For What It’s Worth

“Something’s happening here, what it is ain’t exactly clear…”

With all due respect to Steven Stills, I know exactly what’s happening here. I am unemployed! Arghhh. I took the leap into the abyss. I am free fallin’.  Swinging without a net. What other clichés are there? Oh yeah - I am up shit creek without a paddle.

Who in their right mind, at 60, would quit their job? Just because someone was abusive and bossy?  Thus begins the committee in my head that speaks to me in my father’s voice. Work isn’t supposed to be fun. Who told you you were supposed to be happy? Life is shit and then you die.

But Daddy-o, I try to tell him, I am not in my right mind, never have been, never will be. Oh, yeah, I faked it for a good 40- 50 years but it exhausted me. Exhausted. When is it okay to be myself? When is it okay to say No to crapola? When is it time to say

I am worth MORE!

Taking my 22 year old sophisticatedly cynical son to work this morning I heard my dead father speaking. “Why aren’t you looking for a job?” Aside from the fact that he doesn’t know shit about what I do with my time, I have been looking. Not applying, but looking. No, not true, I did have an interview to be a vet assistant for $9.15 an hour. Uhhh, no. Surely, I am with more than $9.15? $10? $20? What exactly am I worth?

I told him I was waiting for the next right thing.

I know on the “open market” I have very few sought-after skills. I don’t type well. I don’t know how to do any math past Algebra. (Hey, before you judge remember the last time I took a math class was 1967!) I am not “eager, money-driven, competitive with an edge.” This is what they are looking for. I’m telling you it’s like The Hunger Games out here.  Who would you kill for a chance to make mega-commissions selling insurance, gadgets, clothing , cars, yourself?

There is an ad on Craigslist for a “Telephone Entertainer.” Hmmmm, I wonder what that entails? I’ve been told I’m very entertaining on the phone. That was my secret to car deal success, make ‘em laugh. Somehow I’m not sure they would be willing to pay me the big bucks just for making folks laugh. Maybe I’m wrong, but I think it’s a little more … creative than that. Know what I mean, wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

Still, it is a “stay-at-home” job and I could tell people I’m in show biz.. Maybe I should consider it.

Back to cynical Joe in the car. I told him I was waiting for my Higher Power to show me what’s next. Talk about making someone laugh! He told me religion and spirituality are STUPID! I nodded and didn’t argue. How you going to argue that? Religion is stupid and evil and well, not a good thing for people or the planet. But I know I have a Higher Power, otherwise I’d be dead by now. Or married to that dentist in Ft. Wayne. Someone’s been steering the ship. Well, sometimes. I do tend to take over the pilot seat a little too much. I like to be involved. That’s what I tell myself. But the truth is I am very uncomfortable being still. And it’s not just my ADD, it’s my POSS (piece of shit syndrome.)

When I’m still it’s not the loving embrace of serenity that caresses me, it’s the certainty that doom is imminent and it will all be my fault. I’m not sure what I did wrong (being born with a vagina?) but I know it’s something to do with my epic, intrinsic, undeniable crappiness. I’m just not worth any better. Bottom line. I’m not worth it.

I went to a meeting last week. The topic was solutions but it devolved into a discussion of fear. How to deal with fear. Seems like everyone has a heap and some to spare. We’re scare of other people, poverty, death, bad movies and most of all, the still small voice that tells us we are getting only what we’re worth. And that ain’t much, baby! 

. What struck me about all the fear talk is that we were all sitting in a 12 Step meeting. With the steps plastered everywhere. Don’t we profess –in Step 2 –that we Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.  And then we turn our will and our life over to the CARE of that power.

The CARE, not the derision. Not the sadistic tendencies of lesser gods. And certainly not our well-meaning but broken parents. They didn’t know any better but you know, I sometimes think they should have. Didn’t they see it in our faces? The shame, the fear, the disgust? 

It ultimately doesn’t matter except like Alien they are implanted deep in our bodies. Their words are said in OUR voices now. Their thoughts are my core belief’s; about the world, about other people and especially about my worth.

