Random Acts

I was getting coffee in the kitchen this morning…which also happens to be PDitty’s office…and she asked me if I make anywhere close to 30k a year. I had to laugh at her. I told her that BossLady was acting like I was receiving a gift when she put me at what she did…which comes nowhere close to that amount. Apparently, she found a replacement for me…and even at part time, she was insisting on 30. Christ, I guess one would have to be making that kind of money to put up with this shit, but the idea that she was even considering that our income comes close is a little amusing. The yard laborers don’t even get overtime for chrissake. It’s sad really, that the labor market is so poor that they not only feel ok paying someone less than they’re worth, but someone asking for a decent living is laughed off as being greedy and ridiculous. I was there with ANuS. When I asked them for $15 and hour, they thought I was being arrogant. “This isn’t LA” they scoffed. Right. At least they don’t pay minimum wage here, but it’s sad that they are so stingy. Perhaps more people would stay if they weren’t. Perhaps I would have stayed. A little longer, anyway.
BossLady is coming back on Monday. They want me to wait to talk to her, and I’m not quite sure why. The chain of command here is confusing at best, and I’m sure the fact that all of the decisions are left to her is one of the reasons why she excapes to England for a few weeks out of the year. PD and MotherBossLady want me to stay part time. I don’t know what the queen has to say about it, but, I’m sure they can’t wait to find out. I’m ready for this to be my last day. I have better things to do than to go through timecards and make sure all the dates are on them. If they would just buy some fucking laser printer checks, I wouldn’t have to wait for the payables people to finish their crap. Not to mention stressing about whether it’s lined up properly and printing out right. I’ve been through the batch report twice. Piles of crap are sitting on my desk…and I wish they would just hire Ms.30k so I can go home right now and detox from this place.

It felt like Friday would never come. This week has dragged on so slowly, and my Fruit and I are exhausted. Around 12:30 yesterday afternoon, I decided to leave work to take my girl to lunch. She was starving…and I was missing her…so the hour’s drive to her office was absolutely nothing compared to the thought of riding out the day feeling guilty about not having packed her a lunch this morning. When I worked for the PD, we used to have lunch together almost every day. We had our special eating spots mapped out, and counted the hours until we would be together again. Sometimes I miss those days. I miss the days when the PD wasn’t so stressful, and I actually believed them when they told me that I was doing a great job. I miss dropping my girl off at her office, and picking her up at the end of the day. We still had quality time together even though we were both working full time, and it felt amazing. Things have been very different since I started working closer to home after we moved. I am so bored at work…and even though they treat me well enough, I can’t stand myself when I come home tired and drained…unable to do anything but sit on the couch until bed time. I have short-timer syndrome very bad. I got to work fifteen minutes late yesterday and was gone three hours to take care of my Fruit. Surprisingly, I did more in the two hours I was back in the office than I had the previous days. I figured out some more payroll procedures that we should have been following, and got the majority of the timecards entered in the database to print this morning. I think this should be my last day. I want to be free…unbound by BigHo and their demands…the demands of the 9 to 5:30 and all the cattiness of the women who work there. I still don’t trust anybody. They all talk behind each other’s backs and bitch to anyone who appears to have an available ear. I’m sick of the “Do you have a minute”s and “Come into BossLady’s office”s…the presumptuous, “I need help”s that mean I should drop everything I’m doing to accomodate their immediate need. I’m sick of walking on eggshells around the family who owns the place, and trying to look busy when I can’t wrap my head around my job. It’s easy work…if you know what it is you’re supposed to be doing. But, they don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing.
I’ve been thinking of all the jobs I’ve had in the past…and all the spoiled children I work with now. Prego1’s mother has been talking incessantly about her children and trying to give other parents in the store advice. It gets very tiresome overhearing this crap from my desk in the corner. She said yesterday that there was a study done that children return home three times before they make it on their own. Prego1 is still living with her mother…and now her husband-to-be. It always seemed a bit odd to me. When I was finally out on my own…knocked out on my ass…the last thing I ever would have done was go back. I could probably count on my two hands the amount of times I went to my parent’s house since I turned 18. My mother was so bitter about me getting my first apartment that she never once laid eyes on it. I took whatever work I could that would pay the bills…and got lucky a few times, eventually falling into IT. Now I’m completely burnt out…and I don’t think it does anyone any good to be burnt out at 25. I don’t know what I would be doing now if my Fruit didn’t rescue me. I would probably still be doing the same crap job, unaware as to why I was so depressed. But, no matter what I would be doing…I would never turn tail and go back home. I also never would know what I want to do with my life.
On a cigarette break yesterday, Pditty and Mditty were ripping on housewives. PD was saying that they should all come to her house and see how it is…and MD was bitching about how her mother was a housewife and needed everything to be immaculate…and gets angry when her room is a mess. It was such a childish conversation, I thought. I want our house to be clean enough that we will never be embarassed to have anyone over. I would like our children to at least be able to walk in their rooms and never have food trash inside. It doesn’t have to be immaculate, but, it would be nice if they knew the value of living in a clean home. My Fruit and I grew up in opposite environments in that sense. The homes of my childhood were a health hazard…and hers never seemed to have a spot of dust. I think we’ve met halfway, and I want to take care of our home and ensure that my family has a healthy environment. I don’t understand what their problem is…and it pissed me off to have to listen to it. Maybe it was a ploy to get me to stay…and maybe I’m just reading too much into everything. Just a little longer, and this will all be over. A little longer, and I will be home for my Fruit.

