Exhausted
I am exhausted. Tired. Weary. I want to will the world to stop spinning.
I want the blood in my veins to stop racing. I want the cells in my body to stop breaking themselves apart and crashing to build themselves together again. I want to rest my eyes, allow a moment of sensory deprivation derived in absorbing only the thoughts that will mull every more slowly in my head in a very still bliss.
I want the hum of my computer to cease. I want my keyboard clicks to hush themselves. I want my finger tips to take rest.
No, I’m not taking a break from blogging. Been there, done that. I’m just feeling like there’s too much inside of me that’s rushing about that needs to sit for a moment To have slow, deep, breaths, and to allow myself a moment of just being.
I want to stop worrying about how negligent a friend I am for not emailing back to folks, or calling. I want to stop planning, and fussing, and doing, and griping, and grinding my teeth at the air that chooses to be more free than I, even from between my own lips.
I want to sit in my own cup of tea for a bit.
Stewing, from what I understand, is what folks refer to as my state of mind.
Perhaps, but that doesn’t sound quite right either.
For whatever reason, I rather feel that this…this extended entry bit is somewhat like a strip tease, or a contrivance that confuses both you and I into believing that you’re really reading into a person, me, as opposed to merely scanning through the front & back cover.
Forgive me my dalliance in metathinking & useless asides.
I’ve been thinking overmuch about work. I want to leave it behind in many ways. I’m throwing myself into it as if I can have some sort of control in my life, as if I can manage things. I recognize it in other people all the time so this doctor chooses to diagnose herself. Failure to feel control or impact in one area of one’s life? Overcompensate in another. A temporary solution to a symptomatic psychological malady. At least I find comfort in not being terribly original in this regard.
I wonder sometimes, why I find such attachment to this silly documentation of my mind’s state when it chooses to be as fickle as it is. Am I trying to operate on my own psyche and doing some sort of pre-op evaluation?
And there I go again, avoiding the real question which is…
And there you go. What is the real question?
I’m ok. I know I am. And things will be as they are supposed to be. I trust in that. I’m finding the hardest lesson that I’m getting in spades now, is that I have to be resilient to change, to accept it, embrace it, and own it.
Nothing is permanent. Not even my heart. Especially that.
I was talking to a co-worker today. She’s grand. Brilliant, articulate, and graceful. Somehow she manages to excel at her job, identifying astutely the chaotic and ridiculous environs within which we work, and glide with ease.
Myself, I’ve told the VP of my department that “I have one finger for you but since HR is down the hall, I can’t use it.” I’ve also called my manager “Dumb.” To her face. This for calling me in February to wish me a Happy Birthday. “Uh, don’t you *have* my records with my birthday?” She had forwarded a msg out to the department five minutes prior. I tried not to roll my eyes too much then. It’s rather amazing to me that I’m still employed.
She, the brilliant co-worker, and I spoke about work politics, transitions, and how we manage through these changes. We laughed about how we both delight in teasing another co-worker who continuously carries himself with a demeaner of utmost defeat throughout the day but has a secret identity as a raver dj. We poked fun at various personalities who’ve managed to rise in ranks though not in reputability in their careers. My current manager is soon due to leave.
“Are you going to go for the job?”
“No?”
“Why not? I’d love to work for you.”
“Hah, that’s funny. I’m a grunt, you’re the one who’s already a manager and a kickass one at that. I’d love to work for *you* ”
“Seriously, you’re very well respected throughout the department. You’d make a great manager.”
“Thanks, but … no.”
Other priorities are more important to me right now. The career will always be there. The job, or a job, will always be there. I’d rather be sitting on the couch watching Catholic nuns lecture on local origination cable stations with my Dad then accept a title that requires me to actually get into the office on time. Even if they paid me what I deserve (which, well, no one ever will, will they? *smirk*).The notion of a title right now seems very hollow. Who want’s that responsibility and the headpiece that goes with it? I take two steps back.
“Your time will come.”
“I know. That’s why I’m not sweating it.”
“Seriously. ”
“Yeah.”
So change is coming. Not in the way I planned, but what I want is slowly carving itself out from the stone. What I need to do is slowly spilling out into lyrics.
I’m still sitting in my teacup. I’ll be here a while.
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