I could now not even get to, and you have a big problem growing.  Then there was the added strife of training A-dude (trying to train, that is).

He was a man dressed in Teflon and stale-smelling clothing, doused in too much old cologne.  Not only did he smell (literally), he stank at his job, too.  He wouldn't learn because his MO was to find others to do his work for him.  I figured it out early, and after a lot of wasted time trying to repeatedly show him how to use our AX system, I opted to remove myself from his workforce and use the 100% verifications as my salvation.  Besides that, he was not my responsibility.  He could learn to sink or swim another way.

Over time, he and the WH Lead tried to join forces in an effort to remove me from my position.  I had the support of those who knew my work and my capabilities, and would not let them park 'the bus' they were driving on me, but that didn't prevent the work situation from becoming a cluster "f."

December -
A-dude was a waste of money and time, and it only took the company ten months to figure that out.  In between, our lovely Director did retire (mid-year) and was replaced by another female figurehead.  My new Quality boss began shadowing - and cleverly questioning - A-dude to learn the scope (and status) of all the customer issues, and let me know I was not alone.  By...

January thru June 2020 -
I was once again working with, and I still am, our new Quality Manager - and what a difference. [happy sigh]

Now we're doing it during the Covid era, but we are working as a team, and it's been better.

Of course we have a long way to go but at least we are getting there together.  We have tackled a big learning curve and become a good team.  She has given me knowledge and responsibility, and I try to back her up where I can.  She knows she can count on me, and routinely throws things my way - and this has proven her trust in my ability, which I am grateful for.

There's still a lot to do, but it doesn't feel insurmountable any longer.

I am feeling fairly low right now

Do you know how easy it is to do nothing?

Do you know how hard it is on a person to do nothing?

How could they forget?

I told the lads several times that I was taking a couple of days off, and still they insist on waking me up ahead of the non-existent alarm.  Even with a reminder last night at bedtime, they powered in around 5:30 this morning (just as the birds were realizing the sun was soon to rise) and insisted I wake up and provide them with attention, a tent, food, attention, attention, attention.

I'm thinking midday nap.

And on it goes

The first hot and muggy weekend of the year.  We've had warm days, yes, but these are the sorts of weather days that foreshadow (for me) the worst part of the year.

Yes, that's right.  I said it.  Summer is my least favorite time of year - I do not enjoy hot temps.  Any time the mercury rises over 70...that's it, I'm out.  Dry heat, muggy heat, it doesn't matter.  Heat is meant to cook food, not people.

Yesterday was quite enough, and today is going to push me over the red line.  Right over the edge.  Past my limit.  Oh my, and there are three solid months ahead now of 'summer' heat to come. 

I'm melting...melting.

Send bags of ice, please.

What a funny week

I finally took some time off - and I mean really took time.  Using the first of my accrued vacation days for the year, and had every intention to drive to mom's for a visit, but due to restrictions being lifted, and the influx of selfish drivers on the highway, coupled with a weekend holiday...it made sense to remain home instead.  Sad but true.

The first day of my self-inflicted furlough boasted a scheduled doctor visit (which was harder than hen's teeth to get).  I found one of my freckles had gone rogue around two - maybe three - months ago, becoming red and itchy, tender and flaking.  But what really concerned me was the way it mounded where it used to be flat.  It took a failed attempt at a virtual call with a doctor, and for her to realize I was saying I have a reason to be seen and not just virtually heard, that culminated in an actual face-to-face meeting...thankfully.

I worked Monday through Thursday afternoon, then gleefully ran out the building for a long, five-day weekend.  Yes, that's right.  I had scheduled the equivalent to a work week of days off, and whether I lazed them away, or crammed every nook and cranny full of needful activities had yet to be seen.

Here we are now exactly halfway through my break, and I can honestly say it's looking like a solid mix of good intentions has become 70% 'laze' and 30% 'gave it a good shot at accomplishment.'  [insert laughter here]  Do I have high hopes of bettering the outcome on the 'getting-something-done' side?  Mmmmm...I dunno.

