How to Make a Mental Leap

It’s the title I’m putting on this post and I don’t know how to do it, but maybe if I assert that I already do know, I’ll figure it out.

I know that I have to suddenly become prepossessing.  I have to be able to be in charge.  I can’t dither, or dally, or leave a comma where it need not be.  I have to move mountains and light years and I’ve been given the direction that I should really have already pulled Fuji a few feet to the left.  Bare minimum.

I know this and I know I do not know how to do it.  I have been given kindly words by kind souls who believe or purport to believe in my skills, but I don’t know that those skills actually exist.  Maybe all of the lead-up to being in this job has been some sort of fever dream and I am awoke, ass on the pavement, blinking myself awake as though I’ve just been born.

What I thought was simple is not simple.  What I think is complex is meant to be the mental calculation of a moment.  It is humbling.

So I sat in a room and described how I felt I could do things better and one of those things is improving my connection to this level of work by improving my wardrobe and getting my hair cut.  I said I would do that, so I trotted out and spent a lot of money to have hair I like (though not the sort of hair that were I financially free I would choose.) Tomorrow, because the places I went today seemed to have inadequate quality fabric (though the sort of things I’d be perfectly happy to wear were I not shopping to look like I wanted to be employed where I am currently employed), we will go out into the world and buy something that upgrades some bit of old awful that I used to wear.

In the middle of this, J. is drifting in and out of consciousness on the phone with me as I encourage him to both sleep and eat at the same time because he hasn’t been doing either in a consistent way.  And he sounds pitiful and endearing and maybe a few hours earlier he’d told me I was beautiful so I think this is a good time to ask him to Thanksgiving.

I’d been thinking about this a while, but I still couched it in tentative terms.  Like, I know it’s forever away, and it’s so unlikely and dumb, but I wanted you to know that…like, the holidays are awful and hard and I don’t even know on the getting…but you’re invited to Thanksgiving.

An immediate thank you returns my volley.  An immediate “But I have to work the day after Thanksgiving.”  I say oh, okay.  There’s a few more encouraging blurts before I hang up the phone to go find the confident clothes that are going to transform my life.

I end up finding nothing.

un peu de charbon du blé

I kinda knew today was going to be a write-off as soon as I woke up.

So I forgot to mention yesterday the inexplicable incident that occurred where a gentleman – that’s not the correct term, but I’m using it – I mentioned maybe a year and half or two years ago (it may be hopeless to even pretend I could go back and find that page now) came in in some sort of furor with a flash drive.  We were about to go to walk to lunch, my boss was outside having a smoke, and I was just locking up the office when I heard him asking the septuagenarian volunteers if he could print something.  At this point, I didn’t recognize him at all and thought he was just another guy who wanted to use our office as though it were a free Kinko’s.   He then walked past them and when down to my closed office door and was knocking on it and feeling my rather more assertive oats, I followed down after him and asked him what it was he wanted.  He didn’t answer, just waved the flash drive around, mentioned my boss’s name (shit-tons of people know my boss’ name) and said he had to print it.  I said no, we couldn’t.  And he, muttered clearly before turning back down the hallway, though under his breath, gestapo.  Which.

Kinda left me a bit off-kilter and jarred.  I mean…what the fuck is that even about?  At that point, I kind of remembered him as the guy who used to work upstairs, a guy who seemed at some point to show some kind of interest in me before I found out he was married, a guy who I remember assessing at the end was probably nuts.

But he left and immediately went and talked to my boss, who being the kind of person he is, just waved him to come back inside and get me to print it.  He followed him in and I couldn’t explain, so I took the flash drive and told my boss as pointedly as I could, that I would do what *he* was asking.

Then, dude followed me back to my office where I put the flash drive in, and his expression was entirely changed, and he earnestly apologized.  And I softly, and without assertiveness, told him it was alright.

And apparently, he gave the paperwork – some set of bylaws for an organization to my boss and left.  And I went to lunch and stewed about the whole thing for a while and, I thought, forgot it.

My subconscious, however, did not.  I had a warm dream about him.  A dream that is tactile and akin to lucidity.  There was clothing askew, limbs akimbo, lips bruised, everything in this sweaty, heady, throbbing fog.  I kept pulling away, and being sort of drawn back in, angry and needful and trying to maintain some decorum.  I kept saying this was wrong.  He wouldn’t quite let me go.  I didn’t quite want to go.  I woke up, as I said, a mess.

Apparently, since I’m curious about the people who are settling into this landscape of emotional dead-ends, if Facebook is to be any guide, he’s not right in the head.  Crazy confirmed. There’s nothing to pursue, thank fuck, but it reminded me of things I didn’t need or want to provide resurrection to.  I don’t have time for a goddamned libido.