I moved to Atlanta three and a half years ago, somewhat under duress. It wasn't where I wanted to be but if I was to make any sort of step forward in my life and break the cycle of comfortable living into deep pits, it was a necessary move. I made my designs on leaving Atlanta within the first year and heading back to NYC, transferring with the company I started working for.
That didn't happen, clearly. I'm still working for that company, and in August, it will be four years. It's longer than I've stayed with any other job, and it's allowed me to be mostly comfortable on a fairly consistent basis. I've grown and learned within my position, though when I've thought of making a switch I was never quite sure where else I could apply it.
I've stuck it out, though, and it's beginning to pay off. After a lateral move across town to help resurrect a dying location, my boss and I managed to draw a profit for the month of December. It's the first monthly profit that location has seen in perhaps 3 or 4 years. In the space of two months, we somehow miraculously made a $90,000 turnaround. Add in the issue of economic hardship everywhere, and that turnaround is even more remarkable. It won't last, as we start the new year attempting to tackle some big ticket items that have become very necessary. Still, it's a testament to the abilities of my boss and myself -- even if it's horribly immodest for me to say as much.
And now, in six months time at my 4 year anniversary with this company, it's within the realm of possibility to pay off some awesome dividends. My boss revealed to me that she is pregnant once again, and she's doubting that she'll come back this time. In the last year, I have proven myself to be an embarrassment of riches, ably demonstrating my worth during my boss's first maternity leave, and our subsequent turnaround of the new location following her return. In short, the job is mine should it come available.
It goes along with a major pay raise (just shy of double my current check... I do the payroll, I know these things!), a bonus structure, and most importantly to me -- choice.
Although I will not be doing what I dreamed of doing from a young age, it affords me the opportunity to live the way I wish to live. Everything I do now in my daily, non-professional life is comfortable, but limited. I live where I live because it's what I can afford without living in squalor. I go where I go because it's what's nearby or accessible, since I don't drive. It's lucky that for the most part I'm OK with these things, but the potential of things I can do with a little extra scratch in my pocket is exciting to me. A place of my own in a nicer, more secure part of town. A CAR to go exploring. The option of seeing a movie in Dunwoody without having to set aside an hour and a half to get there, and an hour and a half to get back. Like I said, the options I have now aren't BAD, they're just limited, and I've always been one who wants to explore. It's all running wild in my head -- the potential to improve the basic features of my life. What's more, it's sustainable if I keep working the way I do and am prudent with the choices I make.
Now THAT is exciting.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Saturday, February 7, 2009
life is good
I finally did it. After fifteen months of growing it out, I cut it all off yesterday. My hair will shortly be shipped off to Locks of Love, to be made into wigs for children with cancer. It's wonderfully gratifying, and there's the added bonus of having a cute new 'do. I feel good. And those good feelings have led me to think about my station in life.
It's a good life. It's not perfect, but it's working for me. I have a great roommate who takes good care of me. I have a job that keeps me somewhat comfortable, and the best boss a person could hope for. I've regained my health after a long, questionable period. I have all my family still here, and mostly doing what they want to be doing. And after three and a half years of active disdain, I'm getting to be OK with Atlanta. I'm not in a bad place.
I'm sure next week something will happen that temporarily throws it all into flux again, but for now, I'm relaxed, lucid, and OK. And all of this is coming out because I gave something of myself to someone who otherwise wouldn't have it. I like this.
It's a good life. It's not perfect, but it's working for me. I have a great roommate who takes good care of me. I have a job that keeps me somewhat comfortable, and the best boss a person could hope for. I've regained my health after a long, questionable period. I have all my family still here, and mostly doing what they want to be doing. And after three and a half years of active disdain, I'm getting to be OK with Atlanta. I'm not in a bad place.
