As I muddle through my work environment, I see too much. People do some dumb shit. In my mind, I often have grand scenarios of how to torture these stupid individuals. In public relations, image is everything. I am good at what I do. I think it is my perfected mask. Playing the game and putting up with dumb shit is what I get paid very handsomely to do on a daily basis. I ask myself almost everyday, however: What the hell am I doing here? These people with their trivial and petty bullshit demands. Do they even look beyond themselves? I am sure people have the completely wrong impression of who I really am. Is it the same with me when viewing them? I spin fantasies and play with the truth so much during the day, I wonder if I might live permanently in the land of lala.
This week was a particularly difficult one. And I'm missing my husband quite terribly. There is a client that continues to try to bed me. I want to grab him by the balls and give them a tremendous yank. He is a complete and utter moron. He came from nothing but now has quite a lot. He thinks (and I am sure has been validated by any number of mindless sluts) that now that he has money, he is a champion dick. He is a dick, just not the kind he thinks he is. By Friday, I had just about enough of his sly brushes against my tits, and his completely inappropriate way of putting his hand on my thigh when sitting next to me to discuss our business. Friday he ends our meeting with, "She, let us stop this ridiculous dance. I have a great suite where I can show you a wonderful time. I am in room XXXX." I left and went directly to my supervisor. I told him of this man's incessant groping and inappropriate statements. My boss listened, weighed in his mind what this client means to the company, and told me he would take care of it. I left early and came home to Trusty Mutt and drank an entire bottle of Cabernet by myself. My cell phone went off every 10 minutes, with my caller id telling me it was the sleazy client. Trusty Mutt barked at my phone every time, so I suppose even he knew an asshole was calling. We will see on Monday if I've been dropped from this account. I am too good at what I do for my company to drop me. So I wait to see if he is assigned to someone else. If not, I have no idea how much longer I will be able to prevent myself from using my Krav Maga to break some of his bones and possibly make him sterile.
Dumb shit.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
You Could Call Me Crazy
Blogging was not my idea. I'm not what anyone would call an open person. I'm very private with my thoughts, my feelings, and my actions. However, a close friend suggested I use it as a personal journal, regardless as to whether anyone reads it. To be completely honest, I do not really care if anyone reads it. Most of it will likely make little sense to anyone else but me. But I will introduce myself nonetheless.
I'm what most people would call phony. Perhaps not in the malicious way, but I make my way in the world with a mask. Other than to two close friends, I can honestly say that my real persona, the real me to the outside world is a fake. I guess I subscribe to the "fake it to make it" philosophy. My reason? Deep inside, I am crippled with insecurity. Why would anyone want to know the real me? I have borne more than my share of personal tragedy. I lost my parents at 18, and my brother at 19. I lost my best friend to leukemia at 21. I lost my husband after only 2 years of marriage. In my almost 29 years on this planet, I'm all but alone in terms of family. Of course, there weren't many of us to begin with. I spent some time at a psychiatric hospital. I'm on medication. I still see a therapist. Yet no one at my job would ever guess such things about me. At work, I am the party planner, the flower sender, the spirit lifter. It's my other life. I often think it is the life I want to live but am too afraid to risk living. So that's the truth. I'm crazy, a loon, off my rocker. Still reading?
Sundays are my favorite days. Not because I am particular spiritual and go to church. Not because I don't have to work. Mostly because there seems to be some peace about Sundays. Most Sundays I spend wandering around different locales with my Trusty Mutt. That's his name, Trusty Mutt. I found him wandering himself about 18 months ago. He was thin, hungry, and far too trusting to last much longer out on his own. So I brought him home, all the while thinking about how my husband would have disapproved, but more so how having him around might bring me out of the depths of loneliness and despair of losing my husband. So Trusty Mutt became my sidekick, my confidante, and one very bright spot in my otherwise dark world. He's one of my few "connections", as my therapist likes to say. But I was talking about Sunday being my favorite day, wasn't I?