You may not know this but I was a pretty good actress in High School. I won awards. I did. Oh, I know it’s not the same as winning awards for sports or anything but it wasn’t nothing. A greater God would have spurred me to the next step. My father gave me two incredible pieces of wisdom; 1. Don’t declare a major in college, it will make it easier for you to slip into whatever your husband likes and 2. Become a “gal Friday.” 

I’m not even going to comment on that. I don’t need to, right? The Absolute absurdity is painfully obvious. 

My point –oh, there is one, just wait for it – is that I now have the choice of who I let into my mind. Will it be the old, sabotaging, belittling voice of smallness or the whispers of a Higher Power who CARES for me. Cares enough to say I’m worth more than the wage I am paid. More than the men who have left me. More than the wrinkles on my face. I am worth … well … I’m worth whatever I want. I am worth my heart’s desire.

 I am worth the wait.

Hell in the Hall

When God closes a door he always opens another, but sometimes it’s hell in the hall.

Have I talked about hall hell already? I don’t think I have but if so, I’m old and apparently we repeat ourselves. So give me some slack and a kind pat on the back and read on.

On one side is a glistening new future. Oooh, I can see it. Almost. It’s everything I want. Helping others. Independence. Money. Travel. It looks so nice. 

On the other side is my abusive boss and my call center job.  I get a paycheck every week and all I have to do is put up with degrading bullshit. 

What a dilemma, right?

You’re thinking it’s a no-brainer and you’re probably right. But as smart as I am about some things I am absolutely mentally challenged about others. Like believing in myself and my own dreams. Like believing in happy endings.

See, I don’t like endings. Any endings. I hold onto whatever piece of shit (pick one or all) job, husband, friend, that is already in this bird’s hand. I am a flaming liberal everywhere else but I am a die-hard conservative when it comes to holding onto crap I don’t want or like anymore.

One of the great little pieces of Al-Anon wisdom I love is, that if you have a glass of some old flat soda and you want some new, sparkling refreshment, you must first pour out the old. Yes, the glass will be empty for a moment and yes this can cause a woman with crazy brain to have multiple panic attacks, but nature hates a vacuum and soon the glass will be filled with the new.

Years ago I read a little book called Adult Children of Alcoholics. It was the first psychology book I had ever read that made sense of me and my insane personality. Remember I have a BA in psychology so I’ve read a LOT of psych books but this one resonated in a way that made me weep.

It talked about 13 traits ACOA’s have. The first was that we guess at what “normal” is. Growing up watching My Three Sons, Leave It To Beaver and Father Knows Best and then living through my own American Horror Story I sorta guessed there must be a middle ground. Didn’t know what that was. Still not sure, but today, I have a better guess. I don’t think it’s a normal tradition for Thanksgiving to include the annual “throwing of the turkey” or “slamming of the doors”. It’s not, is it? 

Another of the ACOA traits is that we are loyal where loyalty is no longer appropriate. In other words, we are kicked dogs who think their master is just in a bad mood today. Excuses, excuses, excuses. I got ‘em all. I’ve got me a black belt in rationalization. And a P.h.D in taking crap.

What I’m trying to tell you all is that I’m sad to be leaving my call center job. I know it makes no sense. Craigslist is FULL of crappy call center jobs. It doesn’t matter, this one was mine.  I like the people I work with, save one huge exception, and the work is easy and I’m good at it. So, why am I having to leave? Who told me to stand up for my principles? I’m gonna kill that guy.

Leaving is also bringing up some of my betrayal issues. Probably a titsch of abandonment as the cherry on my crazy sundae.

I am sad, profoundly so, that they didn’t want me enough to fix the issue. They chose the abusive asshole over me. This has happened to me before. Like, a LOT. And I know I’ve talked about how important it is to me to be ‘chosen’ before.  What if no one ever chooses me again? What if no one wants life coaching from someone like me? What if, what if, what if. We call this future tripping and it’s the only trip I have enough money to take right now. 

So, I’m in Hall Hell right now. Trying to be patient without becoming a patient. Living on friend’s good wishes and peanut butter. 

Waiting for the new door.

