Lost spoons, lessons learned.

Ever find yourself in a situation where you are interacting with a person you know well, or at least you thought you knew well? You look back on the time you knew this person and you remember something different. You remember a different person. You think know this person and then you do not. When or how did the knowledge change? Maybe you evolved and they regressed? You are not sure. 

It is unsettling to notice this. I suppose when you find yourself in a position where you are investing a large portion of your time (in this case, being awake) to this person that is can be unsettling. And tiring. How on earth is it so tiring? Why is interaction with this person so exhausting?

The interaction is now in the past, but you are still coping with the aftermath. You used up all your spoons and your reserves interacting with this person. My brain is walking in numerous directions trying to understand what happened? When did I stop knowing this person?

Instead of enjoying the moment, you are walking on needles, hot coals, and razor blades. You are willing yourself to be patient, to not lose your temper, and you count down the hours until the interaction is complete.

You want your spoons back. You want all of them back.

I want my spoons back. I will not get them back.

In the future, I will need to be more mindful of keeping my spoons for me.

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Rudy the Rude

I encountered a very rude woman the other day while at my local big-chain. She was in line before me. Her cart, a mess, the stuff she piled on the belt, even messier. The cashier, one I have encountered before (and never has been a cause for a problem or even a slightly irritated eye roll), was counting out change with the customer he was assisting, a customer that was in front of the rude woman. As I walked up, the rude woman  – let us call her Rudy from this point forward – apologized for the line taking so long.

“I’m sorry, but he has not moved the conveyer yet.” Rudy said in an irritated tone.

“It is alright. Not a big deal.” I replied.

Rudy tried pushing her stuff up more, to allow me a place to put my items. Thoughtful, yes, but I was willing to wait. I was not is a hurry. I try not to be in a hurry when running errands.

The customer before Rudy was done and moved on. The cashier – let us call him Matt –  greeted Rudy. The first thing that comes out of Rudy’s mouth “What? Do you have a problem with numbers?” I should mention here that Matt was counting out the change the prior customer gave him because the prior customer was unsure she was providing the right amount. There was a language barrier. Sometimes there is a language barrier.

Back to Rudy. As Matt is running her items through the scanner, Rudy is telling him to “move it, speed it up, already.” Matt is doing his best, which was exactly how any other cashier would be doing it, when technology is not working efficiently. Might I also mention, she had a lot of crap. A. Lot. Of. Crap.

As Matt would move a filled bag to the end area, Rudy would swiftly pick it up and place it in her cart. Through this whole process, Matt is doing his job, focusing on what he is doing, keeping calm. Rudy is consistently berating him to “speed it up.”Matt has to ask for Rudy’s date of birth – she bought allergy medicine. Rudy looked at him, appalled. I keep my distance, I rearrange my items, so the person behind me can place her items down.

Matt is done scanning her items. He subtotals and totals her purchases. She signs her stuff, continues to tell him to hurry it up, grabs her receipt, and pushes her cart to the nearest person of authority she can complain to.

As Matt is ringing me up, I am polite, I am smiling. I am trying to let him know, with the tone of my voice, that I am pleasant. Matt continues to look down, do his job. I glance over at Rudy. She is complaining to the manager. There are a lot of angry hand gestures and head bobbing from Rudy. The manager listens, glances over at Matt, then back at Rudy. Rudy leaves, the manager heads in our direction. Matt is finishing up with me. The Manager moves over to another register, opens it to help another customer. Once Manny and I were done. I said thank you, and to have a good day.

Immediately, I walked over to the manager, tapped her on the shoulder and tell her “I just wanted to let you know that Matt is fine. The woman was rude. She was very rude.”

The manager thanked me for informing her, and I went on my way, to continue my errands.

How can people be so rude? Is Rudy being rude because she is in a rush? If she is feeling a time pressure, she should not take that out on others. I know about time pressure. My anxiety is time-related. My anxiety levels rise when I have to be someplace at a particular time, or if I have a lot to do. My anxiety tells me I have to be there at that specific time. To keep the anxiety at bay, I do what I can to not run late. When I do, I freak out, the anxiety kicks in and I am crying, screaming – it is a mess.

So, I try to avoid time-related stressors. Some days, I am really good at it, and I can give a fuck-all if I am late or not. Other days, if there are other stressors in effect, I cannot do it.

However, I can control the anxiety when I run errands. I let them go at their pace. I pick the longest line, I allow myself to enjoy being outdoors, out in public, out doing something. It is the one time action I can control. I am working on being better at more actions.

When I am anxious about being later, or feeling rushed. I never take it out on someone else. Especially someone who is helping me. If I ever see her again, well, I do not think I will. In fact, I hope I never do. What I do hope is that Matt is alright. I hope Matt is doing fine.

An Annual Afterthought

If I were to place a percentage of good versus the bad in the span of a year, I would have to say that the year is 90% good and 10% bad. The bad, as always, seems worse than it is.

With regards to that 10% bad, it can be further broken down to 7% during the holiday season (that being November to December) and the other 3% being this past week. Most interestingly is that it is this past week that tends upsets me more than the other 7%.

You see, this past weekend, was my birthday. I received one card from my family. I got birthday texts, but two of those felt like last minute “oh right, it is your birthday.”

It is how it has been for the past several years. At this time of year, I feel like an afterthought.

Sure, I can say that this year it was because of my grandmother’s death. However, every year, it is not one thing it is another. It is always something.

It hurts. I admit it does hurt.

