From Grrrr to Great.

Here are a few things I don’t like:

• People I work with appropriating my ideas and passing them off as their own.

• The same people publicly mocking me shortly after stealing my ideas.

• Those very same people then admonishing me for not knowing to proceed with my idea, even though my confusion stemmed entirely from my idea being stolen by someone who, I thought, would maintain ownership of said idea, even though doing so would require some actual work.
  

I am filled with hate, and I don't like feeling this way.

This morning, my Daily Inner Peace Card said to focus on inner peace (duh), and reminded me that there are two ways to look at everything - the violent way and the peaceful way. I can choose to be peaceful right now. I can choose to realize that this is a very small moment in the big picture, and that when the world is over, what will really matter are things like:

My family, my pack (Brad and the dogs), my friends.

My health - I'm so lucky.

One day going to Argentina where Brad and I will rock climb and beach (verb) and pet the friendly goats and donkeys. Before eating them. Just kidding.

Being nearly brought to my knees by the beauty of the sunrise this morning, and thinking to myself, "This is my home. I live in this place."


And aside from the momentary work-related yuck, I'll tell you why this day has been otherwise wonderful:

Brad and I woke up at 4:40 and prepared for our fun morning adventures. He went skiing and I went for a medium-length hill run with Arnie and Red, then met the lovely Ms. Fish in the pool. (The nickname stems from her last name as well as the grace with which she moves through the water. Truly inspiring as I paddle and gasp along beside her.) The day remains beautiful, and the light slanting through my window is warm and golden. Tonight, Brad and I have a delicious and healthy dinner planned, as well as pack-time with the boys and a fire.

So now, by the end of this post, I've shifted from, "I'm goddamned done with this, I'm quitting today!" to "Wow, my life is full of so many cool things, and even if work sometimes blows, at lease I have countless other greats (noun) to focus on."

Thanks for listening. I just needed to talk it through.

Single Income Household.

The shoe dropped and clocked me in the head.

Downsizing.
Eliminating redundant positions.
Termination.


All the corporate things that I was so blissfully insulated from for so long came crashing down today. I was "let go." Well, along with, like, a dozen or so others.

I'm not bummed about the job. It's fine; I understand. It's just business and I know that this is the way it goes sometimes. What I'm sad about tonght, as I sit between my two sleeping dogs, is that I didn't get a chance to say good-bye. It was so clinical and cold and antiseptic.

"Effective immediately."

I didn't get to hug the people I grew to love in my short time at the agency. To wish them well, to promise to stay in touch and actually mean it.

I guess that's how it has to be, though. They have to cut the cord swiftly and completely, otherwise closure would never come.

So moving on now. Looking for a new job, thinking about what I REALLY want to do. Brad, who is wonderful beyond words, is encouraging me to take my time, to enjoy myself and play and climb and ski. He's just amazing. It's hard, though, to relax and have fun when I'm unemployed. Hate that word.

But maybe he's right - maybe that would be better now, for a while.

Ok, relaxing, relaxing....

Well, but before I do that, I'll just ask that if you hear of anything, keep me in mind - a copywriter, a PR maven, a marketer and brander, a critical thinker.

How tacky - using my blog to promote moi.

Sorry.

I'm pretty teary-eyed, though, as I think again of the friends - at the agency - who I'll miss terribly. And that's the heart of it. It's not the job, it's the people.

Sigh.

Wishing I could be like this guy tonight...

But no such luck. Too many leaves to rake, too much laundry to do, too much of the house to clean...hopefully Arnold will understand that his "exercise" tonight = following me around the yard while I rake...poor guy.

I didn't think it'd be this way.

You go into something knowing what it's all about, understanding how it has to be, but that doesn't necessarily ease the pain of it; that doesn't make it sting any less when you're alone and it's too late to call anyone and you're rendered immobile by saddness.

And the thing is, we all try to be so brave and tough and say it doesn't matter, because to let anyone know that it really, really DOES matter would mean stepping out of character. Like an aside in a play, admitting that sometimes it totally sucks would be showing the audience that we're not, in fact, who we said we were.

