Tuesday, September 11, 2001, 6:40 AM MDT. I left my house. I had to be at work at 7:00. There were mortgages to process and loan officers to placate. People wanted to move into their homes, or have the money to fix up the one they had. Around 6:45, I was at the crest of Austin Bluffs, just at the intersection of Austin Bluffs and Cragmor. I don’t know why I remember that. I did have the radio on, and I imagine there was a news story, but there wasn’t anything really that stood out. It was early, and I’m not a morning person.
6:55 AM MDT (est). I parked my car and went into the office. Said hello to the receptionist and walked to my desk. I got my computer turned on, logged in and sat down. I had just gotten comfortable, my chair just barely warmed up. Outside, the sun was getting brighter. I had a fantastic view of Pike’s Peak that was distracting some days. Sometimes, you could see bears or coyotes out there. Some even saw bighorn sheep, although I never did. In the cube in front of me, my co-worker stood up. The World Trade Center has been hit. Both of them. I stood up. She was talking to the person in the cube beside her, but I heard her just fine. It was hard not to. My first word to her that morning was “Wha…?” I don’t know, I might have grunted “morning” to her when I walked in, but that’s the first thing I remember saying.
After that, time stops meaning anything.
The phones stop ringing. We’re in early for the Eastern and Central time zones. They’ve been up, they know what’s happening. They’re not calling. Especially our people from New York, Maryland, Virginia, DC and Pennsylvania. They’re a little preoccupied. Others come in to work. Not everyone watches the news or listens to the radio, so not everyone knows what happened. The atmosphere in the building is somber, to say the least. It’s almost impossible to get an update. The internet is barraged with requests. I had three different windows open, checking on CNN, MSNBC and Google, hoping any one of them might update. It took better than a minute to refresh the windows. Later in the morning, one of my co-workers brought out a hand-held television she keeps for lunch. At one point, there were probably 12 of us crowded around a 3-inch screen, trying to find out what was going on.
California woke up. Okay, the Pacific time zone woke up. The Mountain Time zone is pretty sparsely populated. At the best of times we never got that many calls, comparatively speaking. Most of our Pacific calls seemed to come from California, though, so that’s what I think of first when I think of the West. Some had no idea anything had happened. As far as they were concerned, it was just a normal Tuesday morning. Others, the ones that really upset me, did know, and didn’t care. I know they didn’t care. They actually said they didn’t care. All they wanted was their loan documents. California, generally speaking, doesn’t accept faxed copies of mortgage documents. Not even with original signatures. Faxing closing documents wasn’t an option. Later in the day, we were able to come up with an alternative, using a scanner and email. The biggest issue with that was security, but these loan officers weren’t letting go. If their clients’ information was stolen, on their head be it.
Colorado Springs has several military installations, and some people had to leave for various reasons related to that fact. Most, though, stayed. I had no one at home to talk to, so I was glad the site didn’t close. That was, in fact, part of the rationale. Of course, back then, we had a different person in charge. It was about the people, not the job. But that’s another, bitter, blog. The site remained open for the rest of the normal business day. I seem to recall being told that, after my shift ended and I went home, the site closed. Nothing was getting accomplished.
Our site manager found a television, and was able to access broadcast channels. He had the television set up in the cafeteria, available for anyone, at any time. Ideally, we were to get work done, but there was no pressure. The cafeteria was full for the rest of the day. I watched President Bush address the nation from the cafeteria, surrounded by several dozen co-workers. I went to lunch with a friend of mine, struck by the absence of air traffic. It was silent. There were cars on the road, but it was silent. As we were leaving the building, though, a group of F-15s flew overhead, all the louder for the lack of competition. The only thing we could assume, judging by the angle, is it was an escort for Air Force One. Looked like it was coming from the Cheyenne Mountain area, and we had just seen the President talking in an undisclosed location. Before it moved, NORAD was based in Cheyenne Mountain, and was a known undisclosed location. Two and two…
The rest of the day remains a blur as well. There was time spent on the telephone talking to some clients in California, explaining to them that what they were demanding simply wasn’t possible. There was time spent in the cafeteria, watching the coverage. There was time spent on the floor, talking with co-workers, trying to wrap our heads around the events of the day. I watched the coverage for the next several days, and took the advice of newscasters who said to take a break, step away, watch something else, something happy. Still, I was alone. I didn’t have anyone to help me process this. I should be used to that by now, I suppose, but again, that’s another, bitter, blog.