The days have been dragging by so slowly…and I’m finding it more and more difficult to wake up. I don’t know why I’m so tired. My Fruit let me oversleep this morning, and I feel so guilty for not having been up with her sooner. She didn’t seem upset, but I am…maybe a little too much. I’ve been sleeping like shit and I’m not sure why. Strange dreams have been haunting me every day this week, and I awaken more drained than when I went to bed in the first place. I started taking my pills at night…and maybe that has something to do with it…or it could just be that my final week is approaching, and I’ve completely shut down in anticipation. There is a big sign on the wall before you exit the store that had been striking me all day yesterday. It’s a big white sign with two horse’s asses with western style writing wishing “Happy Tails To You” as you leave. I should have taken them up on that offer much sooner.
At lunch yesterday, I sat outside with my glasses off…watching the blur of traffic go by and the glowing sun drenching the field across the street. I wondered if this kind of vision is what spawned impressionism…even though I know that is probably ridiculous. The blur reminded me of some Van Gogh paintings…with the splattering blends of color and undulating shadows and light. I wondered where everyone was off to in such a hurry at one o’clock in the afternoon. There is an odd clustering of people here in this valley. There are newcomers like us who came for the affordable, large houses…and there are the ones like the family that runs the store who have had ranches here for years…before the development started, and their ranch lands gave way to track homes and strip malls. I don’t think I’ve ever lived anywhere with such ties to its history. In the San Fernando Valley, all we really knew was that there were once orange groves and orchards where the concrete gardens now stand. There was no rail culture…and the people from Los Angeles began to trickle in for much the same reason as we did here. My parents remembered when the Valley wasn’t so developed, but by the time I was born the only thing close to its rural past were a few farms on the far reaches of the west valley surrounded by busy streets. I wonder if it will seem like that for our children here…or if the people here will hold onto their land and their past. I have always lived in a valley. The surrounding mountains are like an internal compass…and a protective wall from the outside world. There are bugs here I’ve never seen before…animals I’ve only witnessed on camping trips. Seeing horses was a rare experience before…and now they can be seen riding at sunset down the backroads home, and in their stalls on the way to work every day. I have such an intense feeling of having settled down…whatever that means. I remember hearing that expression ad nauseum when I was younger…”When you find someone and settle down”. I never was very roudy…except for maybe in my last years of high school. I always felt like I was settled before, because I was working every day and being a functioning adult…independent of parents or safety nets. Now I guess it’s that I have a home, and know what I want to do with my life. I want to have children and raise a family. I am not thirsty for material successes. I am not thinking of myself like I once did. My mind and pace have changed, and I’m ready to plan for the future as it is just around the proverbial corner. Our future family is almost tangible now, and I am no longer preceding my thoughts of them with, “When I am older…”. I have met the woman I dreamed of for years…the one I want to spend the rest of my life with…the one I want to grow old with. I have the house and the dog…the cats…two cars and a big garage. I have all those things that seemed so far out of reach just a few short years ago…the things I would get so excited about that it felt like waiting would be excruciating. I guess in a way it was. We have been so excited about my coming home. My Fruit has been making little comments about it…every time she cleans something up or when she comes home to food on the table and the bed made. We will have so much more time to spend together now, and I am so anxious to start…anxious to have her relax once she comes through the door, and able to do the things she wants to without the guilt of other tasks to be done. I have been wanting to start painting again for days…and the blank canvas calls to me for the first time in many years. I have even been feeling the urge to reconnect with the friends I left behind. I have always had a knack for disappearing…and none of them know how to reach me anymore. Perhaps I do that on purpose…so that I have the control…so that I can be the one to extend a hand when the time is right for me. Perhaps that is immature…and it is the way things had always been. Maybe I’ve abandoned them because they still have ties to the ex…ties I want nothing to do with. Perhaps it is all too surreal to me that life as I know it goes on whether I am there or not. Tamburger has graduated from college already…Fern is getting married in a few years…and who the hell knows what Matt is doing anymore. These people were the center of my adolescence…and as an adult, I guess I want to see that they are ok…and that we still have something in common besides our past. That has always been something that bothers me. I hate when our conversations revolve around the way things used to be. High school was never something I considered to be my glory days…and it really is something that should only be relived…if ever…once ever decade. I have moved on…life has gone on…and I am ready to start living for the family I love, and pick up the pieces of myself that I had put away for safekeeping.

