People listen to me...

and I'm finally figuring out that it's an honor I need to be mindful of. I think it's very humbling to be reminded of how you impact people, specifically children. I recently saw one of my younger nephews (I have heaps of them!) and he mentioned playing softball. He said, I still keep my gear in the bat bag that you bought me when I was a little kid. "WHAT?" I thought. That was ages ago! My second thought was, "I need to get this poor man a new bat bag!" But on a deeper level, it reminded me that something seemingly simple that you do for a child can resonate through their lives.

I just got an email from my oldest nephew (WBC-N1) about a donation I had solicited. I'm participating in a 5K walk to raise money to ease homelessness in Los Angeles and had emailed friends and family asking them to help. He said "I remember having a talk with you about this years ago, and I just didn't get it, but thanks to loving people like you, I do now." I find it hard to express how deeply touched I am that this man remembers our conversations so well, and is moved to action by them. He's such a good fellow. I really feel blessed to have him in my life. To think that he paid such close attention to something I said so long ago is absolutely overwhelming. It creates a desire in me to choose and use my words to the best of my ability.

Hello? Is there anybody in there?

Okay. You know it's bad when I start relating to Pink Floyd lyrics. I've been going through a situation of my own design. And like the song says, "Now I've got that feeling once again, I can't explain, you would not understand, this is not how I am."

The thing is, I know that I'll move and grow through this moment in my life. It's no more than a point on a line on a plane woven into the fabric of my life's universe. But for right now...there is still the bottomless pit that lives in my stomach everytime I allow my mind to wander the slightest little bit. And being human, I occasionally feel the need to test the depth of the abyss. So I look at some pictures, listen to some songs and feel myself plummeting through the darkness. And sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly...I come back...the bungie cord of sanity pulling me back to the edge of the chasm.

The hardest part about this "state" of being right now is feeling isolated. I find myself wanting to interact. That's why I'm writing here. I think that if I'm so eager to talk to someone else, it must mean I have to talk to myself first. I enjoy companionship. I was raised in a big family and I always had someone around. And we're great story tellers, great talkers...and that exchange...it feeds me...feeds part of my soul. Is it just being the baby of the family and thus an attention whore? I don't know. It could be. All I know is that right now, I feel like I'm a bit segregated. I'm trying to get the hang of this looking inside thing, but honestly, I'd do better with a checklist than this freestyle contemplation.

So...this rambles, but I feel a bit better. Knowing that how I feel is how I feel and not a state of being helps. I'm a happy person. Some moments I just have to try a little harder to remember that than in other moments.

I'm having my picture taken today.

I've been nominated for two awards at work. One for leadership as and individual and one for leadership as part of a team. My boss has acknowledged neither. Additionally, he just called me into his office to discuss the time sheets that I administer, wondering why the sick day that I had one or two weeks ago hadn't been data entered. It's hard to quantify, but he has this very suspicious look that he gets on his face...almost snide...that seems to indicate that he knows you're trying to pull a fast one. I told him that as my supervisor it was his obligation to have another administrator key data entry for me when I report as sick because -



I. Can't. Alter. My. Own. Pay. Record.



Could I have possible said that with more vehemence? It's like really, fuckhead...I never fricking call in sick...and I have more sick days than a person will ever need. I am in a position of respect and a pretty serious company...trusted with peoples lives and all that goes with this company...and you seriously think I'm going to try and beat paying for one fucking sick day.



Right.



So. Now I'm freaking livid and I want to cry because he's such an ass at times...and I get to go and smile for my picture where I'm being honored for leadership and compassion...and the smile will be fake because he doesn't trust me to not try and cheat him out of a sick day.



Ah, lovely...



Within minutes...even as I type this...he has come to me and apologized for being a suspicious ass. :::sigh::: After talking to a very sage coworker who said, "These are his demons, not your demons. When he does it to me, I just feel like I need to pray for him to beat them." I felt a lot better. He's right. The man deserves my love and prayers for his well being. And I get to take away a lesson. When I am angry and say something hurtful to someone, my apology doesn't really make it better. It certainly helps to acknowledge I made a mistake, but preventing that mistake will be such a better (and more challenging) course to take.

There is the most miniscule drop of English blood...

...in my pedigree. My maternal grandfather was Mr. Finch. He did not allow my American Indian grandmother to call him by his Christian name, James. From all accounts, he was not a nice man, but died early and hopefully his spirit got another whack at being a better person. Or, he was reincarnated as an aye-aye and eats scraped bug guts for a living. But I digress.

I read a lot of English murder mysteries. Just this side of being an Anglophile I suppose. And one of the things I always like is that the English really don't seem to want to bother anyone else with their problems. Granted, my Italian genes make me think they take this a bit too far and should be much more demonstrative in their passions, but still, I admire this stoicism.

I started this yesterday when I was having a really bad day. Now I've had a chance to take a deep breath and regroup. Nothing has vastly improved save my outlook. I'm reminded of the equation I found that made so much sense to me I printed it and posted it where I can see it all the time: E+R=O or Event+Reaction=Outcome. The key factor in the equation is that R, or Reaction, is the only term you can modify. As I often like to say, it is what it is. How I choose to deal with it is the important part.

Part of me does want to share things with people. Reveal scenarios, describe feelings, vent angst-riddled anger...but I am concerned about reactions. I don't really want anyone to say, "Oh, I am so sorry!" or "How horrible!" I guess I just want someone to nod their head in a sort of mute understanding. Just to be able to look in their eyes and know that they get it. I'm not going to lie...having your Mom die sucks and there is really no satisfaction in knowing that she's in a better place...except that you're happy for her and after all...it's about how I react to it, right?

The only innocent blog...

I had to create a blogger just for being able to share with the innocent folk. So much of my writing is either sexually explicit or self-revealing that it seemed downright inappropriate to just hang out there for the unprepared. Hopefully I'll use this blog for something besides hiding.


"I won't let it go down till we torch it ourselves."