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Monday, Jul. 07, 2003 / 7:29 p.m. ~Brief, 'Moon Time'-Induced Pity Party~ (Minor distraction on my way here just now, I just saw the cutest little popup ad! And why is it that small versions of normal things are always 'cute'?) I think I read the average amount of menstrual blood expelled during an average menstruation period, hence period, dot, moon time, woman time, that time of the month, on the rag, and on and on and on, ad nauseum, or better, on account of euphemisms can be fun after all, is only two tablespoons full at most, if memory serves correctly - which suddenly makes me think of Chairman Kanaga or is it Kanaka?, the dude on "Iron Chef", no, it's Kaga, right? Fuck me, I had a point. I feel as if my life blood is draining from me in the largest increments, as if I have a large gaping wound that opened days ago and it's just seeping and seeping until there's nothing left of me, but I must keep going on and on. It's just a couple of tablespoons, but it feels like I'm anemic. I could barely summon energy for anything today, but I did all I had to do anyway. Isn't it amazing, survival? Nothing like in the jungle, no fight to stay alive at the watering hole, or running at top speeds to flee predators. Just sitting in a cubicle answering call after call, while processing documents simulatneously, pages and pages of paper, then copying, FAXing, printing, filing, and rinsing and repeating all day. Barely energy to get in hot car and drive home to eat leftover way too salty stuffed tofu at lunchtime. Not a good batch this tofu, not the best, someone's heart just wasn't in it. But I did it all, and I had my review, and I survived though I felt every emotion right on the surface, and it was good, I didn't even recognize it was good. I told my Manager (M) shortly after, when asking why I don't get '5's instead of '4's when it's clear I exceed expectations, significantly, and she said she never uses '5's, and I didn't understand, refused to understand, why are there '5's at all if they're never used?, and oh this makes me think of Cat Stevens' album "Numbers" and the song about the one born a '9', "...Why was I, born a 9, cursed repeatedly?", which makes me think of Steve, and then what happened that's all detailed herein, if one looks back, far back... right, what I told her, (M) was, "I look at these '4's and I think, 'I failed'", and she looked truly concerned, shocked, worried for me, told me I got the highest marks I could get, I got the best I could get, it doesn't get better than 'outstanding'. Yes, yes, I'm hard, I'm so hard on myself. I want to accept me, I try, I do, but being alive is so hard for me. Just getting up and making everything happen, totally on my own. If I stop to think about it, to see it for what it really is, I can't believe I do it, I've been doing it, I continue to do it. I got an 'outstanding' rating, and I could tell it's so very hard for (M) to give praise, to recognize anyone, be it an individual performance, or team. She is much better at the chastisement, the cajoling, the putting of us in our places, or warning us, or telling us what to do. When it comes to thanking someone, or telling someone she does a good job, she is so obviously uncomfortable. But I got the perfunctory, "You're doing a good job, keep up the good work", and a raise. Another piddly one, more than last time, but in the grand scheme of things, and especially since that time Lulu and I saw the payroll records on the shared server on the computers at work, that time we both saw that (M) has granted her sister the highest salary in our department, and I saw it's a dollar more than I make, and that was then, THEN - no doubt she makes even more now - mine is small, but not bad. Rampant nepotism. No, of course it's not right that our Manager (M) manages both her sister and her first cousin, one Kukla, and one Penelope respectively, but what are you gonna do? So, I think about the piddly raise, and how old I am, and amidst my mid life crisis, how much I ought to be making, how ridiculous this is, and how I won't get a college degree just to show a prospective employer so I can earn more, I have three years of college, I'm educated, I don't need to prove it, so I stay where I am and make my pitiful salary which is really not pitiful at all, comparatively, and I curse the fact that Kukla will never be fired, never 'written up', and she'll always get an 'outstanding' rating in her reviews, and always get the maxium raise, because her sister is her Manager. Our (M). And Kukla, Jane and I all have our woman/moon time right now, and we're all drained of our life force, and Kukla talked privately on the phone all day, leaving her work phone off while she processed her documents, then she got up to do various projects, opened our mail, etc., etc., so she wouldn't have to deal with the phone calls. While I could see my own life force as a sort of vapor floating above me all day, weak, limp inside my real self. I'm Wal Mart-ed, I'm doing laundry, I'm eating leftovers, I am responsible. I have to be, there is no choice. This is it. And Norm lies on the floor with mane of hair in perfect form around her little head, forearms outstretched in front of her, one paw slightly back from the other, looking tres chic, tres elegante, posing. And I'm reminded, as my mind is wont to remind of things constantly so that I'm off on tangents when I'd rather just stick to one thought, today I changed many addresses for many, many employees of the big Corporation, and one man just moved to Normie Street. Isn't that great? It made me smile and think of my own Normie. Ah, she got up and walked away. There one minute, gone the next. Moving forward, life goes on, and during the week it's 'my shows', because they make me happy, they entertain, and I love the entertainment. Tonight is the finale of the "Joe Millionaire" ripoff, the much sleazier, if that is possible, "For Love Or Money", and it should be juicy good. I think that "Monster House" is on as well, on Discovery. Last week they turned a house into a castle. Fun stuff. Tomorrow is the premiere of "Big Brother" four, or five, or whatever, but that's always good. One of my favorite reality shows. Ahhh, watching people make fools of themselves on national television just makes me feel so much better about myself, and my own pitiful life. No more pity, this party is over. Cost of the War in Iraq
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