I'm sure next week something will happen that temporarily throws it all into flux again, but for now, I'm relaxed, lucid, and OK. And all of this is coming out because I gave something of myself to someone who otherwise wouldn't have it. I like this.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
coming together
We had a corporate visit this week, and oddly, after four months of tearing my hair out and feeling like I was trapped in an exercise of futility, I walked into a workspace that felt like progress had been made. Sales numbers were up. It was clean and organized. There was finally a plan to fix some of the broken down junk that had plagued us. The first words my boss's boss said to me were "Everything looks really, really good" in a way that made me feel like he hadn't gotten to say that in a very long time. I finally felt like maybe we've made an impact.
Progress. Finally. I went home and breathed a sigh of relief.
--
Next, a memory.
Once, years ago, there was a letter to the editor in my local newspaper from a couple who had visited my hometown from Nebraska. They wrote of their car breaking down in the dead of night on Christmas Eve, and being helped by some anonymous stranger who just happened to cross their path. The stranger lifted the hood, spent about twenty minutes in there, and then told them to try to start the car again. It revved up again as if it were new. The stranger refused any payment, wished them a merry Christmas, and disappeared into the darkness.
A display of admirable human kindness. I think of this every once in a while when I contemplate the human condition... when the world crumbles into war, and selfishness seems to be the overlying sentiment. It reminds me that good exists, and it's closer to home than you might think.
--
My sister appears to have fallen into the role of town crier within my family. She's often the one who dispenses the news to the rest of her siblings of goings-on when something major happens. I'll never forget the phone call I received one August Sunday morning, when I went into work to get some stuff done. It was a pleasant surprise to hear from her.
(cheerfully) "Hey Sayre, what's going on?"
"Grandma's dead."
Text doesn't do it justice. There was something so incredibly direct and level about it that it was immediately disarming. We talked about it for a moment, and I promptly prepared my travel arrangements. She has this innate ability to break bad news in a gentle way without futzing around with flowery, treacle-filled sentimentality.
So with the arrival of an email from my sister with simply my brother's name in the subject, I knew something had happened. He had been taken to the hospital with symptoms of pneumonia... and from there, every three hours, it was alternating good news, bad news. It's pneumonia, and maybe a pulmonary embolism. No, it's not an embolism. There's a bacterial infection in his bloodstream. He's in better spirits and appears to be responding to the medication. No, wait, he's been moved to cardiac ICU. And then, suddenly, he was released from the hospital. The antibiotics moved incredibly quickly and he recovered, literally, overnight.
The stream of news was absolutely exhausting, and then add a layer of self-mortality to that. It was a little over a year ago that I entered a hospital emergency room with a 104 degree fever and respiratory attacks every fifteen minutes. I felt like I was dying... and I came to find out that I was, and would have if I hadn't sought treatment at the moment I did. I was diagnosed with pneumonia and a pulmonary embolism. I tried to downplay the seriousness to my family -- they all had lives and important things to attend to. It was four days before my fever broke, and another two after that before they felt the danger of the clot detaching and causing a stroke had passed. Now, here's my big brother, in a similar boat... and I know the seriousness of it firsthand, but also know recovery is attainable. I tried to assuage my family's fears best I could through emails and phone calls, while also quietly making arrangements for work and travel, just in case.
It wasn't necessary, thankfully.
--
As the last of six kids, and one who came along a bit after the rest, most of my siblings were already breaching adulthood and defining their directions in life, and as such I often felt left out at family gatherings. Often, it was Jerry who made the effort to make sure I was included, and would often bring me along for the ride of his own life. I witnessed him stop and help countless people along the way.
Time passed, and we grew into very different people -- I'd wager a guess that amongst the family, Jerry and I are the most disparate of the family. He was never particularly comfortable with the gay thing -- it took him ten years to get a hug from his little brother without flinching. I've never told him about my diagnosis, because ultimately, I don't think it's that important for him to know. There's very little common ground between us, but that doesn't lessen my admiration for him.
Jerry is the kind of person so many of us strive to be, and he doesn't even realize it. Every once a tall tale would be spun, designed to cast a light of amazing glory upon himself that would be met with massive levels of incredulity. Instead, it's the things he does not talk about that inspires his family.
