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Jobs Schmobs

I mean, we all have to do something for money, right? Something to get us from day to day, week to week without having to live in our cars or under a park bench, (no disrespect intended toward those who do) right?

I suppose it’s always ideal if you love your work. Currently… I enjoy my job enough to not want to slit my wrists. The more I feel like I know, the better it gets. Plus? When I do go off the deep end one day, I have fantastic insurance. Taking care of me always helps in the satisfaction department. Now if I could just get someone to rub my neck and shoulders.

Thinking about job satisfaction this morning took me back to 2005 when I worked this temporary assignment for the XYZ Corp (names changed to protect the douchebaggery). This job was, by far, the most. When I say “the most,” I mean the most ridiculous, the most horrifying, the most ick-inducing, and (I’m almost ashamed to say this) the most entertaining.

My job was to listen to voicemails on the phone line for a popular televangelist’s “prayer line.” You’ll see why I put “prayer line” in quotation marks soon enough. Basically, I was to listen to people’s prayers, transcribe their demographic information, and (here’s the horrifying part) then delete the messages.

So… where’s the part where these people get prayed for?

Ooooo…. oooooh… I know! I know! Pick me, teacher!!

THEY NEVER GET PRAYED FOR.

As it was explained to me, I was the only person to ever hear these messages. Well, me and the other few people who were on this project. None of us were told that we had to pray. I’m not sure any of us would have, but I do know we were never asked to.

We were told to transcribe these people’s names, addresses, and phone numbers so that they could be solicited for monetary contributions at a later time.

That’s the part that made me feel completely filthy. That, along with knowing these miserable jackasses were not fulfilling their part of the bargain and, you know, actually praying for their callers. Somehow, I found this worse than any act committed by Ted Bundy. Then again, good ol’ Ted was also a pro at pretending to be something he wasn’t.

Most of the callers wanted prayers on their behalf so the could find a husband/wife/significant other, and these requests were the amusing part of the job. Amusing = cute, not a “laughing at them” kind of thing. Some people needed jobs, cars, homes, money for bills, or to find their car keys. Yes. Before you ask. Yes. And these calls came from all over the world.

I often found myself playing a mental “Dating Game,” wishing I could introduce Gina in California to Henry in Zimbabwe. (names/location changed)

It was heartbreaking to hear some of these folks’ prayer requests… sick spouse/child/parent/friend, homelessness, you name it. It was even worse to know what the final outcome of the call was going to be.

In case you didn’t understand when I said it before, allow me to repeat myself:

final outcome: NO PRAYERS.

That was the longest two weeks of my life and was exactly why I shied away from temporary assignments after that. Very soon after that travesty, I was fortunate enough to end up at my last job, where I stayed for 13 years. That came with its own issues. I was going to say at least it never left my soul feeling filthy, but that isn’t true. Sometimes, it did, and that’s why I’m not there anymore. There are things I will miss about that place forever, but feeling like a shitty human being is not one of them.

But back to Henry in Zimbabwe and Gina in California… I hope you’ve both found your true loves and made lots of babies. I remember you both wanted that. I always shot out a kind thought for people like them. It just seemed like the decent thing to do. If I knew you both in person, I’d have introduced you.

Jim in Oregon was the best, though. All he wanted was a cat. And isn’t that fantastic? Jim stands out to me because that day is the day I adopted my asshole cat, Tuco. There were times I wanted to ship his angry little ass off to Jim, but I never did. Somehow, I saw Jim as more the Persian cat type, or maybe a Siamese.

Oh, and Bob in Tennessee? I hope you found those keys.

Why Are You Like This? Barb here, Dissy and I were discussing what we should write about for our very first Witchy Wednesday and settled on answering the main question everyone gets when talking about non-mainstream religious beliefs. Some people are nicer and more polite about how they ask, some are mind-blowingly nasty, but the […]

Witchy Wednesday: Take 1 — So… Your Friend is an Asshole

A new blog that just started yesterday by some of my favorite people. PLEASE check it out, like it, comment, share it. Help us make more of a mark on the world than some piss on a fire hydrant!!

