Fleet of Foot


And all over the map.

Okay, fair warning to everyone, this is just going to be even more complainy and irritable than usual.  Just FYI.  I just need to deal with what I need to deal with so I can take a breath.  The tempest in my teacup.

My hands feel stiff, after spending all day feeling 50% convinced that my mouth/jaw situation was getting better and mostly forgetting about it, I now am clenched and aching and zapping in pain and horrified and…then, fine, okay, bearable, distracted.

I am working on accepting that the causes I have identified have lead to the negative experience I am having rather than UGH, AH, I JUST FEEL NO GOOD.

These include:

  • Double my usual dose of soda today.
  • Eating nothing good for me whatsoever.
  • Stress beaming out of every orifice I got.
  • Hormones nailing me on the cross of bones that bear my flesh.
  • I haven’t found the mouthguard.
  • I haven’t looked.
  • It’s just Murphy’s Law.
  • I have not had the things I want to distract me around to distract me.
  • Just because the hard and dark places are identified around us, doesn’t mean we always are able to march into their doors with steel-toed boots.   Sometimes we have to crab-crawl backwards so we don’t know the moment we are in from the moment we are out.

I had another of yesterday’s illuminating boss conversations with my mentor.  I didn’t expect and I did not receive some super special job offer to just throw off my shackles and work at the shop in a descriptionless capacity for what I am making now.   Just, y’know, social media dilettante consultant to the stars who will just run the register but get this massive pay raise because we like her so much.

Despite how much easier it would make my life right now.

Even if there are specific reasons that she could not make long-term offers to me in the first place, even if she would be delighted to do that were it possible.  Even if…that did not happen.

Instead, we mostly talked about people I could talk to and what now that, I guess, I am officially calling it open-season on job hunting.

This includes her getting in touch with a high-powered mutual friend of ours who came from our small town and has worked her way up in the universe with no small dose of ambition (backed up, of course, by being very good at what she does.)

I do have this moment of wondering whether or not I want to do anything related to what field this woman works in – education, though not as a teacher – or if the idea of working someplace downtown is prohibitive or, or, or…but information gathering will not harm me.  Right now, having conversations feels a heck of a lot better than scurrying to pull up job search websites and throw mental darts at listings.  At any rate, I’m going to have my resume and we’ll all do lunch and it’ll be like adults do these things.



Oh, crikey!

Dissipation and distraction! No more! We don’t want to be prescriptive, but we must prescribe something!  We must exclaim something now and save our word count.  We must march on to at least one hundred before we avert our eyes and return for another taste of Great British Bake-Off.

Today, I swore that the busy festival in town was going to fuck everything over.  It didn’t really impact anything and I ended up at work twenty minutes early on shoes with a centimeter thick sole to trod about a wooden floor for eight hours.

Then, in the last hour, my mentor and I talked about death.  We had watched a young man get carted off the street on a stretcher, overheard the police question his young friend who did not have ID about what they had drunk, the friend obviously unaware of how dire the straits were for his incapacitated companion who had puked the entirety of his guts out on the street outside of the shop.  This is the nature of this particular festival.  It does have that rah-rah, this is our sweet tradition in our town aspect, but there’s the other side where it brings people who don’t have any real interest in where we live to come and visit us and drink until they’re physically sick.  Not to shop, really, or to give any other damn for forty-eight hours.  That’s uncharitable, but it is one piece of one puzzle.  Damnable, necessary tourists.

But it did get us talking about dying and friends and the right-to-die amendment that is being offered for the ballot.  In that last hour, suddenly, time flew by and I felt human and equal and not just retail clerk tethered to a circumstantial body.

My mentor is great.  I spent some part of the day searching for a present for my mom.  She anticipates feeling unwell on the day, that the drugs will make her feel some version of crap, and doesn’t want to celebrate.  I both want to honor that and get her something that she could actually use.  I was tempted to buy a necklace.  There’s one there that I have so coveted – I may have mentioned it, I go raccoon and stare at it and freak out when anyone might attempt to contemplate buying it.  But it’s 70 dollars – and that’s after my massive discount.  I can’t justify it right now.  I keep telling myself that I will put it on layaway, but when it’s still in the glass case, I just breathe a sigh of relief and insist that I will get it soon.

How many things do I treat this way?  How do I treat myself this way?  It seems a bit self-helpy, but I do think about what I forego for some future that never exactly arrives.    My health, the things I say, the things I demand, the things that would improve the way I feel in a moment – even so far as just putting the water in the freezer.

Anyway, I ended up getting her a super soft, bright turquoise shirt that shouldn’t bother her skin.  I want her to have it, far more than I want that necklace.  So, off we go, onto our only day-off tomorrow and I am not going to think about how I’ve given you my email and what, if anything, that will mean.