That anonymous stranger who saved the couple from Nebraska was Jerry. There were enough details in the letter that those who knew him knew it was him. And the kicker -- Jerry denied it. And still does. His life is lesson in humility, and how to be, truly, a good person. I get the feeling he doesn't envision himself to be a terribly important person, hence tall tales... but the most extraordinary things seem second nature and insignificant to him. He doesn't realize how incredible he really is.
Perhaps the key to true greatness is a complete obliviousness to it.
Progress. Finally. I went home and breathed a sigh of relief.
--
Next, a memory.
Once, years ago, there was a letter to the editor in my local newspaper from a couple who had visited my hometown from Nebraska. They wrote of their car breaking down in the dead of night on Christmas Eve, and being helped by some anonymous stranger who just happened to cross their path. The stranger lifted the hood, spent about twenty minutes in there, and then told them to try to start the car again. It revved up again as if it were new. The stranger refused any payment, wished them a merry Christmas, and disappeared into the darkness.
A display of admirable human kindness. I think of this every once in a while when I contemplate the human condition... when the world crumbles into war, and selfishness seems to be the overlying sentiment. It reminds me that good exists, and it's closer to home than you might think.
--
My sister appears to have fallen into the role of town crier within my family. She's often the one who dispenses the news to the rest of her siblings of goings-on when something major happens. I'll never forget the phone call I received one August Sunday morning, when I went into work to get some stuff done. It was a pleasant surprise to hear from her.
(cheerfully) "Hey Sayre, what's going on?"
"Grandma's dead."
Text doesn't do it justice. There was something so incredibly direct and level about it that it was immediately disarming. We talked about it for a moment, and I promptly prepared my travel arrangements. She has this innate ability to break bad news in a gentle way without futzing around with flowery, treacle-filled sentimentality.
So with the arrival of an email from my sister with simply my brother's name in the subject, I knew something had happened. He had been taken to the hospital with symptoms of pneumonia... and from there, every three hours, it was alternating good news, bad news. It's pneumonia, and maybe a pulmonary embolism. No, it's not an embolism. There's a bacterial infection in his bloodstream. He's in better spirits and appears to be responding to the medication. No, wait, he's been moved to cardiac ICU. And then, suddenly, he was released from the hospital. The antibiotics moved incredibly quickly and he recovered, literally, overnight.
The stream of news was absolutely exhausting, and then add a layer of self-mortality to that. It was a little over a year ago that I entered a hospital emergency room with a 104 degree fever and respiratory attacks every fifteen minutes. I felt like I was dying... and I came to find out that I was, and would have if I hadn't sought treatment at the moment I did. I was diagnosed with pneumonia and a pulmonary embolism. I tried to downplay the seriousness to my family -- they all had lives and important things to attend to. It was four days before my fever broke, and another two after that before they felt the danger of the clot detaching and causing a stroke had passed. Now, here's my big brother, in a similar boat... and I know the seriousness of it firsthand, but also know recovery is attainable. I tried to assuage my family's fears best I could through emails and phone calls, while also quietly making arrangements for work and travel, just in case.
It wasn't necessary, thankfully.
--
As the last of six kids, and one who came along a bit after the rest, most of my siblings were already breaching adulthood and defining their directions in life, and as such I often felt left out at family gatherings. Often, it was Jerry who made the effort to make sure I was included, and would often bring me along for the ride of his own life. I witnessed him stop and help countless people along the way.
Time passed, and we grew into very different people -- I'd wager a guess that amongst the family, Jerry and I are the most disparate of the family. He was never particularly comfortable with the gay thing -- it took him ten years to get a hug from his little brother without flinching. I've never told him about my diagnosis, because ultimately, I don't think it's that important for him to know. There's very little common ground between us, but that doesn't lessen my admiration for him.
Jerry is the kind of person so many of us strive to be, and he doesn't even realize it. Every once a tall tale would be spun, designed to cast a light of amazing glory upon himself that would be met with massive levels of incredulity. Instead, it's the things he does not talk about that inspires his family.