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Wasting Time

Yesterday, I had the day off work. I took some time to help a friend who ended up not really needing anything. I kind of figured that may be the case, but, hey, who couldn’t use some time off? Paid, no less.

I sat in my chair at my makeshift desk (a vanity table sans mirror generously gifted to me by the aforementioned friend) and indulged in so many grand illusions of all the things I could get done.

Well, I discovered that I’ll eventually need to buy another dishwasher. Something is going on with mine and, though I replaced the gasket at the bottom of the door, it is still leaking. I followed the installment instructions to a T, and it worked beautifully for about 2 months. Last week, I started noticing water on the floor again. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to let me know I have a problem.

I opened the door and saw that the gasket was slipping out of place. Oh joy. Well, if I can just figure out keeping it in place for a few more months, I can pay some bills down and get a new one.

One thing I did that was not on my list is I spent some time making my office area more cozy. I hung some pictures, which is really the extent of it, but, hey, that matters. Feeling comfortable in your home matters, even if that comfort is restricted to a small corner. For now.

That is the totality of my accomplishments, unless you count drinking with one of my girlfriends. We drank vodka concoctions and formulated plans for our upcoming exciting new venture. One day, we shall rule the universe. (not the world? No. The universe. Go big, or go home). It was a fun time.

The list being neglected, however, leads me to feel unproductive because the rest of my life is in such utter disarray. Then I stop and think… list schmist. It’ll get it done when I fucking get it done. Here’s the thing, though… It’s not like I avoided those things so I could go out and improve humanity. That fact has been known to inspire feelings of guilt in the past. If I’m not caring for others, then I ought to be taking care of myself or what’s mine.

I really have to ignite some conversations between my thinking and feeling brains. I need to get them communicating effectively so that my life is managed in a more harmonious manner. Let me be honest… chaos is not cutting it for me.

For now, I will find peace and joy in knowing that I have an answer about my dishwasher (replace it) and that I have found a permanent spot to do my thing, whether that thing is paying bills, writing brilliant novels, writing crappy blogs, or making arbitrary lists of things I ought to be doing. I’ll see about actually doing some of it another time.

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Worth a Mention

When I started this blog last week, my thoughts/goals/plans/hopes were crystal clear and the words flowed without restraint. Today? Yesterday? The day before? It’s all shrouded in pea soup fog.

Guess what, though? I talked about not painting my bedroom in my last post. On my days off this week, I managed to get the tiniest little bit done. My brother-from-another-mother came over and helped me. We painted a coat of primer on the ceiling and woodwork. Oh MAN was that smell ever STRONG. I’m pretty sure we were buzzed from it, too. It’s nice to have it started, though. Hopefully, I can keep the momentum going.

I have this nook type area off my kitchen. At first, I planned on putting a washer and dryer in that area, but when we (my contractor/friend and I) got the rest of the kitchen in order, I started thinking that made the room super busy, and I’m not really so old that I can’t go ahead and get used to the creepy basement for laundry.

The question then became, “so then, what should I do with the nook?”

I thought I’d put a couple of chairs and a small table in there and use it as a tea spot. Then I saw that it’s really not proportioned well that way either. Nice chairs like I had in mind wouldn’t fit.

The other day, when I was working from home, I moved a vanity table into the nook area so I could work from home on Thanksgiving. I’m thinking that I really like the spot for an office area. There’s enough room for a desk, a chair, the dog’s bed, and, if I’m super clever with space, I can get a shelf for my printer.

The up shot is that I can have the space I was going to use for an office as a yoga/meditation/sitting area. It’s nicer there anyhow because it won’t see a ton of traffic, so I won’t have to contend with a bunch of energies.

I feel like I’m in a place where I’m assimilating wisdom. That feels nice. I’ve been happy with the reading I’ve selected for myself. I have a knack for finding good information when I need it the most. If you’re in desperate need of some new perspectives, let me recommend “Everything is F*cked: A Book About Hope” by Mark Manson and “Letting Go: The Pathway of Surrender” by David R Hawkins. Both are exactly what I needed.

Manson, in my mind, can do no wrong. He writes thoughtful wisdom and speaks to the current mindset, and most importantly, he makes me laugh at some of his colloquialisms, for example: “snorting cocaine out of a hooker’s ass crack.” I’d read anything he felt the need to put out there.