And it's hard. It's really, really hard to feel this way and not talk about it, not have a good cry and then just move on. But it's not going to end. Sure, I can cry right now, then go to bed and wake up to the eastern light - a little refreshed, a little clearer - but it's all going to happen again two weeks from now, two months from now and for the rest of my life.

And sometimes I want to say that it isn't fair, but for god's sake, what is? Is it fair, for example, that the people in the park downtown are stabbing each other because they're so strung out on drugs because they fell into a cycle of abuse and addiction because somewhere, somehow, we failed them, hending over drugs and poverty in lieu of the American Dream?

And I try, try, try to not feel sorry for myself, because I have had the World's Easiest Life, but tonight I can't help but feel a little sad, a little left out, a little patronized.

But again, it's not going to end. This is the deal, and I've known that all along. So what good is it to write this entry, to cry myself to sleep, to react in any way at all? I don't react to the moonrise the rain the color of grass the curve of the land. They're what they are. This is what it is. And that's quite enough on the subject.

Still Very Upset.

Well, my heinous work situation isn't getting any better, but in honor of you, my kind-hearted and lovable readers, I'll refrain from yelling and screaming and jumping up and down.

It's time to celebrate the 24" of settled snow in the mountains, the first fire of the season and trips planned for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

I'm filled with ideas for art and knitting and sewing projects right now. I'm loving the running temps and I swear fall in Mill Creek is as beautiful as it is on the East coast.

UGH. But even though things are great and I'm psyched about so much, I just can't get the sourness of this whole work thing out of my mind. It feels like I'm the scapegoat for the shortcomings and failures of the chumps who are making six-figures to do nothing but insult me.

Sigh. Hate and Anger. Not nice.

An addendum.

Ok, look: I know I’m far, far from perfect.

(Like, if perfect is in this field over here, by the angels and wild roses and golden retriever puppies, then I’m across the highway, below the overpass, knee-deep in piss-filled Mountain Dew bottles and dirty diapers. Ok, well, maybe not that bad, but still...far from perfect.)

I know I need an editor and proofreader. I know my writing sometimes falls short of expectations. I acknowledge and accept these things as widely understood facts.

But the reason I was so upset earlier, when I wrote the post below, was that no one bothered to say, “I think you misunderstood the product.” All I got was, “are you stupid?”

I know that I’m not owed anything, but it’s common kindness, isn’t it?

After leaving the office for an hour for lunch, I feel a little better, but it still stings.

So mad it hurts.

Having worked at companies with no more than ten employees for most of my adult life, I walked into my current job completely unprepared for the clash of personalities, communication styles, attitudes and posturing. I was dealt a stomach-punch this morning, in the form of an annoying client’s continued unhappiness with my work. On the phone, discussing a recent draft, the client told me that I “don’t possess the brain capacity” to understand his product, and therefore couldn’t be “expected to write well.”

Right, ok, well, how about FUCK YOU? How about I show you my resume? My CV? How about I scratch your car with my PHI BETA KAPPA KEY you self-important piece of trash?

I would beat that man over the head with one of my MANY PUBLISHED WORKS if he happened to be cowering in front of me right now.

But the thing is, it doesn’t matter. He wins. He can say whatever the hell he wants, because he’s the client, and he’s RIGHT.

And as hard as it is, I have to sit here and take it. I have to accept the fact that whatever the reason – my inability to understand the concept or his just being a jackass – I’ve failed. I can’t do the work correctly.

And it sucks and I want to quit and run from here to Park City along the ridges I can see out my office window. I want to walk away right now and, I don’t know, wait tables for the winter so I can ski everyday.

These are the times when, hands shaking and eyes welling up, I regret having left the outdoor industry. It’s far from perfect and some of the people are hard to work with, but at least there I understand the products well enough to write about them; at least there I’m well regarded, respected. Not called “mentally obtuse.”

Ugh.