That anonymous stranger who saved the couple from Nebraska was Jerry. There were enough details in the letter that those who knew him knew it was him. And the kicker -- Jerry denied it. And still does. His life is lesson in humility, and how to be, truly, a good person. I get the feeling he doesn't envision himself to be a terribly important person, hence tall tales... but the most extraordinary things seem second nature and insignificant to him. He doesn't realize how incredible he really is.
Perhaps the key to true greatness is a complete obliviousness to it.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
beginning to figure it out
So for the past month (as regular readers are well aware), I've been generally disillusioned with my job and the way I spend my time these days. It shows all over the place, from my lack of regard for my living space (my room is a hell hole at the moment) to my current physical condition, to just my general demeanor and attitude. I no longer carry the enjoyment or zeal for my work that I once did -- I don't feel as if I'm doing anything I can take great pride in, or get any kind of fulfillment from, which has now spilled over into my personal life. All this means, from the more zen point of view, that it's time to move on.
Would, were that an option. With the state of the economy and job availability such as it is these days, finding something that's just right is a daunting task. You may be hard pressed to find anyone who fits the bill of "jack of all trades, master of none" better than me. It makes me extremely useful and valuable as an employee once I'm in and going, but not at all marketable in the initial search. This has always been the case in both good times and bum times.
All this has led me to a great deal of introspection and reflection about what it really is that would make me feel like I was doing something worthwhile, that I could be really, really GOOD at. I've never felt at greater ease than I did when I was performing, and upon graduating high school I packed up and moved to NYC to pursue those aspirations. Life, as it so often does, got in the way, and despite some very encouraging auditions and a few workshops and readings along the way, after seven years I couldn't keep it going. I left, terribly disappointed that perhaps it just wasn't meant to be... and having absolutely no idea what I would do next.
But on the plus side, during my seven years, I was surrounded constantly by incredibly talented people who I came to know as my dear friends. They had the same struggles with occasionally more success... and the whole time I was there I couldn't understand how people who were so brilliantly talented (moreso than me in many cases) had just as much trouble maneuvering around the road blocks as I did.
Shortly after I moved to midtown Atlanta, I was exploring the neighborhood and found an old church building. It had been sitting vacant for years after the restaurant that had operated there in the 90s vacated. It was a beautiful building that had been masked by graffiti and disrepair, but gazing upon that church my head swirled with a million ideas on how to revitalize it and put it back to use. Last year, the building finally found a tenant in the form of a Presbyterian congregation, but I walk past it nearly every day and another detail of my idle daydream begins to fill in for The Cathedral Theatre. And every time I've looked at that building I've become more and more aware of what it is I'm meant to do.
I want to start and run that theatre company. I want the joy of giving my impossibly talented friends the opportunities that have eluded them thus far. I want the thrill of being able to explore new works, re-examine old works, and present it to the world at large. And just to placate my own ego...maybe a small vanity project or two along the way. The more I imagine of what's possible, the more excited I get. I'm not even doing it yet and I already feel that passion that's been missing for a while now. And realizing that maybe my first instinct wasn't so far off the mark after all is really quite gratifying. This is something that feeds off what I'm good at and is, in turn, good for me.
I don't have the slightest clue about where to start. But, for me, defining the idea is a huge first step.
Would, were that an option. With the state of the economy and job availability such as it is these days, finding something that's just right is a daunting task. You may be hard pressed to find anyone who fits the bill of "jack of all trades, master of none" better than me. It makes me extremely useful and valuable as an employee once I'm in and going, but not at all marketable in the initial search. This has always been the case in both good times and bum times.
All this has led me to a great deal of introspection and reflection about what it really is that would make me feel like I was doing something worthwhile, that I could be really, really GOOD at. I've never felt at greater ease than I did when I was performing, and upon graduating high school I packed up and moved to NYC to pursue those aspirations. Life, as it so often does, got in the way, and despite some very encouraging auditions and a few workshops and readings along the way, after seven years I couldn't keep it going. I left, terribly disappointed that perhaps it just wasn't meant to be... and having absolutely no idea what I would do next.
