Thursday, Jul. 10, 2003 / 11:02 a.m.

~On Balance, Written Under Bossa Novan Influence~

I start to feel there is no difference between us. I can get past the 2nd grade level grammar and vocabularies, the constant shouting and little catchphrases (the latest, the �Hellao!� thing is driving me fucking batty!), the lazy work ethic, the yammering, the personal calls, having to hear it all while I�m working or trying to read, books, my EWs, but then one of them says something that singles me out, and suddenly I am the white person, the odd one out. Veronica says, �She doesn�t like hot, spicy food�, or Kukla says, �You eat chips?�. �Excuse me?�, and I think of snot dripping from my nose as I eat my Nam Sod, or Ma Po Tofu. The times I ate Veronica�s Jambalaya, or that ridiculous vegetable soup she gave me because it was rotting in her fridge at home. Copious amount of black pepper, not for any purpose at all really. And the times, like last night, I sit with a big bag of Lay�s, watching my surfing reality show on TV. They make it seem like I�m not only white, but I�m from another planet, and this is not always racial, that�s in my mind because I�m the minority, but I�ve always been singled out as being odd or out of the ordinary.

Right now there�s shouting from cubicle to cubicle, because the one is too fucking lazy to ever get up and walk over to the other. We used to have a Supervisor who would walk down the aisle, or up, and hold his finger over his mouth, �Shhhh� let�s keep it down, okay?�, and he was so gentle, he earned so much respect. Now we have no Supervisor, and a Manager who is worse than the offenders.

I was thinking the other day that working around only white people would be so less colorful at this point, it could be so bland, but I yearn to be around educated intellectuals, people who make me feel stupid, and I don�t care what color they are. There must be balance. It�s not the race of my coworkers, but their backgrounds. And the fact that when it comes right down to it, they point me out, they single me out, they make a stereotypical judgment, they do it, I don�t. They remind me that I am not one of them, when I sit here knowing it all day long, trying so hard to assimilate, eventually forgetting on a good day.

Balance. There must be balance. There must be cynicism to recognize trust. And hate to know what love is. Pessimism to see the silver linings. It�s all necessary, the yin and the yang, and I don�t trust, nor particularly car for, anyone who is happy all the time, nor anyone who doesn�t trust or care for animals, plants, small children and the elderly, or those who throw glass, plastic and newspaper in the garbage, refusing to change.

Yesterday I saw a spider on the carpet in the aisle outside my cubicle. I pointed it out, moved it over to the empty cubicle across from mine, with my foot, just edging it along. Q said, �Kill it!�, and I said, �Why? What did this spider ever do to you?�, and she said, �I hate spiders�, �So, I should kill it?�, �I�m afraid of spiders�, she said finally. So you should kill that which you fear?? This explains a lot, doesn�t it?

It went under the wall of her cubicle, after I blocked her from stepping on it, and she went into a fit, moving all her things, her filing cabinet, etc., refusing to sit down until she could find it, kill it, which she never did. Later in the day, the IT dude gave her a new monitor, used, but new to her, a really huge one, and she�d wanted it for a while, it had belonged to Listerine and Listerine has been gone forever, it seems. I asked her how she liked it, she muttered that it was okay, but she wishes the IT dude would make her computer faster, and she grumbled. I said, �You�re always complaining�. I wanted to tell her she�s turning into a curmudgeon, but I knew she wouldn�t know the word and she would think I was being condescending or rude. I have to use small words here. I have to limit myself, I have to dumb down.

But I love my cynical side, I love my sarcasm, and I love my incredible optimistic nature. I�m not at odds, I�m well balanced, I�m realistic, yet I live in a fantasy world. No rose colored glasses, but I have dreams. I see what�s in front of me, no illusions, but I know what I hope it can be.

Everything has its place in this world, this I believe. In a way, I think I might be one of those who believe there is a reason for all of it, there might even be a �plan� in place, though I don�t necessarily believe in a �higher power�. I have no idea what it�s all about, why I�m here or why Q wants to kill what she fears, or why one person detests my cynical nature, or why Reg always loved my sarcasm, or why the only men who fall in love with me are men I find unattractive, but I believe in Instant Karma, or Karmic retribution in my lifetime, and I see reasons why things happen, I see the cause of suffering and pain, and when there is joy to be found I find it. I seek pleasure when it�s been absent too long, and I know how to enjoy life. I can sink lower than most, I�ve been in the deep pit of despair, I have, I have lost all the people I loved, and I survive because I�m optimistic. I judge, but I despise being judged, and I still don�t trust or care for those who don�t understand and make no attempt to.

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