Discretion

A family secret was recently revealed to me, by accident. It was assumed that I already knew, because the person near me who was originally told is assumed to be really unpracticed at discretion. I am heartbroken about that. I firmly believe that anyone who considers him or herself a good friend should be an expert at discretion, and that anyone who is asked to keep a secret should do so, to the best of his/her ability, out of respect for the other person and their relationship. I've been blessed to learn the importance of discretion, by the best school in the universe - the School of Eating Shit.

It can be incredibly difficult when the people near or around you have no discretion. I learned some years ago that Sparkle is incapable of keeping a secret. Much like myself, she has no poker face. However, as most others, she has been known to also use the information not as blackmail material, or for necessarily dark purposes, but as leverage for other relationships - whether to salvage them, or to create a stronger bond with another. While I admit I have done this in the past, I no longer honor such motivation.

While others may not consider this such an important skill in the realm of friendship, I consider that it is among the utmost. I wish people wore their ingredients on their shirts, and this way we, none of us, would fall victim to the indiscreet, shallow, malevolent a-hole. Within the last year I bared my soul to someone I hoped would become a really good friend, but, alas, it was not to be. This person was, either not interested in the least, in being a good friend, or completely incapable of being discreet. So now, the joy and embarrassment and shame and fragility that I kept wrapped up so tightly for so long is fodder for jokes amongst this person and his/her friends.

I have learned not to think about it, or the heartbreak that came with it.

Fear Does Not Exist in This Dojo, Does It?

So, end of Week 2 in Boot Camp. I still look ridiculous, I'm sure, and I'm still the slowest one in class, but I've realized, I don't care anymore. Maybe it's just circumstantial, and in any other scenario, like work, or family, I would feel self-conscious, and introspect and feel competitive, but for some reason I don't. Maybe it's because I'm getting older and I care less what other people think about my weaknesses. It's amazing. Is that what happens as we get older? Is this what wisdom is? Caring less and less what other people think of us, embracing our own strengths and weaknesses, and, on the side, like french fries - or maybe something less generally appealing - fruit cocktail - offering our unsolicited opinion - whether racist or sexist or whatever it may be or seem?

I feel GREAT, too. Acknowledge I'm saying this 90 minutes after my class has ended. Who knows how I'll be tomorrow morning? But I would do it every single day, if I knew this feeling would last, and if I knew I could afford it. Please, someone, remind me, when I start to brood, what a difference exercise makes in my general outlook, and then punch me in the arm (today I like my face). Only 8 hours ago I was feeling terrible, because I was so ungrateful for my life, and so afraid to move forward. I am renewed. At least for the next few hours. Hahahaha.

Here's a place I've recently found solace. It's a Bob Dylan song, covered by Joan Baez.



Peace. Love. Courage.
V.

I Don't Know What Happened

I was a happy girl this morning, when I went to work...really proud of myself for having survived my 4th Boot Camp class last night - for having thrown caution to the wind and not being self-conscious despite my Napoleon-Dynamitesque run...and it all went to pot (not even the good kind). I went with some coworkers to have a drink to celebrate a project win, and then hopped into the car to meet Sparkle for the blue hair special in Burbank - rib eye steak, with soup, salad, and choice of ice cream or jello for dessert. JELLO! I can't believe they serve that in restaurants anymore. Seriously.

Anyhow, for someone who only two years ago said to me she didn't think her email had the "reply all" option, Sparkle certainly does love her Blackberry. She's the worst offender I know when it comes to mobile phone etiquette. We have a mutual friend who says that if she took a call from a suicidal friend and heard the other line ringing, she'd tell them to hold on. I believe it.

Sparkle proceeded to show me an oddly-written email from a friend of hers, after their "girlfriends' weekend", and I saw another email "Save the Date" from a mutual friend in her inbox. It's my own fault for not minding my own damn business, and unfortunately for me, I'm still 7 years old, too much of the time. I asked if I could read it and Sparkle, assuming I was copied on said email, said "yes". It was an email for the 70th birthday party of a family friend, to which I was clearly not invited and even as I type it still TOTALLY GETS UNDER MY SKIN. Ya know, I don't like to think of myself as someone who deserves special treatment by any means, and I respect the right of someone to invite whom they like to their own birthday, but why the fuck didn't they want to include me? It makes me feel like every kind word or gesture of theirs is just lip service to please or placate my mother and it nauseates me. They have every right to dislike me outright, and somehow I feel like I could accept that much more easily than what I perceive as a conditional appreciation. Conditional appreciation is the kind of courtesy extended to the high-maintenance and/or ridiculous, like my brother, the Armchair Anarchist. I HATE to be categorized with my brother.