Some days after the attacks, I went through my client files. I needed to update my portfolio, and remove the files that were no longer valid. One call, I can’t forget. I’ve tried. Just like the rest of the day that spawned it, I tried, but I can’t. I called the loan officer and asked about this client. There hadn’t been any activity for several weeks, would we continue? Hold the file. He worked at the World Trade Center, and his wife is waiting to hear from him. He was a Vice President for a major financial company. His office was on the 103rd floor of Two World Trade Center.
Seven years later, I still haven’t completely processed it. I don’t know if I ever will, frankly, but I would have hoped I’d be farther along than I am. Still, some things have changed. I’m not having trouble sleeping because of the attacks anymore. Not even on the anniversary. Took 30 years for the Super Tornado Outbreak of 1974 dreams to stop, and the nearest tornado was miles away. And one thing, I must say, I’m proud that I never once thought the space should be kept sacred and open. The terrorists hit it to make us grovel and cry, to leave ups feeling hopeless and helpless. And frankly, if we build there, we win. I’m not thrilled that Bush managed to sneak the US Patriot Act through in a time of grieving, but he wouldn’t be the first politician – of either party – to use tragedy to further his own desires.
Honestly, I don’t want to forget. Ever. It reminded us that we were vulnerable, even across an ocean from our enemies, perceived and real. More importantly, though, it reminded us that even though we have different beliefs, religions, races and creeds, one thing we have that’s the same is our home. We’re all American.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Yes We Can!
Wow. Just wow. My tax accounting class let out early...very early...following a presentation about the Sarbanes-Oxley Act of 2002. Trust me, it's important to future accountants/auditors. NEway, we left early. Our instructor was apparently as anxious to get home to watch Obama's acceptance speech as many of us were. Apparently, I'm not going to be the only Democratic accountant in this state.
I still wish I was there. I really do. It would have been unreal. But I did get to watch it live, so there's that. And even though I haven't forgotten, he did remind me why he caught my attention in the first place. He's American first, last and always. He has the respect of Republicans, Democrats and Independents alike, and he's earned it. He believes in a government that works together, regardless of party.
My closest friend here in Colorado is an undeclared voter who is, for all intents and purposes, a Republican. We do talk about politics when it comes up, and we have differing views on many things. And it's okay. It's okay to have a different opinion. As long as that opinion doesn't get in the way of the brain. Sometimes, we agree to disagree. But we would defend each others' rights TO THE DEATH to disagree. Barack Obama said the same thing.
I couldn't help but rise to my feet and clap while watching in the comfort of my living room. The room that one day, may not be mine because I still haven't found a job. But I realized that even though I might lose my house, even though I might have to move back home, I still have more opportunities than my father had. And in order to maintain that opportunity, I need a leader I can count on to help preserve the gains I've made.
There was no time that I ever thought I wouldn't vote for Barack Obama. Tonight just reminded me how committed I am to seeing this through.
And if you wish to go to the polls for the express purpose of canceling out my vote, be my guest. It's your right as an American.
I still wish I was there. I really do. It would have been unreal. But I did get to watch it live, so there's that. And even though I haven't forgotten, he did remind me why he caught my attention in the first place. He's American first, last and always. He has the respect of Republicans, Democrats and Independents alike, and he's earned it. He believes in a government that works together, regardless of party.
My closest friend here in Colorado is an undeclared voter who is, for all intents and purposes, a Republican. We do talk about politics when it comes up, and we have differing views on many things. And it's okay. It's okay to have a different opinion. As long as that opinion doesn't get in the way of the brain. Sometimes, we agree to disagree. But we would defend each others' rights TO THE DEATH to disagree. Barack Obama said the same thing.
I couldn't help but rise to my feet and clap while watching in the comfort of my living room. The room that one day, may not be mine because I still haven't found a job. But I realized that even though I might lose my house, even though I might have to move back home, I still have more opportunities than my father had. And in order to maintain that opportunity, I need a leader I can count on to help preserve the gains I've made.
There was no time that I ever thought I wouldn't vote for Barack Obama. Tonight just reminded me how committed I am to seeing this through.
And if you wish to go to the polls for the express purpose of canceling out my vote, be my guest. It's your right as an American.