But on the plus side, during my seven years, I was surrounded constantly by incredibly talented people who I came to know as my dear friends. They had the same struggles with occasionally more success... and the whole time I was there I couldn't understand how people who were so brilliantly talented (moreso than me in many cases) had just as much trouble maneuvering around the road blocks as I did.
Shortly after I moved to midtown Atlanta, I was exploring the neighborhood and found an old church building. It had been sitting vacant for years after the restaurant that had operated there in the 90s vacated. It was a beautiful building that had been masked by graffiti and disrepair, but gazing upon that church my head swirled with a million ideas on how to revitalize it and put it back to use. Last year, the building finally found a tenant in the form of a Presbyterian congregation, but I walk past it nearly every day and another detail of my idle daydream begins to fill in for The Cathedral Theatre. And every time I've looked at that building I've become more and more aware of what it is I'm meant to do.
I want to start and run that theatre company. I want the joy of giving my impossibly talented friends the opportunities that have eluded them thus far. I want the thrill of being able to explore new works, re-examine old works, and present it to the world at large. And just to placate my own ego...maybe a small vanity project or two along the way. The more I imagine of what's possible, the more excited I get. I'm not even doing it yet and I already feel that passion that's been missing for a while now. And realizing that maybe my first instinct wasn't so far off the mark after all is really quite gratifying. This is something that feeds off what I'm good at and is, in turn, good for me.
I don't have the slightest clue about where to start. But, for me, defining the idea is a huge first step.
Friday, January 9, 2009
quick update
Had jury duty yesterday. I was on the standby list, so when I called in to see if I was needed, I was told "Thank you for your service and enjoy your day off." Sweeet! I promptly got to laundry and sitting on my butt, watching TV. I've discovered this show called The First 48 on A&E -- it's a documentary show (don't call it reality, that cheapens it) that follows homicide detectives around in several cities and tracks the case they're assigned to for the first 48 hours after it breaks. It's fascinating to see how quickly they can work and how good they are at their jobs.
Every once in a while I find myself oddly fascinated by some sort of niche -- right now it's forensic science and detective work. Anytime I'm near a TV playing Forensic Files, CSI, Law and Order, or any other of the host of crime procedurals, I get sucked in. And in another lifetime, I probably could have been damn good at that too.
I've been thinking about learning another language. Or six. I'm always in awe of people who can fluently converse in multiple languages and I've secretly yearned to be one of them. I took three years of Spanish in high school and I can pick up bits and pieces of conversation... but I speak what is commonly known as 'restaurant Spanish' -- enough to communicate, too little to converse. I've heard lots of good stuff about Rosetta Stone and it's not astronomically expensive, so maybe one day I'll go learn Spanish. And French. And German. And Japanese. And Welsh (they have Welsh!). While living in NYC, I ran into so many visitors who were so tenative and scared about their broken English. I always wanted to be able to allay whatever fears they had by spilling out with their native language out of nowhere.
--
Finally, had a doctor's visit today. CD4 is 447, VL is 28k. That's a considerable bounce back from my previous readings... in fact, my CD4 is higher than it was when I first started seeing Dr. Z. Meaning: No meds. I'm holding steady and have been for a year, minus that one little blip... that's good news.
Every once in a while I find myself oddly fascinated by some sort of niche -- right now it's forensic science and detective work. Anytime I'm near a TV playing Forensic Files, CSI, Law and Order, or any other of the host of crime procedurals, I get sucked in. And in another lifetime, I probably could have been damn good at that too.
I've been thinking about learning another language. Or six. I'm always in awe of people who can fluently converse in multiple languages and I've secretly yearned to be one of them. I took three years of Spanish in high school and I can pick up bits and pieces of conversation... but I speak what is commonly known as 'restaurant Spanish' -- enough to communicate, too little to converse. I've heard lots of good stuff about Rosetta Stone and it's not astronomically expensive, so maybe one day I'll go learn Spanish. And French. And German. And Japanese. And Welsh (they have Welsh!). While living in NYC, I ran into so many visitors who were so tenative and scared about their broken English. I always wanted to be able to allay whatever fears they had by spilling out with their native language out of nowhere.
