On Being the Bad Guy

sigh, it’s just another manic monday

Today was a rough day.  It started well, early, as in 4am early.  I drove to work after it became clear my mind wasn’t going to let up until I actually was able to do the things I was thinking about.  The drive was quiet, still dark, with a few lights to remind me there was such a thing as traffic and I didn’t own the roads.  The office was silent and calm…  clearly the quiet before the storm.  It started in an early meeting; what should have been a decisive fusion of talents turned into confusion and frustration.  Then it became apparent I was the problem.

It took me all day and a good portion of the evening to get back to a semblance of normal.  It’s not just the sense that I have been maligned or misunderstood or even having to be the person who pays attention to the details, to remember timelines and focus on what is feasible.  It’s the nagging irk that my trust and sympathies have waned.  I’ll admit, I’ve been frustrated and not as forgiving as I would normally be.  It’s difficult to accept that the team who protests being underappreciated and put over the barrel on a consistent basis can’t also see that what they don’t like being done to them, they do to my team, and STILL it is I who offend.  (sigh)

It’s only work, right?  And while the friendships I’ve developed at work are important, it doesn’t mean that I need to be friends with everyone.  If I play the bad guy sometimes, it’s only my job.  Riight.  And I sleep well at night.

My general frustration isn’t new.  It even makes sense.  But the sensitivity I have to the subject isn’t helping.  I need to get over it and find a better way to collaborate, so we can function as a team, rather than perceiving them as the enemy.  It would just be nice if they were willing to make an equal effort. Damn, I don’t want to be bitter.

(deep breath)  Come quick, tomorrow.  I’m ready for a reset.

(props to the artist)

Not Sure, eh?

maybe it was a backhanded compliment

It’s Friday night, and yes, I’m sitting at my computer.  Idly setting up Feedburner and upgrading WordPress installations, scanning through Google Reader, checking the lastest from XKCD, and researching new tech while the mind ponders the next big thing.  Then suddenly my boss tells me he’s not sure how much of a dork I am.  I am struck dumb.

The term “dork” in our office is an almost loving endearment to the passionate interest in interactive technology; I used to hate it.  Now I’m scowling at the idea of not being dorky enough.  Damn.

(props to artist)

Riding Elephants

inspired, enlightened, renewed

There are so many days that pass without more than a lingering glance at the date, as hour after hour slip by lost to some deadline.  I raise my head, as it were, from the grindstone and realize another month has gone by.  First it was suddenly March, then June, now July.  The plans I’d made at the beginning of the year stare back at me, my own handwriting mocking good intentions while yonder gods laugh.  The year is half over and I’m poignantly aware of how much and how little has occured according to my wishes.

It is well known that I work too much.  My tag cloud is a delightful reminder when “working way too much”, once entered as laughable keyword, is eyecatching in its larger font.  But so is happy.  I think back to a year ago today and the painful memory of those days, feeling lost and utterly without knowledge of what was to come next, and can’t help but feel the odd twist of lips.  The days are spent quickly but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying myself.

This weekend haunted me; three days of holiday celebration and as of Friday morning, I had no plans.  When my relationship ended, I knew that these would be the most difficult moments.  It wouldn’t be sleeping alone or coming home to an empty house – it would be those specific dates on a calendar, when you intrinsically seek out and spend time with the individuals who love you best, friends and family alike.  Holidays.  I’d planned for the big ones, Thanksgiving and Christmas – I hadn’t counted on Independence Day.  All my friends had plans already; my only hope was getting out of town.  (laugh)

As it turned out, I had a great time.  I spent Friday indulging in womanly tasks, accompanying one of my best girlfriends as she decided on a hairstylist for her wedding.  That night I painted until the wee hours of the morning, and Saturday found me at the San Diego County Fair, riding elephants, watching turkey races and monster trucks, petting lamas and a cow that acted like a dog, and getting sick off funnel cake.  That night I lingered over the fireworks downtown, danced in an underground lounge bar, and listened to music until I feared waking the neighbors with too much bass.