Monday, August 25, 2008
70 Miles to the North
Right now, Michelle Obama is leaving the stage. The Democratic National Convention is taking place in Denver, Colorado, at the Pepsi Center, about 70 miles to the north of me. And I really want to be there. Really. But I can't. I wasn't chosen as a delegate at the Colorado State Convention. There was some form I was supposed to fill out, and I didn't. So I don't get to go.
But I thought about it. Right now, I'm also in one of the most difficult quarters in school. I have an Intermediate Accounting class that professional accountants would have trouble with. I have a Tax Accounting class focusing on tax law. Read tax law. Do not apply logic. It will not make sense if you apply logic. I also have a Managerial Economics class, a half quarter class completely online. I'm learning that I need the classroom to succeed, but I'll do what I can.
I'm very behind in all these classes. Had I been selected as a delegate to the DNC, I'd have gotten even further behind. Yes, I want to be at the DNC. But more importantly, I want to get into something that's not blue collar, something that allows me to use the brain God gave me, the brain that is both blessing and curse. I want out of this cycle of underemployment.
Listening to Michelle Obama's speech, that's when I realized that it was a good thing I wasn't a delegate. It's my future at stake, both here and there. But here, I can do a lot more about it.
Yes, I want to be up in Denver at the DNC. But I want to have a future I can control. I'll be at the polls in November. Too many people have fought and died for my right to vote, as a woman, as a minority, as an American, for me to spit in their faces. I would hope that everyone else realizes the sacrifices made for our freedoms. I'd like you to vote for my candidate. But more than that, I'd like you to be informed. If you want to vote for McCain, it's your right. We are allowed to disagree.
How cool is this country?
But I thought about it. Right now, I'm also in one of the most difficult quarters in school. I have an Intermediate Accounting class that professional accountants would have trouble with. I have a Tax Accounting class focusing on tax law. Read tax law. Do not apply logic. It will not make sense if you apply logic. I also have a Managerial Economics class, a half quarter class completely online. I'm learning that I need the classroom to succeed, but I'll do what I can.
I'm very behind in all these classes. Had I been selected as a delegate to the DNC, I'd have gotten even further behind. Yes, I want to be at the DNC. But more importantly, I want to get into something that's not blue collar, something that allows me to use the brain God gave me, the brain that is both blessing and curse. I want out of this cycle of underemployment.
Listening to Michelle Obama's speech, that's when I realized that it was a good thing I wasn't a delegate. It's my future at stake, both here and there. But here, I can do a lot more about it.
Yes, I want to be up in Denver at the DNC. But I want to have a future I can control. I'll be at the polls in November. Too many people have fought and died for my right to vote, as a woman, as a minority, as an American, for me to spit in their faces. I would hope that everyone else realizes the sacrifices made for our freedoms. I'd like you to vote for my candidate. But more than that, I'd like you to be informed. If you want to vote for McCain, it's your right. We are allowed to disagree.
How cool is this country?
Sunday, August 17, 2008
The Weather
Well now, here’s something I never thought I’d say. Not here in Colorado. It’s been raining for days! Not the normal 20 minutes of rain then sun, not even periodic episodes of rain then sun, but almost constant rain, varying from a light drizzle to downpour, and even a little hail. Hail out here, of course, isn’t particularly serious, I think it has more to do with the altitude. Whereas hail back home in Cincinnati usually meant something severe was on the horizon, and you’d best get yourself to some sturdy building, just in case. Just the same, it’s been raining all weekend. I haven’t seen the sun since Friday. Maybe Thursday. Easy to lose track of time when you’re not working. In the seven years I’ve been here, I’ve never seen it do this. Based on what I’ve seen in the news, this isn’t particularly common. Sure, it’s monsoon season out here, but we’re talking about a place where half an inch of rain for the month isn’t all that odd. Part of me wishes it would stop. I know I’ve gone native, because part of me can’t help but say “We need the moisture.”
Surprisingly, my ceiling hasn’t really leaked all that much. I did have roofers come out last month after a particularly heavy deluge. I had my own private waterfall in my living room. The roofers did what they could, but they also mentioned the windows need to be replaced. There’s one in particular, my skylight over my bathroom and upstairs hallway. That one I can see is in bad shape even from 10 feet below. That’s the biggest culprit. Nonetheless, they did what they could and told me they’d come back if needed. Fortunately, the roof falls under the province of the HOA. Unfortunately, the windows do not. One more thing. They must have accomplished something, though, because I’ve yet to experience the same level of drippage as I did before they came. One in the same spot I’ve seen it for years, and one very small leak in the new area. Based on where the leaks are, it’s probably my window. The one in desperate need of being replaced.