It's really unfortunate that I genuinely enjoy their company, as well, find them fascinating and generous and kind to others, and I love their children. So I guess what I'm dealing with is a bruised ego. Wow. I really am seven years old.

F*ck THAT Noise

Goddamn Facebook changed their privacy settings and now I'm all naked in the freakin breeze. My cult-member first cousin found me and sent me a message asking me how I am and where I live and do I go to my brother's shows. You know, I don't hate the man, but I do fear him.

How about "With all due respect to you and your 'religion' - and go to it, God bless - I would prefer not to communicate with someone who was raised to believe that my mother is the primary cause of evil and suffering in the world today. I appreciate that you're trying to reach out to family - 'blood is thicker than water'...blah blah blah. Please don't send your people to slash my freakin tires, or kill my dog"?

First they came and gave me a crapload of work...

And I said nothing, because I thought I deserved it.
Then they robbed me of my social life, and I said nothing, because I thought I could handle it.
Then they sucked away my soul, and I said nothing, because I had such a sad one to begin with.
Then they took away my drinking buddies, and I TOTALLY LOST MY SHIT. OMFG.

These people don't deserve me. They deserve someone who loves her work, who is devoted to them, who has her shit together. I am just barely hanging on here. I do care, deeply, for the ones I work for, but I am coming to deeply resent those people. Everyone is working at 90 miles per hour there now, and I can't keep up. I am failing miserably, and I hate myself.

So here I go again tomorrow. FSM help me.

Update

As bad as I thought yesterday was, it was soooo much worse today. OMG. Now apparently some a-hole in Saudi Arabia has it out for me because I can't cater to his every whim. I don't even know what this guy looks like, but I hate him - because of my preconceived notions of his cultural attitudes toward women, and the fact that, as it seems most high-powered, high-paid folks can be - he is completely oblivious to the idea that some things are out of my control, i.e. in the hands of OTHER evil sexist heartless douchebags who have no desire to assist the hard-working, eager-to-please peons like yours truly.

Hey, A-hole, do YOU want to call the Saudi Embassy and tell them their website is ridiculous and that they can suck it? Yeah, I didn't think so.

I spoke to Sparkle for the first time in almost a week. She's been really busy with her mother, who's apparently monumentally worse than the last time we saw her...at least, as far as my denial was concerned. She took her mother to Texas, which is where they would go when she was a little girl, every year, for Thanksgiving, to see family. It seems that her mother didn't know who anyone was, and has even forgotten who SHE is. Sylvia didn't know who I was the last time I saw her, but I didn't freak out or anything, but then she's not MY mother. I can't imagine having to deal with that. In fact, I try not to think about that very real possibility. I complain about not being able to handle my bullshit little life, and I don't even have to handle the hard shit. I'm so sorry, Mama. I'm so so sorry.

Ok. I get it. I take FULL responsibility for being a douchebag.

Y'all may have known this for some time, and I suppose I have as well, but I'm coming clean about it now. I'm a douchebag. No excuses. I just am. I hate my fucking job right now. It's an utter misery. I'm working for 3 of the busiest people in the office, plus I'm liaising with building management, plus I'm dealing with this new accounting system, plus apparently I have to deal with the goddamn office drama which I did not instigate (WTF?). But, you know, I'm gainfully employed. I'm single, with no kids. I have no one to worry about but myself. I live in the richest country in the world, and I still have my feet (unbound) and my sexual organs intact. I have shoes on said feet, and shampoo and conditioner in the shower, and cable tv and the internets. And yet, I'm soooo fucking miserable, I have no words. I spoke to my supervisor and basically told him I'm at the end of my rope. I can handle no more, and I'm really worried. He told me it was going to be ok, and to relax and have a shot of whiskey. YES HE DID. As far as I'm concerned, that's permission to drink at work. I only wish they would let me smoke at my desk, too.