--
Finally, had a doctor's visit today. CD4 is 447, VL is 28k. That's a considerable bounce back from my previous readings... in fact, my CD4 is higher than it was when I first started seeing Dr. Z. Meaning: No meds. I'm holding steady and have been for a year, minus that one little blip... that's good news.
Monday, December 29, 2008
lack of options
Just shy of a year has passed since I started writing in this incarnation and I've mustered barely 35 entries. That's pretty sad.
--
So before this blog takes a left-turn into 'bitch-bitch-bitch' territory, my birthday and holidays were lovely, if a bit sedate. I couldn't get away from Atlanta for either, but a dinner here, a brunch there, and a gracious invitation from my roommate's family to include me in their festivities certainly added a bit of warmth to the days.
I went and saw Benjamin Button today, and frankly... don't bother. It's an overlong, maudlin display of storytelling without an actual story. It took three hours to say nothing. I don't get the praise that's being heaped on it. I thought it was dreck, honestly.
---
OK, time to bitch about work again. Second verse, same as the first...
I took some time off from work a couple of weeks ago, just after my birthday. It was a bad sign when the first two days I was off, I had to go in anyway. I did, however, manage four days in a row of not being there. It was refreshing, a chance to relax and leave it behind. I didn't go away (Priceline didn't want to cooperate), so I sat at home, ate cookies (Thanks Mom! They were great!) and decompressed.
What was disappointing about this particular time around was how clearly into focus it put my present situation at work. In the past, I've gotten to sneak away for a few days, relax, recharge, and come back ready to focus on the tasks at hand. This time, I came to realize that I've tuned out. After three and a half years of general neglect, boneheaded moves, extraordinarily inadequate pay... I'm done. I'm overworked and underappreciated, and frankly, I have more important 'me' things to worry about now rather than crawling on the roof to turn on the heat. I've been neglecting those 'me' things for the past year, and I can't do that any more.
Which brings us to a delightful catch-22. I don't generally know what I'm good at until I'm doing it... so transitioning into something new is always a challenge because I can't ever figure out where I'm going to land next. Plus, I'm actually seriously considering going back to school (shut up, shut up, I know, I've already heard it)... something not possible in my current position. So... a new job that allows full health insurance, enough time for school, and that won't sap me of my passion for life and allows me to work on myself a bit too... in this economic climate.
Yeah, good luck, douchebag.
I've thought about going back to bartending again... if you get in with the right company, insurance is included. It's somewhat recession-proof (times are great? let's drink! times are tough? let's drink!)... and if I land the night shift, I can make money and have the time I need for myself. I wouldn't call it progress, but it may be what I need to get myself back together.
--
So before this blog takes a left-turn into 'bitch-bitch-bitch' territory, my birthday and holidays were lovely, if a bit sedate. I couldn't get away from Atlanta for either, but a dinner here, a brunch there, and a gracious invitation from my roommate's family to include me in their festivities certainly added a bit of warmth to the days.
I went and saw Benjamin Button today, and frankly... don't bother. It's an overlong, maudlin display of storytelling without an actual story. It took three hours to say nothing. I don't get the praise that's being heaped on it. I thought it was dreck, honestly.
---
OK, time to bitch about work again. Second verse, same as the first...
I took some time off from work a couple of weeks ago, just after my birthday. It was a bad sign when the first two days I was off, I had to go in anyway. I did, however, manage four days in a row of not being there. It was refreshing, a chance to relax and leave it behind. I didn't go away (Priceline didn't want to cooperate), so I sat at home, ate cookies (Thanks Mom! They were great!) and decompressed.