Today I didn't go out and wander. Trusty Mutt was a little bit sad about this. Today I stayed in and watched a series of sad movies so that I had an excuse to lie around and cry. Sundays are sometimes best for crying days too. Before you start thinking that I'm deeply unhappy, I want to say that I'm doing much better than I have been in quite a while. My therapist believes I live a double life because I am afraid. I believe she is right. Nothing lasts forever. Making connections is taking a big risk. I am trying to reveal more of myself, but I simply cannot do that in any big way. People already think they know who I am. They'll be upset and feel betrayed. They might be scared of me.
I should mention that most people consider me physically beautiful. I don't know if that is true, but it has always been the same since I was a child. I garner a lot of male attention. I say this without vanity or conceit. It's simply true. Plus, people always comment first on my beauty. I was with the popular crowd in high school, was the homecoming queen, student council president, captain of my basketball, volleyball, and softball teams. I made straight A's. I dated the popular boys. I won some awards. In college, I was in the top sorority, dated the popular boys, won some awards, and made straight A's. High school and college seemed ridiculously similar to me, only I drank more alcohol. I told no one about my dead family. I only slept with 2 boys until I met my husband. I had perfected my mask throughout those years and cannot function without it now.
But I'm working on it.
I'm what most people would call phony. Perhaps not in the malicious way, but I make my way in the world with a mask. Other than to two close friends, I can honestly say that my real persona, the real me to the outside world is a fake. I guess I subscribe to the "fake it to make it" philosophy. My reason? Deep inside, I am crippled with insecurity. Why would anyone want to know the real me? I have borne more than my share of personal tragedy. I lost my parents at 18, and my brother at 19. I lost my best friend to leukemia at 21. I lost my husband after only 2 years of marriage. In my almost 29 years on this planet, I'm all but alone in terms of family. Of course, there weren't many of us to begin with. I spent some time at a psychiatric hospital. I'm on medication. I still see a therapist. Yet no one at my job would ever guess such things about me. At work, I am the party planner, the flower sender, the spirit lifter. It's my other life. I often think it is the life I want to live but am too afraid to risk living. So that's the truth. I'm crazy, a loon, off my rocker. Still reading?
Sundays are my favorite days. Not because I am particular spiritual and go to church. Not because I don't have to work. Mostly because there seems to be some peace about Sundays. Most Sundays I spend wandering around different locales with my Trusty Mutt. That's his name, Trusty Mutt. I found him wandering himself about 18 months ago. He was thin, hungry, and far too trusting to last much longer out on his own. So I brought him home, all the while thinking about how my husband would have disapproved, but more so how having him around might bring me out of the depths of loneliness and despair of losing my husband. So Trusty Mutt became my sidekick, my confidante, and one very bright spot in my otherwise dark world. He's one of my few "connections", as my therapist likes to say. But I was talking about Sunday being my favorite day, wasn't I?
Today I didn't go out and wander. Trusty Mutt was a little bit sad about this. Today I stayed in and watched a series of sad movies so that I had an excuse to lie around and cry. Sundays are sometimes best for crying days too. Before you start thinking that I'm deeply unhappy, I want to say that I'm doing much better than I have been in quite a while. My therapist believes I live a double life because I am afraid. I believe she is right. Nothing lasts forever. Making connections is taking a big risk. I am trying to reveal more of myself, but I simply cannot do that in any big way. People already think they know who I am. They'll be upset and feel betrayed. They might be scared of me.
I should mention that most people consider me physically beautiful. I don't know if that is true, but it has always been the same since I was a child. I garner a lot of male attention. I say this without vanity or conceit. It's simply true. Plus, people always comment first on my beauty. I was with the popular crowd in high school, was the homecoming queen, student council president, captain of my basketball, volleyball, and softball teams. I made straight A's. I dated the popular boys. I won some awards. In college, I was in the top sorority, dated the popular boys, won some awards, and made straight A's. High school and college seemed ridiculously similar to me, only I drank more alcohol. I told no one about my dead family. I only slept with 2 boys until I met my husband. I had perfected my mask throughout those years and cannot function without it now.
But I'm working on it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