As Sunday winds to a close, I’m content and at peace.  My dreams have been vivid lately but not without merit.  Seeing beneath the surface of what appears to be a workaholic life and finding pleasure in the simple things.  Beyond the list of to-dos and personal goals, the challenges and fears of the every day life, the hope of each morning still makes me smile.

Falling by the Wayside

unbalanced and off kilter

So much time has passed.  It feels like a dream.  I wearily raise my head to the understanding that it is almost June, and I have been swept away again.  I came home today to work, as if my home were still a sanctuary and not the hazy reminder of life unlived.  How many times have I done dishes and taken out the trash, in a daze yet giddy to be participating in something I’m certain is part of a normal life.  How the dirt and grime has become surreal in my mind, the touch of a friendly hug an odd illusion, and sleep an unforgiving foe.  Even my cat meows at me woefully, a half hearted plea against my neglect. I am tired, beyond measure.

As I sat outside, indulging in a smoke with my neighbors, she commented that my lifestyle is stressing them out.  These wonderful friends who listen to me vent and never fail to invite me to a gathering, for all the times I’ve said no; I’ve become that iconic miracle – no one believes I exist until they see me.  The week (or so) before I gave a speech on “The Benefits of Being a Workaholic”.  It was satire, and was taken as a comedic routine.  (I am funny sometimes.)   I  chuckled at someone’s lament of a 70hr work week… amateurs.  Who needs a social life anyway.

Tonight I am morose, moved into a funk from repeated nightmares and unable to tear myself from its hold.  Tomorrow I’ll drive to LA for a client pitch, and afterwards…  maybe I’ll keep driving.  Who knows?  I might even take the weekend off.

(props to artist)

Coachella Mo’chella

desert thriving

I still can’t stop smiling.  Between the flurry of emails and basecamp conversations, I twirl in my chair and cheerfully chortle “queef!”.  (You had to be there to understand the joke.) I glance outside at the sunshine and remember dancing beneath a spray of water, mud threatening to creep over the sides of my flipflops, while a bassy beat thumps and the crowd of people inch together laughing.  I’ll post pictures later.  The quick version is that the music was great, the desert was hot, and in addition to my tan, I got to relax and decompress.  Good times!

Woe be to Dreamers

the perils of late nights and netflix

I have very recently, as in the last several months, taken a late night course in the study of romanic movies.   I’m a fairly poor student, both in my tendency to miss class and a failure to respond with any thought-out reflection that might leave the impression I was in fact learning anything.  Well, enough of that.

Tonight’s choice is “You’ve Got Mail”.  I’ll admit, I’m drawn to the witty repartee and the warm fuzzy feeling produced by watching the oh-so-charmingly ordinary Tom Hanks and the perky child-like girl-next-door  Meg Ryan wander around New York within mere yards of each other and yet only connect via a keyboard.  It makes me wonder if it is the feeling of safety (as only such anonymity can bring) that gives them the courage to reflect on their life with the other.  Do we all simply need someone to listen?  Isn’t that why I blog?  Maybe the sense of someone understanding and responding isn’t altogether necessary, and yet those words, that eagerness at finding the other’s reply drives them to continue.  I am fascinated, intrigued by the subtle suggestion that your “someone special” is around the corner, if only you bothered to look.

The other movie that finally caught me sitting still for is the Notebook.  I’ll only say that I can understand now why women love this movie and men won’t admit any affection for it.  Why is it hard for people to admit they might want that kind of love?  Because everyone hopes and no one believes.

Romantic movies (or the classic phrasing “a chick flick”) has never been my favorite genre; I tend to prefer action, comedy and science fiction, the occasional drama, and good old B-movie.  I like Coca-cola with my popcorn and I do not hesitate to shout, scream, cry or otherwise demonstrate my reaction to a good film.  But romantic movies have always left me in a bizarre state.  I couldn’t give over to them, let go of the analysis and breakdown of every conversation and seemingly impossible quickness of affection.  I still have difficulty with this, but I’ll admit, I’ve learned the joys of a contented sigh and the wistful smile.  At the cusp of a birthday, when I have had little time to reflect and consider what it means now to be a whopping 29, at the very least I can sit late at night, take a break from work and think “some day”.

