|
Monday, Feb. 18, 2002 / 8:06 p.m. ~It's Not What I Wanted, and That Sucks, Again~ Suddenly I feel ill, sick to my stomach, almost like I got punched, like I may start crying, like it's all been a front, none of my miraculous rebound has been real. An entire day of nothing. Talking to one insanely ignorant person after another, stuck there, sitting in that chair, only 10 minutes away, documented, up and away from that cube, aside from two 15 minute breaks, one hour for lunch. Someone on the internet PC for both breaks. So sit in that chair, phone off. Nothing, nothing at all, no relating, no human contact, just noticing that Sabrina has left, she is gone now. Roger didn't show, and when I ask D. where he is, she says, "He called in today", and I don't even know what that means. Is he sick?? Does he still work with us? Is there a good and concrete reason for your evasiveness? You infuriate me, woman. I sat, late in the day, looking around my cube, my photos of Norma and Gladys, the memos posted to the gray fabric that constitutes a cubicle wall, stained in some places, but overall gray, and could only think, "I've been here too long....it's been so long.....four years.....I've been sitting here too long". Granted, some seven or so different cubes, but now's the sunken into routine. This insane sameness. Nothing. Not even reading can take it away. And who can read? Every single time I picked up my Oscar issue of Entertainment Weekly, anxious to read the behind the scenes info on all the nominees, Oscars past, etc., the fucking phone would ring, and I could see these people, men mostly, or wives of men, all wanting to tell me their crap, me not wanting to hear. So slurred of speech, one I even told "I can't understand you", it was dialect, it was inflection, it was lack thereof. No, if you don't open your mouth when you speak I doubt anyone can understand you. Are these people going to school? How do they graduate high school? Who is teaching the people of this country? How can they all be SO fucking stupid?! Angry, angry, frustrated, why, why, major angst, and fist clenching, talking to myself in said cube. Drinking the water from the cooler, the one with the "Call For Service" light flashing. It needs new filters, I told Helen, but she insists she saw the man change them, it's flashing wrongly, she says. No, taste it, when it comes to room temp, taste it. Switch to Dasani, pay for that, then refill, and yes, sometimes water is the highlight. Which kind. Which? You have yours hot from the coffee machine? Over ice? Are you insane? Why do you all do that? Folks after work. Used to be "Po Folks", now it's just Folks. But I had a craving, and I fulfilled it, came home to pig out on country fried steak and gravy, two large pieces ("pieces"??), biscuit, fried okra, fried green tomatoes, fried, fried, fried. Sit to eat and Norma throws up. Yeah, walks and throws up some more. I can see the logic. Who wants to stand over their own vomit? Yuck. Think I'll move on. Only thing is, Norm, it's CARPET, so each time you move on, throw up some more, guess who has to go around with the paper towels and carpet cleaning foaming spray and clean it all up behind you? And really, I'm trying to eat because my food is going to get cold. No time to drag her to linoleum. I miss hardwood floors. Lock her in the bathroom for a bit, and sure enough, she throws up more. See? That's why, Norm, that's why. Now she seems.....sick. It's not a fur ball, she had one of those last week. What is it this time? Is she just an old, old girl? Is she going to die? I feel like I'm holding my breath. Am I? It's the sameness. No matter how productive the weekend was, or felt, it's all over now, and now is this. The countdown 'til I can do it all again, only different next time. I abhor the schedule now, the structure. How could I think I liked it? Whew. I actually just said that, only it was more along the lines of, "Wheshew". Deep breath, stop holding it. What it is is something was feeling good, something new and exciting, and now it feels bad. That's all. These things come and they go. I'm trying to figure the appropriate action to take, and wondering if I should do nothing. It's neither here, nor there, nothing anyone knows about, just me, but it sucks. Again, more sucking. Ice dancing will be on soon, so I can forget, get lost in them instead of me. And worry about my old girl, my Norm Crosby. She'd better be okay........ This is what I wrote this morning: ~Getting Lost~ Here is the ultimate in getting lost inside one's self. Sitting at work, in the cubicle, on Monday morning, listening to Led Zeppelin III on the Walkman, the only way to shut off Sabrina's testimonial. I'm glad she's "saved", if it makes her happy, and if she thinks "God" will find her another job when she needs it, great. Really, I don't care, and I think my main point is that I don't want to hear about it, she, standing in her cubicle, right next to me, on the other side, standing, telling Veronica, Lulu, her tales of salvation spouting over my head like raindrops, and I needed an umbrella. On go the headphones, and it's music from my high school days, from before high school, Led Zeppelin III is an old album, my sister played it, and she was dead by the time I was 11. So, it takes me back, it transports me, how odd to hear it here. I want to sit and play "Tangerine" on my guitar, I want to go back, to be 14 again, I want to know what I know now and go back. I want to tell Kevin Tobin exactly how he made me feel when he sang "Thank You" (different album, I know) at the assembly, not just that it was good, but that I was in love with him. I remember when he found out my last name and didn't believe it was real. When he said Mark Peacock was lucky for having me. But he didn't have me. He used me, but I never belonged to anyone. Low whispers, Sabrina and her testimonials, her private stories, whispered to Quincey who stands in her cubicle, just ahead of me, her big head right in my field of vision. And I want to be lost in memories, not knowing why, except it was a delicious time. How old is this album? 35 years or so? Wow. And Roger is not here. Cost of the War in Iraq
(JavaScript Error)
Recent Entries: It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012 Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012 As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009 I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009 Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009 
  |