Anyhow, back to the doctor visit.
After looking at the bugger on my forearm, the doctor shared my concern and decided it was best not to leave it in place.  He quickly set up to perform a "punch biopsy," and we got down to business.  The photo shows one day after the event.  I was told to change the bandage, perhaps clean it up a bit; no scrubbing, but a sudsy rinse, air dry and application of antibiotic ointment before covering again.

Mission accomplished.

In between the biopsy and this morning I bought a new riding lawnmower and cut 5/6ths of the front jungle, washed one load of laundry, cleaned a small section of the garage, searched the internet for stuff, paid bills, chatted with both of my sons (and my mom), and baked a bit.  I still need to get to the grocery store for cat food, milk, more flour, fruit and salad items, orange juice, and one or two other items.  Let's see how well I do today.

The end of this coming week will find me at the doc's office to have the sutures removed and (hopefully) learn the down-low on the creature he carved out of my arm.  This particular morning began dark and wet, but the sun is currently shining and I see no reason not to try and free up more space on the garage floor - do you?  But first I believe I will look at the weather forecast to see if it's changed for the better or stayed the same.

What are you up to today?

Life goes on

When this whole quarantine thing began I made the choice to send Karl away - in the off-chance I really did come in to contact with someone who really had the virus, I would not be endangering him.  With his asthma (and the double heart infection a few years back), there were no two ways about it.  He could not remain here with me being out and about.

The kid has been holed up with his father for two months.  At the time, he was not happy in the least, and refused to pack more than two of anything (underwear, t-shirts, night clothes, etc.), thinking there would be a quick determination that everything would be a fast whirlwind of activity and panic, then all would return to a scary sort of normal.  Well, we all know how this has gone, don't we.

After all of these weeks, he's still not happy, but he's not as sour over it any longer, either.  Every so often I will make the drive to visit and drop off banana bread or dinner dishes (because there isn't a whole lot of home cooking going on there), spare clothes (which he turned out to be truly grateful for), his desk chair, an Easter basket, books, his favorite tea; you know, basic POW packages but with an additional pay-off.

I miss him.  So when I take him something, I cash get to in, too.  Just seeing him replenishes my lonely heart.  On my last trek I took banana bread (two loaves they could share), tea, fig newtons and a hug!  Yup, we did - and he initiated it!  And what's more amazing, he has lost some weight - quite a bit from the way his pants were cinched and pleated.  He doesn't think so, and somehow he's not feeling it...but he looks so good.  This has been a Covid blessing, and I couldn't be happier.

Of course, it will be wonderful to have him back home - when it's safe - but for now it's pretty good.  Life goes on and we will be back to all things normal eventually.

Another year around the sun completed

There, there's that finished and I'm still here. Nyah-nyah.

Heartache and grief didn't kill me.
This Covid19 thingy is out there, so time will tell; 'til then, still ticking.
Elusive employers & a lack of interviews hasn't kept me from breathing.
Driving alongside absolute idiots in cars on I-75 daily - still here.
Last May's heart episode - and subsequent double concussion - HA!
Shed pounds; found more; lost others; holding my own.
Survived the horror of a would-be Quality Engineer. Buh-bye.

The morning is evaporating quickly, so I must get up and move on with this day.  Even though I will still be here when it is finished, the time will be lost.

Moving on - sort of

I've been wanting to write lately ("lately" equating to from around December 2019 to about now), but ran into a couple of technical issues that kept me from the blog.  As you can tell, things are right again (for the time being), so here we are, and here we go.