This Is a Dark Ride

Years ago John  Larroquette had a short-lived dramedy aptly titled “The John Larroquette Show”. It was about a alcoholic college professor who had tanked his career  and now found the only job he could get was as a night manager of an urban bus depot. Larroquette is himself a recovering alcoholic and quite public about it so I’m not breaking his anonymity here – but it’s important because he knows his shit. He knows how close he came to being that night manager instead of a TV star. I loved the show so, of course, it only lasted a season or two. If I like something you can bet the rest of America doesn’t. “Pushing Daises” anyone? “Freaks and Geeks”? I could go on but I’m already a bit depressed so why push it.

I bring up John’s show because in the pilot he put up a sign in his office he had stolen from a carnival ride. It said “This is a dark ride.” True that.

I do what I can to keep the darkness at bay. I take medication (don’t judge me), I have a “happy light” that gives me fake sunshine in the winter and I’ve been known to swallow more than my share of cod liver oil.  This is still a dark ride. Some days darker than others.

I may be out of a job and a son soon. These last few days have been trying my commitment to recovery in big ways. I think I’m doing the right things in each case, so why does it feel so scary? Sometimes I think Mimi (my Higher Power) is a sadist. I tell her that, in those dark nights of the soul, and she crackles an evil little laugh. Oh, if you only knew the truth of it, little human, she says with a shrug. Yeah, but I don’t you all-knowing, powerful c-word. (see how I made you say cunt in your head because I didn’t want to seem crude?) Mimi and I have a love-hate relationship. Kind of like ALL my relationships, now that I think of it.

The job situation came to a head on Wednesday night when I received a sweet little note from my possibly dry-drunk boss accusing me of falsifying a phone call. Now, you have to understand I work in a call center – I do not, I repeat DO NOT – do brain surgery or decide which country to bomb next. If I make a mistake –which I do – the worst outcome is that someone got the wrong finance rate and becomes a bit cranky. Still, I am an honorable person and I do my job to the best of my abilities. I am not a liar.

Those of you 12 steppers reading this know that any 12 step program is one of rigorous honesty. On the first page of the AA big Book it states this. It also states that if you do not have the ability to be completely honest, with yourself and others, you may not recover. 

Rigorous honesty is a tough nut. Luckily the program is one of progress not perfection. We’re also not supposed to hurt others if we can help it. Thus being honest at all times can be very tricky.

Here’s the truth –the searching and fearless truth – about my boss; he is an ASSHOLE. He is a pompous little British man who is always right, humiliates his employees publicly and accuses people of lying. I have tried everything I know to get along with him; humor, withdrawal, over-achieving (I was the number 1 appointment setter in August and I am part-time. No one does over-achievement like an Al-Anon) and I have even resorted to telling the truth. We have had heart to hearts where he admits things and seems contrite, he’s better for a few days and then the lure of the asshole takes him away.

Hmmmmm. This pattern seems familiar somehow? Where have I done this before? Oh yes, in my childhood, in my marriages, with friends and family and now my own child. It is the dance of the damned. 

How To Do the Dance of the Damned in 8 easy steps!

Step One – you become a floor-mat for someone to wipe their shoes on.

Step Two- you finally get so pissed you’re “not going to take it anymore.”

Step Three – confront said jerk-wad and tell them you’re “not going to take it anymore.”

Step Four – they break down in tears, apologies and tell you truths no one else has ever heard. You are now the ONLY person who (pick one) knows them, loves them, can help them. You are a Goddess!

Step Five –your anger dissolves and all your love and caring surges through your body as you commit to never, ever leave them alone with their own nasty selves.

Step Six – things are better! Honesty and your eight hour session of listening really worked! They are now the person you want them to be! Hallelujah!

Step Seven – they do something in old school mode and you just can’t believe it. It must be a mistake!

Step Eight –you become a floor-mat for someone to wipe their shoes on. 

So that’s me right now. Trying to change the dance I do at work and at home. But it’s so scary, for financial reasons at work and for heart reasons at home.

I want to be strong –a Ninja Al-Anon – but it’s hard when I might lose so much. The job can be replaced, the son can’t. And yet, I know deeply, that if I continue the dance someone is going to die. Sooner rather than later. 

Hopefully Mimi forgives me for calling her a cunt and will help me with all this

.

 She knows I can’t do this dark ride alone.

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