Rain does have one fairly universal effect, it tends to bring on a malaise. And for someone who’s already down naturally, it can get pretty severe. But, you do what you can. Soldier on, try to accomplish what needs to be done. Yeah, so far, that hasn’t worked out so good. My third class for the quarter has begun. I have an assignment due tomorrow, and I haven’t even cracked the book, yet. I’m behind in my other two classes, also fairly work-intensive, and I don’t know how easy it will be for me to catch up. I’m going to have to go with “Not.”
This really concerns me, because I do need to find a job. A source of income other than the student loans I’ve been living on since my unemployment ran out and my pension was cashed in. So far, I’m okay, but that won’t last long. My student loan payments are quarterly, and not enough to cover all my expenses. Even if I eliminate all luxuries and semi-luxuries, it’s not enough to pay my mortgage, phone and groceries. I’m constantly amazed, though, at the fact I’ve managed to go almost an entire year without an earned income. Sure, there was some left-handed luck involved, particularly the settlement from my accident in November, but mostly, it was unemployment, student loans, and being cheap. Most of the time.
Despite the fact that I get extremely tense when I feel like I’m going broke, I have had episodes of spendthrift behavior. Not lately, but it’s happened. And to be perfectly honest, one of those episodes was actually necessary, although I still have trouble reconciling that. I went shopping. I realized some time ago that if I wanted to get into accounting, I’d need to add a few things to my wardrobe, things that made me look a little more professional and white collar. Yes, I’ve worked in offices, for major companies. I’ve worked in a corporate headquarters of a Fortune 500 company (Fortune 100, I think). And for that job, I did have to have more appropriate clothing than I do now. Of course, those clothes are long gone. I was in the middle of losing weight, swearing to never see size 26 again. Well, I’ve managed to keep to that one. Unfortunately, I’ll also never see size 10 again. Or 12 for that matter. Hell, I’d be happy with 16 right now. All the business clothes I had back then, had I not given them away, wouldn’t fit anyway. I had to replace them. I didn’t even buy that much. Really, I have about six pieces appropriate for white collar work now, including a pair of slacks that have been waiting to be hemmed for, oh, six months, now. Nothing I can really do about it now.
I need to get to work. I have several assignments to complete this week, as soon as possible. And I have to find some way to ignore the ominous noise I hear over my head, a noise that sounds an awful lot like a huge leak overhead. I’ve never heard that noise before, although that could be due to other noises I usually have, like the television or radio. I know I’ve heard the random thunk here and there, but I attributed those mostly to the house settling. It’s over 30 years old and not built on the most stable of surfaces. I figure in another 30 years, it will have split in half. I’ll be long gone by then. I think, yes, I think I need to find a way to further distract myself from that noise. Nothing I can do about it right now anyway. Besides, it stopped raining. I can see Pike’s Peak for the first time since Friday morning. Or was that Thursday?
Surprisingly, my ceiling hasn’t really leaked all that much. I did have roofers come out last month after a particularly heavy deluge. I had my own private waterfall in my living room. The roofers did what they could, but they also mentioned the windows need to be replaced. There’s one in particular, my skylight over my bathroom and upstairs hallway. That one I can see is in bad shape even from 10 feet below. That’s the biggest culprit. Nonetheless, they did what they could and told me they’d come back if needed. Fortunately, the roof falls under the province of the HOA. Unfortunately, the windows do not. One more thing. They must have accomplished something, though, because I’ve yet to experience the same level of drippage as I did before they came. One in the same spot I’ve seen it for years, and one very small leak in the new area. Based on where the leaks are, it’s probably my window. The one in desperate need of being replaced.
Rain does have one fairly universal effect, it tends to bring on a malaise. And for someone who’s already down naturally, it can get pretty severe. But, you do what you can. Soldier on, try to accomplish what needs to be done. Yeah, so far, that hasn’t worked out so good. My third class for the quarter has begun. I have an assignment due tomorrow, and I haven’t even cracked the book, yet. I’m behind in my other two classes, also fairly work-intensive, and I don’t know how easy it will be for me to catch up. I’m going to have to go with “Not.”