I was contemplating the things I would and would not miss at this place when I leave…and the list of won’ts seems to grow longer every day.

I won’t miss:
The stench of refuse and mildew that emanates from the bathroom…
Squatting over the toilet for fear of my ass touching the seat…
Washing my hands and having them feel dirtier than before I washed them…
Rats…
The full strip of fly paper hanging from the ceiling in my office…
The fake horse head that seems to watch my every move with its evil, hollow eyes…
The layer of filth that seems to coat everything no matter how hard you try to clean it…
The stench of all varieties of refuse that emanates from the customer bathrooms…
The customers…
Counting drawers and making change…
Running reports…
Solving stupid computer issues as they arise…
Explaining that being a former sysadmin does not qualify me to work on a problem dot matrix…
Allergies…
Drama…
Tweakers…
Stacks of paper in the “Confidential” folder that bears my name…
SodLady and her many sets of twins…
Boogers on scroll mice…
Filing…
Hole Punching…
Calculating…
Calling the accountant and database tech support woman for problems that are our own doing…
The smell of sweat up at the registers…
The way my feet sound on the ever-dirty floor…
Bugs…
Arbitrary conversation…
Smiling and nodding as if I give a good goddamn.
Counting the hours until it’s time to go home…
And the list goes on…

Things I will miss…

A paycheck…
PDitty and MDitty…
Cigarette breaks…
And the list stops.

It is so time to go home.

My poor Fruit is sick, and off to work anyway. It’s late in the morning…and I should be getting ready to leave, myself. Her compulsion to be at work reminds me of how I used to be…how they used to have to send me home…even when I had strep throat. Her dedication amazes me..even when she hates her job…when she’s tired and drained, and the last thing she wants to do is wake up early in the morning. I love my Fruit more every day and I can’t wait to be home to take care of her. I’ve got another day of churning out numbers ahead of me…another day of guessing what it is that I’m supposed to be doing and hoping that I’m doing it right, despite the fact that I really don’t care anymore. I see how they have tried to take advantage of me…and it angers me that I let them. It’s not my job to order supplies…nor is it my job to count the drawers or do the midday reports. It’s not even my job to really do anything anymore, because I’m leaving…and I’m tired…and my will has shut down in anticipation of coming home. I should be leaving the house right now to get there on time…and I’m still in my boxers and a tank top…hair and teeth unbrushed and eyes burning from poor sleep. The coffee this morning only succeeded in upsetting my stomach…and I am so incredibly tired. I can’t even imagine how my poor Fruit is feeling right now…probably on the freeway already, fighting nausea and pushing her way through another day. If I were home, I would drive her in if she insisted…and pick her up when she’s ready to come home. I would make sure she had a good lunch and pills for her upset stomach. I would baby her until she felt better, and change the subject so she wouldn’t be allowed to feel guilty for being home. My priorities have changed so much since we’ve been married. It’s not that family wasn’t a priority before, but, work and home aren’t even close to being equal in comparison. If I have to stay home to take care of them, it’s infinitely more important than anything I could be doing for any company. My sweet Fruit, I hope you start feeling better…and I hope you’ll come home if you decide it’s too much. I love you with all my heart, and I will take good care of you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