Another Hawkins book I’ve read and gained a TON from is “Dissolving the Ego, Realising The Self.” His writing is very reminiscent of Eckhart Tolle, and, after much internal struggle, I am a big Tolle fan, though I have had to stop buying his merchandise.

“The Power of Now,” and “A New Earth” were phenomenal and life-changing for me, so it makes perfect sense that it’s a worthwhile thing to maybe buy one of the recorded retreats they sell on Audibles. The first few of them are interesting, but then you realize that he never really says anything different. Hawkins is a nice re-phrasing of the principles I learned from Tolle. I like to hear concepts told in different ways. It helps me to solidify them, and I enjoy hearing “real life” examples of the principles being taught. While there is immense value in what Tolle has to say, and while it’s easy to follow and comprehend, there is a serious lack in supporting information.

So… this is where I’m at in the cosmos. I hope you are all well and good. Have a great week!

Posted on by Dissy · 2 Comments

Moving On

I’ve been really dragging my feet on the remodel work in the house I’m living in now. I ended up there as the result of a breakup at the end of April. I am hard-pressed to admit that, at 49 years old, this is my very first legitimate case of a broken heart. Sure… others have hurt, others have done their damage, but this one? Wow. Truth be told, I have never before left a relationship while I was still in love, and I was in this instance. Very much so.

I am too obstinate to not recover from this, but I am wondering when that thing is going to kick in? You know, that thing that makes you say “fuck this,” and just … I don’t know… get on with it. I know I’ll feel better and will be much happier when my environment is put in order and is as pretty as I can make it. I know all of the good and positive reasons that I should be doing this, but I am hard pressed to take the steps involved in taking action. Honestly? I’m getting on my own goddamn nerves with it. I’m not even in a place, anymore, where I’m hoping for a reconciliation. That ship has sailed. If there’s happiness out there for me, it’s not going to be with this person.

Part of me is wondering if it’s the paint I picked out for my bedroom. I chose the exact same color scheme, as I had recently painted the bedroom where we lived together, and I absolutely love that color. I’m not tired of it yet, and I want to look at it every night before I go to sleep. Then I think, “it can’t be that.” See… I didn’t associate that bedroom with him or with our relationship. I associate that bedroom with me. It was the one place where I put my true essence. Why can’t I do that again here? I can, but I’m just not doing it. Besides, my new-to-me antique furniture is different enough to wipe out any ghosts.

I think I fear life in general now. I think that I feel too damn old to start over. I think it’s time to face and unpack the baggage so that it can finally be put away. Not just the baggage from this most recent upheaval, but a lifetime of accumulated baggage. Time to breathe. Time to get back to me. Time to fucking paint.

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You’re Doing it WRONG.

I have a genuine contempt for, I was going to just list the self-help industry, but I think it goes above and beyond all of that. Self-help, religion, or anything that claims to make anyone a better person.

My first gripe with self-help is that most of the books/methods/paradigms make the broad assumption that all parties involved are sane, rational people. Particularly relationship gurus. Sure… That communication method might help if my partner wasn’t a raging alcoholic/narcissist/depressed/anxious/etc… person. Finally, it seems, some folks are creeping out of the woodwork and are actually acknowledging that most people are damaged in some capacity, so you functioning on a “normal” plane is not going to resonate with someone who is bat-shit. Never mind why a “normal” person wants to relate to or work things out with “bat-shit.” I mean, shouldn’t the goal just be to get the hell out of there? That’s fodder for another blog, though. So let’s not go there yet.

But.. the gist of all these things is to make people feel bad about themselves. If you don’t have the magically wonderful life of your dreams after following paradigm a, religion c, method x, or routine k then you aren’t doing it right. What a fantastic way to keep people coming back for more, pouring in more money, and not realizing that your method is a steaming pile of horse shit designed to ensnare you in a vicious cycle of always being sucked into the vortex of paying people money to help you become someone you like.