It's a bright, beautiful Saturday afternoon.  The boys are cuddled up and napping, and since Odin currently is hunkered in 'the tent', I feel obliged to remain in bed, too.  Yes!  It's after 7:45AM and I am still in bed, so calm your jets.  Do I have a lot of things to get to...things I should already have accomplished after all of these weeks of flying solo?  That would be an emphatic "YES" (- doesn't everyone?), but I seem to have skillfully managed to fritter away so many weekends finishing very little after starting so much.  [grimacing]

Let's blame it on:
 - the doldrums, or
 - the blues, or
 - rewarding myself with weekend laziness for having made it through another week, or
 - Covid19.  Goodness knows this pandemic is the root of all unhappiness at present.

Oh, and in case you've lost track, my lovely girls are all gone now.  Old age and health issues have taken sweet, outgoing, robust Cleo, her glorious-but-skittish litter sister (and Blue Cream Maine Coon) Flop, and lastly our mouthy mama bean Hobbes.

After Clee and Flop departed we found Hobbes was depressed and lonely in the kitty partner category, so we adopted/rescued an older sweet street waif - a gentleman through and through - we named "Jake."  He was in worse than rough condition, and diagnosed with extremely advanced FIV (feline AIDS), but none of that could tarnish the desire to add him to our brood.  Jake was priceless and one of a kind, but besides all of that, he deserved a home and an easier future (for whatever remained of it) - even though it only ended up lasting 5.5 months.

November found us looking for another companion for 'Beana', and she was quickly joined by a totally different sort of brute in the form of an immense Red Maine Coon we dubbed "Booker."  Book was a thin-ish juvenile (judged to be around three years of age by the rescue vet), rambunctious and rag-tag in his furriness.  He needed some love and care, and a place where he could learn to feel safe once again.  He hated my crying over Jake from time to time, and had no issue hissing at me to express his dissatisfaction.  I have to admit to being somewhat terrified at his full-faced hisses, and lack of desire to be held, so it's little wonder there was good cause for confusion and trepidation about this new addition.

While he and Beana were excellent company from the start, we humans were held at bay in the get-to-know-you arena.  I should say that was true more for me than Karl.  Book took to Karl at the beginning more than to myself, and I had a hard time adjusting to the whole thing in general.  Don't get me wrong, I loved Booker - I wanted to show him this - but we did not hit it off at the first, and I am not an inwardly patient person.  Outwardly, people see me very differently...but this is of little consequence to the story at hand.

A few months later we came to the end of Hobbes' earthly reign, and it was time to search for a companion for Booker.  This was not going to be easy or straight forward...and perhaps Book would have been alright as a solo house cat but, truth-be-told, I needed to have another kitty.  After all, this had been a three kitty household (and family) for the better part of twenty years!

Once again our purveyor of rescue cats, Dottie (the bringer of Booker and Jake), stepped up to ferry a new rescue into our lives in the form of Odin (formerly dubbed "Possum").  His hard luck story has been told here before, so I won't bore you with it again.  If you need to review, you can find it by clicking the label "Odin," and all entries pertaining to our little rapscallion will be at your beck and call.

It took very little time to get the boys integrated - granted, it took more time than other introductions had in our shifting feline dynamics - but less than it could have with these two strong male personalities.  Before long, they were comfortable and silly with one another, and we had a working, co-habitating family once more.  If you haven't seen it, I put together a very short photo display of the two boys ("the Twins" as we called them), and I will try to locate it and include it in the blog.  It shows Booker and Odin, in napping form - and always, ALWAYS with Odin inching closer to Book, until one day...boo yaka shah! [thanks for that, Faraaz]

After less than three years in our arms and beds, and everywhere in between, Booker's time on earth  came to an abrupt end.  It took the rest of August and all of September for Karl to allow even the possibility of finding a new addition to our family.  Odin was in tremendous need, and I was, too, but Karl was torn apart and unable to permit himself the thought of another addition.  So, one day while he was out and I ran errands, I came across a roadside rescue event...and the rest is history.