This really concerns me, because I do need to find a job. A source of income other than the student loans I’ve been living on since my unemployment ran out and my pension was cashed in. So far, I’m okay, but that won’t last long. My student loan payments are quarterly, and not enough to cover all my expenses. Even if I eliminate all luxuries and semi-luxuries, it’s not enough to pay my mortgage, phone and groceries. I’m constantly amazed, though, at the fact I’ve managed to go almost an entire year without an earned income. Sure, there was some left-handed luck involved, particularly the settlement from my accident in November, but mostly, it was unemployment, student loans, and being cheap. Most of the time.
Despite the fact that I get extremely tense when I feel like I’m going broke, I have had episodes of spendthrift behavior. Not lately, but it’s happened. And to be perfectly honest, one of those episodes was actually necessary, although I still have trouble reconciling that. I went shopping. I realized some time ago that if I wanted to get into accounting, I’d need to add a few things to my wardrobe, things that made me look a little more professional and white collar. Yes, I’ve worked in offices, for major companies. I’ve worked in a corporate headquarters of a Fortune 500 company (Fortune 100, I think). And for that job, I did have to have more appropriate clothing than I do now. Of course, those clothes are long gone. I was in the middle of losing weight, swearing to never see size 26 again. Well, I’ve managed to keep to that one. Unfortunately, I’ll also never see size 10 again. Or 12 for that matter. Hell, I’d be happy with 16 right now. All the business clothes I had back then, had I not given them away, wouldn’t fit anyway. I had to replace them. I didn’t even buy that much. Really, I have about six pieces appropriate for white collar work now, including a pair of slacks that have been waiting to be hemmed for, oh, six months, now. Nothing I can really do about it now.
I need to get to work. I have several assignments to complete this week, as soon as possible. And I have to find some way to ignore the ominous noise I hear over my head, a noise that sounds an awful lot like a huge leak overhead. I’ve never heard that noise before, although that could be due to other noises I usually have, like the television or radio. I know I’ve heard the random thunk here and there, but I attributed those mostly to the house settling. It’s over 30 years old and not built on the most stable of surfaces. I figure in another 30 years, it will have split in half. I’ll be long gone by then. I think, yes, I think I need to find a way to further distract myself from that noise. Nothing I can do about it right now anyway. Besides, it stopped raining. I can see Pike’s Peak for the first time since Friday morning. Or was that Thursday?
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Stream of Consciousness 08/12
It might seem to the casual reader that these “Stream of Consciousness” blogs have a therapeutic tone. Well, I have neither job nor insurance, so until that situation is remedied, I suppose they do. Gotta get this stuff off my chest, right or wrong, in order to function. Even though most of my friends on this page know me IRL, it’s a safe place. It’s hard for me to put the words together face-to-face. One of the reasons I doubt the efficacy of therapy for myself. I forget things. Hugely traumatic things, no less. Then there’s the fact that face-to-face, I tend to say the wrong thing. My facial expressions, my words and my tone don’t tend to jibe. People misconstrue what I say all the time. I swear, sometimes I think I’m slightly autistic. I know I’m not. I don’t even have Aspergers’. But ADD and Autism are in the same class, just different ends of the spectrum. And I know I have ADD. And it sucks.
Last week, I had my midterms. My first midterm, intermediate accounting, was horrible. I’d be willing to bet I got no better than a C. I’m sure I didn’t fail. That’s the only thing I’m sure of. The next midterm was tax accounting. Open book, which was helpful, but as anyone will tell you, a decent test still requires study. I’m glad I reviewed my chapters before that test. That was a lot easier. I still doubt I aced it, but I think I didn’t do too badly. Before that class, there was a conversation about success in the classroom. Everyone, particularly the instructor, was shocked to find I’d failed classes in college. I’d let him know the previous week that I was stressed out because I was looking for a job. I still am, and I’m still stressed out about it. He asked if I had other things going on at the time, just out of curiosity and conversation, and I mentioned a learning difficultly. I didn’t specify anything. I also didn’t mention that I was working two jobs at times while in college, and that I failed two classes, one of them twice. In one, I had a professor notoriously opposed to music students, where music professors actually recommended dropping the class. In the other, the one I failed twice, I had two obstacles: one was a professor who hadn’t left Vietnam, but he was tenured, so the school had to wait for him to retire. The other was a class where the book was a work in progress. The professor was still writing it, adding chapters throughout the semester. The third time I took it, I got a C. It was a different class each time.