What was disappointing about this particular time around was how clearly into focus it put my present situation at work. In the past, I've gotten to sneak away for a few days, relax, recharge, and come back ready to focus on the tasks at hand. This time, I came to realize that I've tuned out. After three and a half years of general neglect, boneheaded moves, extraordinarily inadequate pay... I'm done. I'm overworked and underappreciated, and frankly, I have more important 'me' things to worry about now rather than crawling on the roof to turn on the heat. I've been neglecting those 'me' things for the past year, and I can't do that any more.
Which brings us to a delightful catch-22. I don't generally know what I'm good at until I'm doing it... so transitioning into something new is always a challenge because I can't ever figure out where I'm going to land next. Plus, I'm actually seriously considering going back to school (shut up, shut up, I know, I've already heard it)... something not possible in my current position. So... a new job that allows full health insurance, enough time for school, and that won't sap me of my passion for life and allows me to work on myself a bit too... in this economic climate.
Yeah, good luck, douchebag.
I've thought about going back to bartending again... if you get in with the right company, insurance is included. It's somewhat recession-proof (times are great? let's drink! times are tough? let's drink!)... and if I land the night shift, I can make money and have the time I need for myself. I wouldn't call it progress, but it may be what I need to get myself back together.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
like a rat
Oh, it's been a while. I actually had to look back to see what I'd written about.
I wish I could say that this was going to be a long entry because my life is so interesting and fascinating right now, but really, it isn't. Work is killing me, and my mind has been elsewhere. The more I think about it, the more I'm arriving at the idea that it's time to move on. My company is a sinking ship in this region, and given the recent spate of layoffs they did two weeks ago at the head office, I'd wager a guess we're next. Those layoffs have made our lives in the satellite regions sheer hell. Nothing is getting done, no answers for important questions, no support because all the people who backed us up before don't work there anymore. So, much like a rat jumping from a sinking ship, I'm looking elsewhere. There are a couple of options out there but I need to make sure this process is as seamless as possible.
I have some vacation time coming up in about two weeks... I may book a buddy pass and fly to NYC for a couple of interviews if I can.
---
So... it's been a year. A year and two days, to be precise, since my diagnosis. And how am I doing with it? Well, the fact that I didn't fall horribly ill following Thanksgiving was particularly noticeable... first time in four years. In fact, no new hospital stays at all!
But then there's the mental toll... and that's been considerable. All you need to do is look at a picture of me a year ago, and a picture of me now, and you'll see it. And though I haven't shed even the first tear (I don't do crying), it's in the eyes. Well, the eyes and the waistline. Wish I could blame that on Thanksgiving solely (which, incidentally, was lovely!), but that won't fly!
And my birthday is in ten days.
I wish I could say that this was going to be a long entry because my life is so interesting and fascinating right now, but really, it isn't. Work is killing me, and my mind has been elsewhere. The more I think about it, the more I'm arriving at the idea that it's time to move on. My company is a sinking ship in this region, and given the recent spate of layoffs they did two weeks ago at the head office, I'd wager a guess we're next. Those layoffs have made our lives in the satellite regions sheer hell. Nothing is getting done, no answers for important questions, no support because all the people who backed us up before don't work there anymore. So, much like a rat jumping from a sinking ship, I'm looking elsewhere. There are a couple of options out there but I need to make sure this process is as seamless as possible.
I have some vacation time coming up in about two weeks... I may book a buddy pass and fly to NYC for a couple of interviews if I can.
---
So... it's been a year. A year and two days, to be precise, since my diagnosis. And how am I doing with it? Well, the fact that I didn't fall horribly ill following Thanksgiving was particularly noticeable... first time in four years. In fact, no new hospital stays at all!
But then there's the mental toll... and that's been considerable. All you need to do is look at a picture of me a year ago, and a picture of me now, and you'll see it. And though I haven't shed even the first tear (I don't do crying), it's in the eyes. Well, the eyes and the waistline. Wish I could blame that on Thanksgiving solely (which, incidentally, was lovely!), but that won't fly!
And my birthday is in ten days.
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