When Something Got Said


It’s all I can do not to fall into cliches, but perhaps I might as well. Because if it ain’t one thing, it is assuredly another.

The mouth/jaw thing is not unbearable, but it has not, thus far improved.  Doesn’t hurt at all to chew, or talk, just mostly to close and clamp my teeth together.  Which you don’t think about doing until you realize that when you do it, your jaws feel all numb and sore at the same time and the teeth don’t like it.  So need desperately to do it and it feels all kinds of nope.

So another night of careful care.  Maybe dig out that night guard I got a jillion years ago and never used because it’s awful.

While all of that has been on my mind and has punctured a bit of a delightful day, I continue to think as positively as the hormones and hypochondriacal panic will allow.

It was not delightful in that we had cakes and pedicures and went shopping today, it was delightful in that I had an honest conversation with the boss and I know what her intentions are.  And mostly, she doesn’t know what she intends, but as a part of that, she doesn’t anticipate full-time being a viable possibility in October.

It was sort of not what I expected and exactly what I expected at the same time.  I had kind of been dreading it because I wasn’t sure what clarity I would get or if I’d feel coerced on some level into offering up something I didn’t want to offer in terms of my own plans and goals  And I didn’t have to do that because it was clear.  I can’t anticipate actually getting back to where I was financially, hours-wise in my position any time soon.   We all wish it were otherwise, but it’s not and nobody pretended it was.  I told her it was okay, but I just needed to know and I hadn’t made any plans or decisions, but I had been talking with retail boss and in general and I just had to see how my time needed to go because right now, it’s just not working.  I actually said that the status quo wasn’t enough.  And she, really, patently, truly said, and I want so much more for you.  Then we talked about social media writing and freelance writing and that she hears about those work-from-home opportunities to write and she thinks of me.  I talked about perhaps other things are best for the organization, a part-time bookkeeper.  That, I hadn’t been looking, but the experiences I’d been having lately – borrowing money from my parents (as I do intend to pay the money I was given back) – had made me think. I was firm and clear and said I just wanted to keep the conversation open.  She agreed.

I sort of thought as I was walking home, carefully not grinding my teeth and managing a whole rainbow of mood swings, that maybe she didn’t mean it.  Maybe she was grinding her teeth and hating my guts for thinking about walking away.  But that’s her business and nothing she said actually indicated that and I am way too tired and achey for subtext.  Right now it feels freer and more productive just to openly contemplate moving on.

If only the rest of my body would hear this good news.

But I’ve cleaned the kitchen and wrote this post and am now not going to belong to anything for a good eight to twelve hours.

You Will Be Dead Soon Enough

I have less than an hour to provide us all with some entertainment and given that there are two screens between us and perhaps hundreds of thousands of miles both literal and metaphorical, that’s something of an undertaking.

We were going to get some gas on the way back from trivia, which we did not win but came in fifth at which we feel is decent considering there are only three of us and none of us know anything about sports and none of us care to, but there were three cop cars in the gas station’s immediate area so we decided it would be best for me to get my gas in the morning.

If I could just see my way clear through to Saturday, I will be one hundred percent better, I think.  Today was stressful and even being here in my room with the darkness and the electronic candles, I can’t quite remove myself from its presence.  It comes to me yet again that the only way for me to calm down at the deep, root level that I need to for my health is to quit my job.  It has started to make me so twitchy and so out of my depth and so just plain done up by its travails that something has to happen.  So I keep thinking about my birthday present to myself.   It’ll be two things: one to pay this thing off that is sitting over my chest and if I work very hard and live somewhat spartanly (spartanly is not a word, but it’s 11:12pm and I am not going to lose a single mass of letters to some grammar nazi when you know what I mean) I can have that.  And in the same fell swoop, I can write my letter of resignation.  It has to be very carefully crafted in that I need to be able to continue to help  – I want to be able to continue to help, at least on some levels, I’d love to still be able to have a hand in the festival and the market – but there would be a firm date onto which I would no longer be an employee and someone else would be glad to have my troubles and would handle them much better without going gray in the process.  I’m not going gray but my soul is.  And I think that matters more than the discomfort my leaving will bring.  And that’s still 8 months away.  And I don’t know if I should look for the job first, I mean, I know I need to have something lined up that will pay the same – only it’ll have benefits – and it will keep me out of this level of stomach-knotting responsibility.  I don’t need to be a manager.  I just want to be a head-down sort of doer.   I mean, I have the idea of once I write this birthday exodus letter that I’d stay on for up to even a year to get everything arranged.  But I don’t know if that’s a crazy idea or not because I feel like I’d not easily be able to get away.

I think I need some kind of advisor in this regard.

“The most solid advice for a writer is this, I think: Try to learn to breathe deeply, really to taste food when you eat, and when you sleep really to sleep. Try as much as possible to be wholly alive with all your might, and when you laugh, laugh like hell. And when you get angry, get good and angry. Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough.”

ernest hemingway