See, I leave things out. Things that would change the picture a bit. But these same things would make people go “Well, you’re just putting the blame on someone else.” And you know, maybe I am. And I don’t actually care as much any more. I know what I’m dealing with, I know what I’m fighting against, and I know when I have done something to myself. Lots of self-talk. Destructive self-talk. Learned it at my mother’s knee.
Yes, she was horrible to my brother. She was bitter and angry with men, and she took it out on him. I didn’t escape unscathed. Me, she told I was never good enough. Didn’t matter what it was, I wasn’t good enough. Don’t go into theater, you’re not good enough. It’s hard, and so very few people make it. It’s not worth the pain. Don’t go into music, you’re not good enough. You sing flat all the time, you can’t keep a decent rhythm, your voice is shrill and unpleasant. Don’t go into broadcasting. You don’t have the body or face for television, and there’re just not enough jobs in radio. Your grades could be better. You could be thinner. You could be less bitchy. You could be happier. You could be more serious. You could have a bit more backbone. Whatever I did, it was wrong.
But wait, there’s more! She would tell me not to go into acting or theater, then set up an appointment with a talent agent. One specific incident. She had the appointment, and I had strep throat. She kept the appointment. I couldn’t speak. I literally could not speak. She wouldn’t reschedule. And I couldn’t.
So here I sit, knowing I have to get a job, stressing because, frankly, I don’t know how. I have access to several hiring managers in accounting fields, and I haven’t been able to broach the subject with them once. I don’t feel competent to do anything. Why should I? I was told I was incompetent from a very young age. I really don’t like talking about myself. Feels like bragging, and bragging is bad. That one, I got from my father and the overall environment. Girls don’t brag. Girls sit quietly in the back and hope someone notices them, but not for the wrong things, whatever those may be. For someone who’s barely got a grasp on interpersonal relations to begin with, this is NOT helpful. I’m a very literal-minded person, I tend to take things at face value. I can pick out obvious sarcasm and humor, I’m not completely oblivious, but if I’m not paying attention for whatever reason, I will take you at your word. I don’t notice when someone’s flirting, I can’t always tell when they’re trying to get my attention or just happen to be looking in my direction. Gotta be obvious. I don’t always notice when everyone stops talking about something because it’s no longer comfortable. And I really don’t notice when I don’t stop talking about something that should have been dropped long ago. Once I do, I can’t stop, not immediately. I have to consciously force myself to stop. Experienced that in my last family trip, when I got so geeked out about seeing so many Ohio plates in South Carolina. I heard myself saying it so often, I was getting tired of it. It took another few hours to stop.
See, I appear perfectly normal. I give off an air of competence, normalcy, astuteness and intelligence, according to multiple reports from others. I know I’m intelligent. I wouldn’t have gotten as far as I have if I wasn’t. But competent? Astute? Normal? No. It’s taken me a lot of years to realize that, much less accept it. Doesn’t mean I don’t try. I know I say the wrong thing often. I’m good at it. Just ask my mom. I have an amazing ability to say or do the exact wrong thing. And I’m on my own dealing with that. No one else is interested, they only care that I’ve said or done something wrong. It’s a huge fear. So huge that I get worried when a friend doesn’t talk to me for a while. Unless I hear otherwise, like they’re out of town or out of the loop, I assume I did something wrong. Pretty self-absorbed, admittedly, but when you’re used to saying or doing something that makes your friends walk away, that makes your family stop talking to you, it’s hard not to.
Honestly, I don’t know how much longer I can deal with this. I get tired of struggling to strike just the right note. People don’t like me. I know this. This is not news. And I don’t always know why. In fact, I usually don’t know why. Sometimes it’s something I said, sometimes it’s something I did, and sometimes, it’s just because they don’t like me. That happens to everyone. That one, I can deal with. It’s when I’ve said or done something, and no one tells me what. They just stop talking to me. How in the world can I avoid it again if no one will tell me what I said or did? My only real choice is to keep to safe topics. I tend not to express my opinion any more, or share anything really important that’s going on in my life. The longer I do that, the farther that avoidance extends. Now, I barely speak about myself. No one’s interested, so I’ve learned. I have things in my past, dark things, that I haven’t told anyone. Not really. An occasional oblique comment here and there, but no one ever wants to hear the rest. Can’t blame them for that. Problem is I can’t see the line. So I have nothing really to say to anyone.
No wonder I feel so completely alone.