I'm scared tonight, thinking about immobility, about stasis, about no action taken to alter the course. I need something to change, and I'm not sure how to make it happen. Well, I know how to make it happen, but I don't know if it's my place to do so.

I turn to my favorite poets at these times - when I am searching for clear, evocative language, when my own words fall short, are too emotional.

Billy Collins, one of our greats, is my favorite for this kind of writing; always kind and warm, he is also consise and direct and I know of no other artist who creates a similar landscape.

On Turning Ten
By Billy Collins

The whole idea of it makes me feel
like I'm coming down with something,
something worse than any stomach ache
or the headaches I get from reading in bad light--
a kind of measles of the spirit,
a mumps of the psyche,
a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul.

You tell me it is too early to be looking back,
but that is because you have forgotten
the perfect simplicity of being one
and the beautiful complexity introduced by two.
But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit.
At four I was an Arabian wizard.
I could make myself invisible
by drinking a glass of milk a certain way.
At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince.

But now I am mostly at the window
watching the late afternoon light.
Back then it never fell so solemnly
against the side of my tree house,
and my bicycle never leaned against the garage
as it does today,
all the dark blue speed drained out of it.

This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself,
as I walk through the universe in my sneakers.
It is time to say good-bye to my imaginary friends,
time to turn the first big number.

It seems only yesterday I used to believe
there was nothing under my skin but light.
If you cut me I could shine.
But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,
I skin my knees. I bleed.


Walking Across The Atlantic
By Billy Collins

I wait for the holiday crowd to clear the beach
before stepping onto the first wave.

Soon I am walking across the Atlantic
thinking about Spain,
checking for whales, waterspouts.
I feel the water holding up my shifting weight.
Tonight I will sleep on its rocking surface.

But for now I try to imagine what
this must look like to the fish below,
the bottoms of my feet appearing, disappearing.


"Thinking about Spain..." I love that line.

Terrible and Unthinkable

Chris Hunnicutt died today. Our friend, our housemate, our new brother. He was climbing the Stairway to Heaven in Provo Canyon. He was out of screws and running it out. He was level with the anchor (tree) and traversing toward it when he came off and fell upwards of 120 feet. He landed on his head and by all accounts, was killed immediately.

I am sad for Chris, who was sweet and gentle and kind and humble. I am sad for his family - his brother, Paul, and his parents. They were very close. Paul flew in to Salt Lake tongiht; Brad and Courtney (one of Chris's close friends) just left to pick him up.

I am so angry at the universe for taking another good one. What about the pedophiles, the rapists? Why take Chris? And as I type I'm struck by the audacity of calling the universe out on something - like I expect the universe to subscribe to my structure of fairness. It's anthropomorphizing to an utmost.

Ow. Part Deux.

I had the option tonight to go to a lecture by a Sudanese Refugee. He was speaking about his escape from Sudan. He wrote a book.

Alternatively, I opted for dinner at India House and an evening of the first season of House....Maybe I made the wrong choice. The selfish choice. The easy choice?

But my lower back still hurts.

How do people spend their days?

I tried to ski this morning, skinned for about 20 minutes. The pain in my lower back spread from the left side to both sides. Striding uphill, big steps on steeper terrain especially, caused lots of pain. What did I do to myself? What caused this pain?

I know how minor this is. I know that I'm very well off considering the pain that other people are put through in this world.

Nonetheless, I'm bored to tears. I don't know what to do with myself when I'm not exercising. not outside doing something or driving to do something....

I'm laying low. Watching Little Miss Sunshine - SO GOOD!!!! - and hoping my back gets better soon.....

Ow...

I had a great morning skinning up Brighton. I felt strong and damn near tireless.

Then, at the park, I kicked the soccer ball for Arnie, and TWEAK. My lower back. Left side. I feel like someone is poking me with a sharp stick.

I didn't get to go for my afternoon run, and now I'm scared that this will be a long term injury. What if I can't train for the race, can't keep skiing, can't work out at all.

I'm terrified.

I know this isn't a big deal in the scheme of things; I know people are struggling hugely in this workd, with things far more concerning than this....

But nonetheless.