I’m not sure what it phenomena causes it, but it seems that the store is incapable of hiring a single sane person in any consecutive time span. Every day I think that “today is the weirdest one of all”, but I realize in retrospect that it the same brand of crazy, just a different flavor. PDitty, one of my inventory friends, hired Tweaker McGee on Thursday last week…for reasons unknown, really. I sat in on the interview and I thought the guy needed some help more than he needed a job. MDitty, PDitty’s replacement, and I went outside for a cigarette break this afternoon and were greeted by TMG sitting at the tables. I think we had been talking for a good few minutes when he interjected about how weird it is that everyone knows he’s a marine. Hmm…we didn’t know, but, ok TMG…go on and tell us about the fifty guys you killed in Kuwait with your brother and how hard it is for you to talk about it. He goes on this tangent for quite a while…only stopping to smack his head and proclaim that he can’t stop thinking. MDitty looked like she was going to bust up quite a few times. Every sporadic second of silence, the two of us tried to resume the conversation we were having with each other…changing the obvious sore topic that TMG brought up all on his own. It seemed to be to no avail, when he randomly asks us if we’ve ever chugged a coke and wonders if it hurts everybody’s throat. Good job, TMG…a self-proclaimed party animal. I’m not sure what he was getting at…but I doubt that there was ever a point to be made. Much like the topic of this post. We decided later, though, that TMG and GSWanna-Be would be the perfect couple. Both are incredibly stupid, neither have anything to say, and both LOVE to hear themselves speak. It all adds one more level of stupidity and drama to this odd little mix we call BigHo.
Sometimes I can’t tell if they want me to stay or go…and then it occurs to me that I don’t care…which should be the answer to my question. At the very least, they have all provided me with comical fodder that I would love to write up in short story form…focusing on a day in the life of each one. There were several times today when I looked at PDitty or MDitty and asked if something really just happened…like GSWanna-Be informing me that I have a phone call. When I asked her who it was from she informed me that it was a “nice lady who sounded like she was in a great mood”. How perfect is that? Later on, I had people asking for me by name in the front of the store…customers, in fact, when I have nothing to do with customer service aside from dealing with NSF checks. This one lady was insisting that I ring her up, despite the fact that I don’t know the register system…and she seemed a little perturbed that I passed the money on to a cashier. I should have known that the day would be odd like this when it started with me sitting in on a verbal warning to GSWanna-Be regarding her emptying of a rubber band box to make a band ball. But, is it really any more odd than any other day? Isn’t this all just the stuff that BigHo is made of? If I were younger and more green, would I love this job? Is it horrible that at 25, I’m thinking that I’m too old for this shit?

I hate when people ask me if I have a minute. I’ve gotten that quite a lot today, and each time I’ve been tempted to answer, “No, but I have some cigarettes.” I have fixed numerous computer issues, and given several brief lessons on excel…and that’s just today. It’s 2:24 already and I’m so ready to go home. I can think of a long list of things I could be doing if I wasn’t here…plugging away at time cards and getting angry about the reconciliations. I told them I would help out part time a few days ago…but, apparently that doesn’t seem like something they want me to do anymore. I don’t care, but, I don’t want to train a new person. I barely know my job as it is…which is one of the reasons I’m leaving. There’s no focus or direction and nobody has seemed to want to help me out. SodWoman, who taught me the recs in the first place, just started doing June when she finished May. When I asked her again to show me what the hell I need to know, she just said, “There were a few extra things here and there”. Well, that doesn’t help me any…and it really pisses me off. If I was planning to stay on part time to begin with, this would have been the last straw. When I saw her working on the books, I just wanted to pack up my things and drive home. If there’s someone else who can do my job, there’s no reason for me to be here. I don’t care if everyone likes me…I don’t care if they think they need me…it’s obvious that they don’t. I’m bleeding and emotional and I just can’t deal with this shit today. Maybe I’ll go home early…or maybe I’ll take myself up on the impulse to walk out. I’m not sure which is the best option, but, I did make the committment of two weeks and I should just ride it out. If they don’t find someone to take my place in time, that’s just too damned bad. I’m so done.