Imagine my dismay at being constantly drawn to the self-help books. I haven’t been snagged or bogged down by it in a very long time, though. I’ve cultivated the ability to take what I need from each one and chuck the rest into the fuck-it bucket. Plus? I tend to gravitate toward those who acknowledge that we are all fucked up. Some, though, you really can’t take seriously or work with on any level. Like this book I’m perusing now on Kindle Unlimited (someone remind me to cancel that free one month trial). “Self Discovery Journal: 200 Questions to Find Who You Are and What You Want In Life.”

There’s a whole section on beliefs we’ve formulated of ourselves over time. “I’m not good enough, I’m not smart enough, I’m ugly, no one will ever love me…” you get the gist. So the exercise says we should analyze our beliefs about ourselves, think about how we have come to have those beliefs, then “prove your belief wrong.”

Their example?

belief: “I’m too short for anyone to love me.”

solution: Look up info about short celebrities dating hotties.

Seriously, people? I mean… I’m not the only one who sees through this, right? There are scads of reasons why this solution holds not even one molecule of water. Just because something works in the favor of a short celebrity who is probably ragingly hot, incredibly charming, and (let’s not forget) very wealthy in addition to being short, well, that doesn’t mean it’s going to work for an average short person who believes his or her self undeserving of love because of this perceived defect.

Maybe it’s just me, but I tend to think these kinds of mind games people try to get us to play with ourselves are incredibly shallow, and no person that has any kind of intelligence whatsoever is helped by them. If you have the ability to think outside the box in any capacity, this kind of trite advice is only going to make you feel worse. Especially if you’re committed to feeling like shit for the rest of your life. Go ahead… try it.

My other favorite? “Find a way to make short sexy.”

Ummm… If I have shortness on a list of reasons that I’m unlovable, I’m not going to really be able to pull that one off, now am I? Now, I could be incredibly wrong in making this assumption, but I don’t think I am. I think it would be easier for a short female to do something to make herself feel sexy, but what is a short male going to do? And it seems to me that shortness making someone feel unlovable is, by and large, more of a factor with the fellas than the ladies.

Maybe this is why therapy never works for me. I think of the 80,000 ways around some method and come up with every reason in the world why that shit is ridiculous.

So, Self Discovery Journal, what have you got for the gal who hates her brain? Let’s see about picking that apart.

stay tuned…

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Comfortably Numb

Hey… guess who my favorite band is? Seriously, though, is David Gilmour not the hottest old dude on the planet? He is. You know he is.

Anyhow, I’ve been working a lot here lately, and I’ve been thinking about things I’d like to accomplish in both the material and the non-material world.

I’d like to have that thing in my head that others appear to have. You know, that thing that gives the capacity for setting goals and following through on them. I guess, in all honesty, I don’t know that I don’t have it. Maybe I just haven’t wanted something enough.

I was listening to “Everything Is F*cked: A Book About Hope,” by Mark Manson, who is also author of one of my favorite books “The Subtle Art of Not Giving A F*ck.” Yep. That’s me. I shamelessly plug things that might benefit others even when there is nothing in return for me. It’s all good.

Anyhow, Manson was talking about (I love authors who narrate their own audio books) this man who had a brain tumor, and he lost the capacity for caring and empathy after having a massive brain tumor removed. Once, he had been a successful, productive man, and now, he, for all intents and purposes, has nothing. He lost his career, his marriage, his family, and, eventually, his home.

Granted, I have not had any massive tumors removed, unless toxic relationships count (and I’m pretty sure those do count), but I feel like there’s something in this man’s story that resonates with me. Some things out there, I just can’t care about, and I don’t know what to do about any of it. That’s as far as I’ve gotten with the book, as I’m limited to listening during my commute time. I’m looking forward to seeing what comes of the situation.

It seems that I’ve been at more crossroads in my life than I care to remember. There’s always a transition for me, and every time, that transition is more challenging than the last. I thought this shit was supposed to get easier. I mean, I am a fantastic learner. I’m good at applying the accumulated wisdom of my 49 years. Is there some deeper “thing” I’m not getting? Maybe. Maybe not.

The one thing that has stuck with me for the last… well… forever, is the desire to write a book. I think I might maybe have the tenacity to stick with it this time. You know, if I can ever figure out what I want/need/have to say. We shall see, folks. We shall see.