Moving on is not always easy, but it isn't always difficult either, it's just a process.  Sometimes the process is messy or protracted.  Sometimes the process requires additional steps to be added to the flow chart.  Sometimes you don't have anything more to the process other than simply getting up each and every day and surviving until the sun sets and you crawl back into bed.  This is where I have been lately, stuck in the get-up-go-do-make-it-through-and-get-back-to-safety routine.  I am trying to put distance between myself and my miserable recent past.  Depression, the doctor said, and here's a pill for it.

Well, I said "no thanks" - maybe it was a wrong decision, I know it cheesed off one friend - and I am still finding my way around the fuzzy corners and through dark mental hallways.  It looks (in my emotional-mentals) like a long dark space (not unlike a wide corridor), and every so often I come upon what I swear would be a doorway.  There's a narrow beam of light piercing the gloom, as if from under a closed door, but when I get to the wall where the 'door' should be to feel for a doorknob or handle, there's nothing.  I get down on my belly to look under the door, but have the distinct feeling of fear that I am far too close to the edge of being on that floor and falling over instead of seeing something tangible in the space where the light is existing. 

Sorry, that's the best way of describing how it feels.  It makes taking chances seem futile and overwhelmingly frightening, and so it is safer to keep to myself.  Don't reach out; leave your hands at your sides and be careful.  See, it feels if I reach out - instead of receiving help - I might actually accidentally push people (family, friends) away...over the edge and out of my life.  If I do nothing, if I keep my hands to myself, I won't be doing any unintended harm.  Does that makes sense?  Don't pull people down and don't push them.

Maybe I am doing it all wrong, but I am also not moving forward (good) or backward (not so good).  However, I'm also not moving on.

[sigh]

Impostors

This is not a random thought, just something I wanted to get off my chest.  
However, I may have written it in a random way, and for that I apologize.

People at work who are "team leads" or "managers", but who do not know how to lead or create team mentality, and who only manage to create chaos, create backlash from their favoritism practices, and put discourse in place from their own backstabbing and setting people one against the other...those are the impostors.

Impostors practice incessant lying and covering up of things gone wrong, making masses of issues and stacks of boxes, and tempers flare.  There is one expert impostor in the White House (and he's put many more like himself - they're called 'yes men' - in places of power) slinging his malicious brand of subterfuge and ignorance.  We are all suffering because of this buffoon impostor.

Even our new HR rep accused me of 'trying to pull one over on the new guy' when I brought to his attention a pervasive problem regarding my vacation time.  I thought I'd found a fresh set of ears to listen and help me figure it out and fix the oversight.  Fortunately, he finally ended up looking further than his ego (and initial perception of my request), and righted the wrong.  I just couldn't believe his initial response was to whitewash it by accusing me of trying to cheat the company out of something I had earned and was entitled to, rather than to listen with an open mind.

Our specific building is chockablock full of impostors in positions of leadership, and they have no idea of what they are doing - except when they practice their crap skills, totally intending to create chaos in other directions to keep the eyes of scrutiny engaged in looking in the wrong place, and not focused on problems caused by the impostor's own inadequacies.

Impostors light a fuse then stand back and watch with glee.

Atomic boom.

Still just grieving

It will happen some day - of this I am certain, but at present I can't stop crying over Booker - and for Jake in a small way, too.  My beautiful first lads - gone far too soon.

When we rescued Jakey, it was a spur of the moment decision which I will never regret.  Never.  He deserved so much more time to enjoy life - a better life than the one he'd been dealt, and there's just no shaking that thought.  Going into it we knew he had FIV, and it was apparent that the insidious disease had taken quite a toll on Jake's body from whiskers to toes - but it didn't matter.  

He was barely making it when someone blessedly decided to save this skeletal frame of a cat from the meager existence he'd come to know.  I am grateful it happened, but that feeling of gratitude is fundamentally tied to another feeling I almost can't put my finger on.  It's a feeling of incredulity, I think.  At least, it's the closest thing I can identify that makes sense. 

Why did it take so long for another person to recognize his loveliness (despite the grime and missing fur, the sunken eyes, and the nonstop drooling; the frightening countenance he couldn't help)?  