My Fruit almost left with my keys this morning, and I was almost kicking myself for stopping her before she was gone. After a great day at home yesterday, the last thing I want to do is go back to the office to piles of boredom. I know already that there are stacks to be filed, deposit slips to be entered and computer non-issues to be resolved. They called me twice yesterday to fix a stupid problem. The first time I told them to call their tech to resolve it. Apparently they either didn’t call or the tech was a moron, because they called me later with the same damned problem.
“It says my server is down”
“OK…can you get on the database?”
“Yes”
“Can you get to the internet?”
“Yes”
“What server are you being told is down?”
“The monzilla server.”
“Do you mean Mozilla Thunderbird?”
“Yes…monzilla”
Oh Christ.
“BossLady has been trying to access her email from the internet in London and it says the server is down, too.”
“So…you think this problem is on our end?”
“Yes.”
“Call the email people and ask them what is going on. Our systems are fine.”
“But, monzilla told me my server is down. BossLady is getting angry.”
“Call the email people. The problem is on their servers.”
“But, BossLady said they resolved their problems the last time she talked to them a few weeks ago.”
“Do you want me to call the email people?”
And so the conversation went for five more minutes. Usually these calls would come with at least a $60 price tag…when I was a sysadmin. I wouldn’t see the money, mind you…but, there was some comfort in knowing that there was a penalty for stupidity. This is troubleshooting, people. If you can access all of your systems properly, and the email server is someone else’s system…and you can’t access it from the pop3 interface from the internet anywhere…it’s probably not your system that’s malfunctioning. Jesus.
One of the reasons I got out of technology was because I lost my infinite patience for people. I understand that troubleshooting isn’t everyone’s thing…and some people have mental blocks when it comes to technology…but, this really does smack of common sense. Even for the least technology minded. I guess it’s a good thing that technology has been so stigmatized…that people think you have to be a genius to be able to figure out why something simple isn’t working…but, it all seems far too logical to be able to deduce where the problem resides in certain circumstances. I try to teach them. I try to tell them why a reboot fixes odd application quirks…and why their Windows 98 systems should be upgraded…and what spyware does to slow a system down to a screeching halt. It always seems to fall on deaf ears. I am really not all that smart, and I was never really a logical person…but, if it makes sense to me on a basic, logical level, shouldn’t it make sense to other people? The people who think their technological ignorance is cute or endearing? The people who liken their inability to perform basic tasks on their computer to being unable to set the time on their VCR? How many admins out there would be out of work if users just read the fucking manual?
Enough computer rants, though. I left IT, I left IT, I left IT.
I can’t wait until my two weeks are up. Yesterday, I got the kitchen cleaned, the floors swept, clothes put away and dinner on the table when my Fruit came home. The animals were happy. My Fruit was happy. I was happy. Even though I didn’t feel all that productive…didn’t finish all that I wanted to get done…I could say that tomorrow is another day and not feel like I was rationalizing away a job I dreaded going to in the morning.
I went through pictures last night that my Fruit took…looking for subjects to paint so I could get out of the rut of crude impressionism I’ve fallen into. I can see the colors already, and was so disappointed that my body gave out on me by the time I was ready to start working. I brought the easel downstairs…the paint brushes…filled the tub with water. I haven’t painted with acrylics since High School when I was still an oil snob. I’m one of the few who thinks that acrylics are harder to work with because they dry so fast…and the mediums to slow the process always seemed to diminish the vibrance of the paint, so I stopped using them. Everything started to come back to me before I even got the canvas out of the wrapper. It’ll take me some time, but I think I could be good again. I try to purge my parents’ voices out of my head. The voices that told me I wasn’t a real artist when I painted from pictures. The voices that said the art school was paid to tell me I’m talented so they could get their money. The voice that told me my art was her art because she was paying for it and could therefore do whatever she pleased with it. How could I have let them ruin art for me? The one true escape I had, I hid until I could do so no longer…and abandoned it entirely with fleeting looks back and the rationalization that I was never that good anyway. I was that good. I was ten years old, and I was brilliant. Of course, I couldn’t see it until I was much older and looked back at my early paintings with an impartial eye. At thirteen, I did the best work of my life and gave it away to my school before I left. My mother was furious, and to this day throws it up in my face from time to time. I think it was my last stand…my last act of rebellion. It was my thirteen year old self saying, “No more”…forbidding them from claiming ownership…banishing them from ever being able to lay eyes on it again. It was an amazing piece…a copy of a Susan Rios called, if I recall, “Blake and Alex”. It was the first figure portrait I had ever done and it took me eight months to complete. I don’t think I was ever quite satisfied with my finished work, but with the last stroke, this one all but stood up and proclaimed that it was finished. I would walk down to the school from time to time to look at it. I never told them where I was going or where I had been…but, the office knew what I was doing. Sometimes I could sit in there for a few hours just to see what I had been capable of. The last time I went, I was seventeen years old. I almost asked if I could have it back, but I knew I had to let go. I gave it to them as a gift…not just for safe keeping…but as a symbol of my appreciation for the one place that allowed me to be comfortable and do well despite my family life. It was a school for problem kids…kids with learning disabilities and physical handicaps. My mother sent me there because I flunked out of Chaminade Middle when my grandma was dying, and would call me a dumb little bitch for being there every chance she got. Good grades were dismissed as it being at a “retard school”. She would berate me, criticize me, lessen my progress. She turned a blind eye to the possibility that I might be doing well there for a reason. Not because it was easy, but because their methods of teaching made learning and staying focused less difficult. I hope now…now that I can see how things really were…that I will be able to see my children for who they are…support them when they are having trouble and see that their reasons for their shortcoming aren’t a reflection on me, but a problem to be resolved together. I hope that I sit down with them every day to help them with their homework…I hope that I talk to them and truly listen when they are trying to get my attention. I don’t want to ever ignore what they have to say…no matter how insignificant it may seem…because if they are trying to tell me something, it is important to them…and that is important to me. I want to encourage their talents and not exploit them to make myself feel big. I want to love each of them for who they are and not pin them against each other. I never want my children to feel that they must compete for my love…and I never want to pass on my innate sense of inadequacy. Life is too short to believe that you’re never good enough.