(props to artist)

Heading Off Road

what else is new?

Whoa, it’s almost my birthday!  Time has FLOWN.  A little while ago, I raised my head from the grindstone and stared in shock at April.   Here I am, ta da! Greeeeat.  Today I decided to hide out and focus to alleviate what would otherwise be a weekend filled with work.  As it stands I have hereby been ordered to leave town and attend an Easter party.  (I bought a dress for the event, so damnit I’m going.)  Somewhere in the middle of the clacking of keyboard keys and iphone notification sounds, Pandora whispers to me of sunny days and carefree nights.   “Even the longest day has its end.”

Btw, the only thing I want for my birthday… is  a new car stereo.  Driving without music is significantly less interesting.

(props to artist)

Dirty Gyrl

playing in the mud again

This was definitely a weekend of firsts…  last month, in a moment of abject ambition, I signed up for a local 5K Mud Run (and somehow convinced three of my friends to join in the athletic festivities).  We’d started out with classic idealistic promises of training, but as most good plans fall  awry, we started our morning off admitting that none of us were prepared for the event.  I kept a measured cool, all the while a voice in the back of my mind was screaming “wtf are you DOING?” as visions of yet another knee-cap injury assaulted my senses.  (Damn sensory memory.)  But that was the point – to do something I was terrified of.  My body has been a point of weakness for so long, an enemy rather than my friend; it’s hard to shake past the old fears and pretend they don’t exist.  It also didn’t help that I’d been out dancing and drinking the night before.  Heh, I never do seem to make things easy on myself.

That being said, I’m happy to report that my silent but evoked “F-off” to the universe was successful; I had a blast today.  We were covered in mud by the time we were done and despite a grueling climb up a mountain, I ran almost every step. Ha!  Take that!

(props to the artist)

Isn’t It Ironic

ironic, sardonic, same thing right?

So I realized as I’m drafting out blogging guidelines for a client that I don’t follow any of my own advice.   Which probably explains why my blog doesn’t attract any followers but the few friends who know me personally and are kind enough to lend a few minutes to read whatever witless wonder I’ve pieced together in a moment of faint lucidity.  (I do appreciate it, btw.)

Sigh, what a weekend.  I’ve had so little sleep, all I can think about is going to bed and forgetting to set my alarm.  My brain is fried from all the thinking and writing, wish there was a way to offload all these thoughts onto a mobile whiteboard.  Sending myself emails to read later is the closest I can get.  Thankfully my cousin doesn’t require a lot of attention, perking up for that one joint meal a day and some classic “let me pick your brain” conversation.

My best friend commented this week that he was jealous of my passion for life, that I throw myself wholeheartedly into whatever it is I’m interested in or involved with.  I was surprised, since his life seems significantly quieter and calmer and definitely more suited to his style.  I’m getting ready for some down time.  Whew, I need it.

(props to artist)

Black Sun, White Shadow

caught in the divide

I used to recognize myself by the two extremes by which I was split evenly; that cobbled middle road leading to a sea of grey tepid water, tiding over gravel, where on each horizon a person stood shouting, myself silent but for the emotion emanating in waves.  I could not join either and so I remained, always on the fringe landscapes of that pale terrible territory and the dark twisted kingdom, not kin to one or the other.  I belonged nowhere, lacking some internal ingredient that others would recognize and therefore welcome as one of their own.  I often watched as travelers meandered towards the subtle merging of lands, as if by intention but as the familiar faded, their steps would falter and long before they ever reached me would return home with quickening feet.  My eyes would unfocus on their disappearing backs, another shape in the distance blending in.  I didn’t mind the lonliness, the endless days with no one to talk to, to share in the delicate shifting beneath and inbetween, the different shades in all the grey and the quiet hum and whisper of many truths coexisting.  Find your own, I was told by ghosts and drifting dreams.  I have none, was always my reply.

(props to artist)