His character was sweet and trusting, and he was loving beyond comprehension for everything he endured.  That was the way he presented himself if you stopped to really experience him, but you would have to make yourself look beyond (or behind) the outward appearance to do so.  Not many people did, but for me it was something about his eyes that drew me in and and held my heart. 

As cheated as I feel for Karl and myself, I can't help crying for Jake's sake that we couldn't have given him more - more time for love, warmth, clean surroundings, plentiful food and water, companionship...a family.  Simply put: just more time.

I fell in love with Jake in a fleeting glance.  Karl was a little reticent after having just lost Flop (and just before her, Cleo), but he became smitten once we met Jake face-to-face.  This scrawny, scarred, lack-of-fur, toothless and drooling thing charged out of his kennel and into our arms, as though we were long-lost family members - and that sealed the deal.  We were his family as much as he would be our boy.  He was the missing link in our clan, and there was no denying it was the right thing to do.

Sadly, his days were numbered; we knew it was a matter of maybe a year, but it was a year we would commit to wholeheartedly and unreservedly.  

As it turned out, the end was not to be that far off.  His poor body had endured all it could of the ravages of FIV, and despite multiple vet trips and doses of antibiotics to kill off the recurring respiratory infections, he let us know he was tired and ready to move on to a less painful place. 

Five and one-half months passed so quickly.  Too quickly.

Oh, Jake... I love and miss you, so, so much.

Booker was the young man Dottie brought to our care not long thereafter, and he was quite a change from Jake.  Pounds and pounds of difference.  We went from emaciated drooling happiness (and mostly white all over) to hissing orange pounds of fear.  Whenever I slipped into a teary mode thinking of Jake, Booker would find me and peal off a fearful face of teeth and a horrifying hiss.  Had it not been for the fact that he had once been someone's cat (this was clear because he had been neutered and front declawed), I would have feared Booker's behavior more.  For me, he presented as a feral cat, but with Dottie he was a mushy lad.  Even with Karl he was calm and accepting of some attention, so I hoped it would be just a matter of time.

Over time, Booker and I developed a love and companionship, and he became my shadow.  If I left a room, he followed immediately.  We talked and shared chairs, and he would ask to be held from time to time!  He loved my stitching, and anticipated those hours in the day when I would sit and stitch, and he would watch excitedly as the needle would rise and fall, dragging the tempting string through the material.  Oh, how he trembled at the thought of catching the threads and silk pieces, and every once in a great while would leave his comfy corner of the bed to climb onto a small perch on the chair just to be closer to the action!  His silly joy with being given a go at my threads brings a smile to my aching heart. 

Book wasn't to be here as long as we anticipated.  A small lump was detected on his lower jaw, which grew quickly through the late summer.  He was taken in for dental work in August and the x-rays showed the mass was actually an out of control, inoperable cancer.  The doctor was very kind and asked how we wanted to proceed. 

We spoke of letting him return home with doses of heavy medication to keep him comfortable for a number of weeks, but that would only give us time to say goodbye - it would not be the decent thing to do to Booker.  The other choice was to have them end the procedure and put him down while he was still groggy.  Neither option was ideal, and to choose between the only two presented was heartbreaking. 

Well, from here you know the rest of the story.  I suppose this is why/how I lost my stitching mojo, and why I am not feeling capable of producing any handwork at present.  Perhaps soon the fog will lift, but until that happens I am surviving only on getting up each day and just going back and forth to work, looking for opportunities for Karl to find employment, and performing the least of the mundane daily routine items.  Well, mundane, save for one additional little occupant in the house.

We have a new friend for Odin, who was most sorely missing Booker.  Book's departure left Odin lost and confused; spending hours every day crying out for his big buddy, endlessly searching the house from one end to the other.  Karl couldn't think on replacing Book, and would not entertain looking at faces online to find another needy prospect to fill out our family, so one weekend I took matters into my own hands, and that is how Simon came to be.  He is helping to replace some of the grief with his silly antics, but everything about this is going to take time.  More on our new family member another time.