I was washing the dishes downstairs and found one of your Melissa CDs in the cabinet. It’s one that I never had…and as soon as it started playing, memories washed over me in torrents. I could picture it like yesterday…standing in your computer room, slightly inebriated…the glow from the monitors alone lit the room…and she was sleeping in the living room with Dante. Like the Way I Do came through the speakers, and you sang to me…danced with me…gave me the necklace I eventually lost in the move. The smell of incense…the air and light…your perfume emanating from your beautiful body all intoxicated me once more, and I remember at that moment never having felt so in love…never having craved someone’s touch as much as I do yours…and wanting…with my heart ripping at the seams…how I wanted you. I closed my eyes…dish soap bubbles all over my hands as the water ran in the sink…and I could feel it all rushing back to me…goosebumps starting up my arms.
How could I have waited so long? How could I have made us both wait…and go through so much hell…just to listen to what my heart was telling me to do? How could I have been such a fool?
I was afraid of your love. I was afraid of the promises. The way I craved you terrified me. I could not fathom how this beautiful, mysterious, intelligent woman could want me like I wanted her. I ran…and I hid…and I sabotaged myself…and you waited. Patiently and not so much, you waited for me to come around. It took a few months…but I did…and now I look back at those days. Those days of stolen kisses and nights of explosive passion…when I would drive two hundred miles just to see you again…just for a few hours…just to touch you.
The burning candles in your bedroom washed everything in a deep, golden glow. You grabbed your camera and started taking pictures…smiling at me…your eyes wanting me…and I never felt so beautiful…or loved…or wanted. My arms wrapped around you at the top of granada hills…pushing me against the hood of the car…breathing in your scent and kissing your neck as I fell more deeply in love. You are intoxicating.
It is hard to believe that so much time has passed. It is almost unfathomable that we are living out our promises…starting our family…living our life. I still feel that way for you. I still want you like those first times…I still crave you…and am still drunk on the smell of your skin…hypnotized by your smile…lost in your eyes. I’m sorry I was such a fool. If I could change things, I would never have made us wait. Thank you for not giving up on me. My Fruit…I love you with all my heart.