Also, it is alright. I am okay with it. It is only one day. Sure, it is my birthday, but I have already had 41 birthdays prior to this one. I will have many more.

I am not really convincing, am I?

Not quite numb. Not quite feeling. More like existing.

BibaMy grandmother passed away last weekend, on February 13th. Since then, it has been a random mixtape of emotions. This is to be expected. It managed to stop my forward momentum. And it should. I should take some time to mourn the loss of my grandmother. I should take some time to adjust to my grandmother no longer being around. I should take time to sort out the “What now?” moments.

And I am. And I will.

I should be adjusting. I should be transitioning the worry and stress I was feeling in related to my grandmother’s health and its overall effect on the family to some new feelings. Joy. Release. Happiness. Relief.

And I am.

I should be returning to a normal.

But I should not rush it.

But I do not want to be feeling like this any longer.

I feel aimless. I feel like I am in limbo. I feel numb. No? I feel numbish.

I prefer the numbish not stay around much longer. I prefer to no longer feel aimless.

Eureka!

I could wait until my usual Thursday posting (my usual attempt at posting on that day, that is), but I feel like this cannot wait. I need to share with something right now.

I just had my “Eureka” moment. For two years, I have tried to figure out where my passion for creativity went. My morning journal writing just showed me that it happened at the beginning of my design career.

One statement was said to me, “I do not think you can emotionally handle being a graphic designer,” by someone whom was looking out for me.

That was it. That moment, that conversation, that statement was when I subconsciously took the path that would suppress my creativity and passion for being creative.

I will expand on this in my normal weekly post, but I had to get this out now.

TIme to celebrate this moment with a shower.

 

Enjoy your Monday!

Moments with Great Minds

This past week consisted of a mishmash of emotions. Mostly, it had to do with walking around with stitch, covered by a band-aid, on my right cheek, just below my eye. I have always joked with a friend that between the two of us, I, the girl with the fair skin, would be tested for skin cancer before the other, the tan girl who always came into work o nMondays with a fresh burn on her cheeks. Thankfully, it was benign (and something else completely different…and gross).

I was having a week. I was trying to keep my spirits up, tried to stay positive and all that. However, subconsciously, it was affecting me. I was not sleeping well. I sketched a few self-portraits of me, as a vampire, with a disease spreading across (you guessed it) my right cheek. I am pretty sure that was a good sign that something was eating (Oh how I pun) away at me mentally.

Enter another super funny post from The Bloggess that featured a selection of awkward moments in her and our lives. I have had plenty of my own, which made me laugh (internally, with a little suppressed snicker, even though there is no one else at home), and made me feel better. It also reminded me of moments in my past life (or at my last place of full time employment) when I enjoyed a daily encounter with people who bestowed me with the honor of catching them in their finest moments.

I feel it is time to share these with others. Let us call them Moments with Great Minds.

The Bird Crap on the Window: It was around Halloween time, and I made brownies for the office. With brownies in one hand and colored canned frosting in the other, I went to each of my coworkers office and gave them each a brownie. I walked in to the last office of a coworker, and I stand in the door while he is feverishly trying to wipe something off the window. He is scratching at it, using spit to soften it, you name it. I walk in to his office, stand in front of his desk.

Me: “It might be hard to get that off your windows, unless you go outside to remove the bird crap.”

Coworker: “I just realized that,” he says and he sits down at his desk.”

Me: “Brownie?”

The fold here to fax: Our receptionist, young and…young, asked me to show her how to use the fax machine, because she had already forgotten (we had shown her, several times already).

Me: “This icon shows you to place the document you want to fax face down”

Coworker: “Is that what is means? I thought that was showing me I need to fold the corner over.”

Me: “…”

Later, during her last week, on sticky pad pieces of paper, she wrote instructions on how to use the fax machine, including what that icon means, “because the next person you hire might be as confused as me.”

The what is that? Is it dead? A conversation heard between two of my coworkers:

Coworker 1: “What is that?”

Coworker 2: “Excuse me, this?” He holds up the turtle in his hand.

Coworker 1: “Yeah, what is that?”

Coworker 2: “It’s my turtle. It is a box–“

Coworker 1: “Is it dead?”

Coworker 2: “Is it what? Um no…”

We’ve met before: We had a new coworker join the ranks. She lived in the same area as I lived at that time. So do a lot of people. I tend to get a lot of “You look like” from random people. I have one of those faces. So, I am use to it and ready to say, “yes, I know, I get that a lot.” However, this time…

Coworker: “You look familiar. I feel that we have met before.”

Me: “I do not think so, you might think I look like Gillian Ander–“

Coworker: “No that’s not it. I know. We use to work together.”

Me: “No, pretty sure we have not.”

Coworker: “No, I am sure of it. We use to work together. You were the creative director at [company name], back around 1984.

Me: “Um, I do not think so.”

Coworker: “Yes, we did.”

Me: “Well, then I must have been a prodigy, because I was in fourth grade at the time.”

Coworker: “You’re sure?”

Me: “Um, pretty sure.”

Shrills and Tantrums

Small post today, as I am in the midst of invitation insanity. Also, I am killing time until Southwest allows me to check in for my flight.

So, here it goes: Small post.

There is a new family that moved in next to us. The small child has two settings – tantrum and high-pitch shrill. It reminded me of something I thought about when another child in the area was doing her screaming session.

The way these kids scream puts the vision in my head or a child, covered in blood, toddling out their front doors, looking for their parents.

Horrible, yes, but one of these days it will happen.