See you on the other side.

What a difference a week makes

I spent last weekend at work. 

Yup, you read that right - "at work"! 

I know, I know.  Who does that, right?  You spend five days in a row getting out of bed, (usually) disappointed at the prospect for the next nine-plus hours - unless you have *a job that brings you joy and satisfaction, and friendships that keep you encouraged throughout your hours and years together.  

Side note: I have actually had *that in two jobs over my lifetime (but if you know me, you would know that this is not a good average, as I have had too many jobs over my lifetime...and pauses in between for life's intrusions and national economic setbacks), so I know it can happen.

At any rate, I am not at work this weekend, even though the enticement of a real hourly wage (read as overtime pay - woohoo!) would've been enough to have me return for another round of labeling. 

No, last week I signed up to help relabel product on Saturday because the advent of 8 hours of OT pay was going to be a welcome boon towards outstanding obligations.  And then [insert ominous musical notes here] we were sent home hours early, but asked if we wanted to work Sunday for five to six hours (AT DOUBLE TIME)!  No idiot turns that down, right?

This idiot didn't.

Sunday, we were once again sent home hours early, so our expectations were not met.  Yes, we had several hours of extra pay - very nice - but when management asks folks to be at the building at 6AM (or even 7AM), for a forecast period of time, and then changes the day and monetary expectations drastically...well, that's not cool.  The whole thing about actually being there early (when you are only just normally getting up to begin with) is one thing - and yes, it was my choice to go in Saturday, but the understanding was the time/pay was for 8 hours.

You think twice about ignoring an extra-early wake-up call for a mere four hours.  Trust me.

Today, Karl and I have dental obligations, and I have an additional medical 'date' (which I rescheduled to help last weekend), and didn't feel like trying to reschedule any of it again, so I avoided rising to an early alarm.  Nope, I just let the two ding-a-lings perform their usual shenanigans at 5AM....BUT, I didn't have to dress and drive - and that's the difference a week makes.

Life goes on

Made it through week 3 with our new 'assistant'. 

Someone asked how it was I could "replace" Booker so easily, and I almost burst into tears at the thought.  I was affronted by their thoughtlessness when I really should have felt sorry for their ignorance (or simpleminded attitude).  We weren't replacing Booker; we found an assistant who could help Odin out of his grief.  Although, perhaps we were replacing Odin's loneliness with companionship.

Be assured there is no way we could ever replace Booker - ever.  But, Odin had a need and that was clear.  We weren't about to shirk our responsibility to him.

Let's face it, humans are OK as slaves to their cats, but we are far from perfect buddies and playmates.  Oh, sure, we supply food, water, doody control, warm laps when required, catnip, new toys, clean linen for their queen-sized beds, good head scrubs and belly rubs, and on and on...but we are not the be all and end all when it comes to the perfect companions. 

Some cats need other cats around to either share every waking moment with or ignore with impunity (whilst following one another around the house all day long).  Aloof?  Absolutely not.  Indifferent at times, sure.  Independent?  Absolutely true, but also dependent and faithful and loving.  But do they pick and choose when or if they are going to favor us with their time and company?  Oh, yeah baby, and I'm OK with that.  But between cats - whether siblings or randomly adopted clowders - they are much happier and healthier when they have companionship. 

Our new little crazy man has been assimilated lock, stock and barrel, and we couldn't be happier with the outcome.  Simon has been inserted into our family dynamic, and Odin is much happier.  He is no longer wondering the house from top to bottom, crying out for Booker for hours on end.  That stress would have taken a horrible toll on his FIV-infected body, and that was not an option I was willing to take chances with.  Simon is the guardian of Odin's well-being now, and he is up to that task.  An older adoptee wouldn't have been the same sort of 'assistant' at this time, but when our next big change takes place, our lives and hearts are open to another lovely soul joining our clowder.