The weekend was, yet again, entirely too short. Fruit and I worked on one of her big projects on Saturday night, and it reminded me how much I miss being able to help her with things. She is so intelligent that it just blows me away sometimes. It was one of the many things I fell in love with on that April night when we met. Troubleshooting technology will likely always be that way for me. I don’t know what it was that I loved about it…because I doubt that I would go back if given the chance…but being able to work with her on the intense networking sort of things reminds me of that part of myself that was smart and successful in a field I grew to despise. I didn’t do much, really, but she did a fabulous job on what was a very stressful and probably quite intimidating project. It was done in a matter of hours, and we addressed every minute detail before we were finished. In retrospect, I believe that the only reason I fell into systems administration was so that I could advance to the point where I would meet her at Brainshare. It wasn’t long after our meeting that my focus began to change…and the work I would eat, sleep and breathe became more of a chore than the exciting diversion it once was. We talked on the way to the office about my coming home…and all of the things that have been going through our minds about it began to surface. She was feeling guilty about saying that she wanted me home…and I was feeling guilty about wanting to. What it all comes down to, I think, is that I’ve matured a bit in these past few years. I am not driven to the same end for unhealthy reasons. I don’t feel the need to so extremely outdo my parents financially like I once did. I realize that it was never about the money. Life is much too short to spend the greater part of it in a race against time…and self…and peers. I don’t want to be an insanely successful career woman like I once did. I used to think that I wanted to be making triple digits by the time I was thirty…and with 40k at 22, I suppose I was on my way…and for what? So I could look back when I retire and wonder where all the time had gone? So I could know that I was, financially, the opposite of my parents? Was that really what I expected of myself?
I’m 25…living in my first house with my beautiful wife…and all I want now is to start our family and take care of them. The only success I want is to know that my family has been loved, supported and cared for when I look back on my life. I want to know that I was a good woman…an honest woman…and an honorable woman. I have abandoned the parts of myself that used to define me…and I need to get them back. I want to be a successful wife and mother…always knowing that my wife is happy…and hopefully that my children will call home when they’ve gone on their own…not because they’re obligated, but because they miss us and love us. I want them to be able to bring the the people they love home and say proudly that these are their parents, and this is how they grew up.
My life has changed since I met my Fruit. I don’t have to scratch and claw my way through life anymore. I see how insane it was, and I don’t like the person I was for it. I am not my parents. I don’t need their pride or recognition, because this is how I am going to live my life. I am going to be an artist again…because I can be and it is my true nature. I am going to do what I used to love, because my mother has no affect on me anymore. She is not going to send my work off to people as if it is her own. She is not going to mask her jealousy with false pride, because I am old enough and strong enough not to let her. I am going to take care of my family selflessly and honestly…not because I was shown the way, but because I feel it inside myself and want it more than anything I have ever desired before.
The other day, one of my coworkers said that she had to work because she needed a life outside of her family. I can understand how it could get to feel that way, but I can’t honestly think that I will mind that they are my life. I won’t throw my sacrifices in their faces, because each sacrifice is my choice…and I will see that there really is no choice to make other than what is best for them. I will have to set time for myself and my wife aside, I’m sure…but I can’t imagine that I will need to escape from them for twenty to forty hours a week just to feel that I am doing something for myself. So, my Fruit, neither of us should feel guilty about this. I’ve grown past the person I was when you met me…and I’m not just coming home because you want me to. I’m coming home because I want to. I don’t like the person I am when I am working at these jobs I keep falling into. I don’t want work to be my life…I want you to be my life…and in the end, all that really matters is the people we’ve loved and the kind of life we’ve lived with them. All that matters to me is you and the little family we have at home.