Last week, I had my midterms. My first midterm, intermediate accounting, was horrible. I’d be willing to bet I got no better than a C. I’m sure I didn’t fail. That’s the only thing I’m sure of. The next midterm was tax accounting. Open book, which was helpful, but as anyone will tell you, a decent test still requires study. I’m glad I reviewed my chapters before that test. That was a lot easier. I still doubt I aced it, but I think I didn’t do too badly. Before that class, there was a conversation about success in the classroom. Everyone, particularly the instructor, was shocked to find I’d failed classes in college. I’d let him know the previous week that I was stressed out because I was looking for a job. I still am, and I’m still stressed out about it. He asked if I had other things going on at the time, just out of curiosity and conversation, and I mentioned a learning difficultly. I didn’t specify anything. I also didn’t mention that I was working two jobs at times while in college, and that I failed two classes, one of them twice. In one, I had a professor notoriously opposed to music students, where music professors actually recommended dropping the class. In the other, the one I failed twice, I had two obstacles: one was a professor who hadn’t left Vietnam, but he was tenured, so the school had to wait for him to retire. The other was a class where the book was a work in progress. The professor was still writing it, adding chapters throughout the semester. The third time I took it, I got a C. It was a different class each time.
See, I leave things out. Things that would change the picture a bit. But these same things would make people go “Well, you’re just putting the blame on someone else.” And you know, maybe I am. And I don’t actually care as much any more. I know what I’m dealing with, I know what I’m fighting against, and I know when I have done something to myself. Lots of self-talk. Destructive self-talk. Learned it at my mother’s knee.
Yes, she was horrible to my brother. She was bitter and angry with men, and she took it out on him. I didn’t escape unscathed. Me, she told I was never good enough. Didn’t matter what it was, I wasn’t good enough. Don’t go into theater, you’re not good enough. It’s hard, and so very few people make it. It’s not worth the pain. Don’t go into music, you’re not good enough. You sing flat all the time, you can’t keep a decent rhythm, your voice is shrill and unpleasant. Don’t go into broadcasting. You don’t have the body or face for television, and there’re just not enough jobs in radio. Your grades could be better. You could be thinner. You could be less bitchy. You could be happier. You could be more serious. You could have a bit more backbone. Whatever I did, it was wrong.
But wait, there’s more! She would tell me not to go into acting or theater, then set up an appointment with a talent agent. One specific incident. She had the appointment, and I had strep throat. She kept the appointment. I couldn’t speak. I literally could not speak. She wouldn’t reschedule. And I couldn’t.
So here I sit, knowing I have to get a job, stressing because, frankly, I don’t know how. I have access to several hiring managers in accounting fields, and I haven’t been able to broach the subject with them once. I don’t feel competent to do anything. Why should I? I was told I was incompetent from a very young age. I really don’t like talking about myself. Feels like bragging, and bragging is bad. That one, I got from my father and the overall environment. Girls don’t brag. Girls sit quietly in the back and hope someone notices them, but not for the wrong things, whatever those may be. For someone who’s barely got a grasp on interpersonal relations to begin with, this is NOT helpful. I’m a very literal-minded person, I tend to take things at face value. I can pick out obvious sarcasm and humor, I’m not completely oblivious, but if I’m not paying attention for whatever reason, I will take you at your word. I don’t notice when someone’s flirting, I can’t always tell when they’re trying to get my attention or just happen to be looking in my direction. Gotta be obvious. I don’t always notice when everyone stops talking about something because it’s no longer comfortable. And I really don’t notice when I don’t stop talking about something that should have been dropped long ago. Once I do, I can’t stop, not immediately. I have to consciously force myself to stop. Experienced that in my last family trip, when I got so geeked out about seeing so many Ohio plates in South Carolina. I heard myself saying it so often, I was getting tired of it. It took another few hours to stop.
See, I appear perfectly normal. I give off an air of competence, normalcy, astuteness and intelligence, according to multiple reports from others. I know I’m intelligent. I wouldn’t have gotten as far as I have if I wasn’t. But competent? Astute? Normal? No. It’s taken me a lot of years to realize that, much less accept it. Doesn’t mean I don’t try. I know I say the wrong thing often. I’m good at it. Just ask my mom. I have an amazing ability to say or do the exact wrong thing. And I’m on my own dealing with that. No one else is interested, they only care that I’ve said or done something wrong. It’s a huge fear. So huge that I get worried when a friend doesn’t talk to me for a while. Unless I hear otherwise, like they’re out of town or out of the loop, I assume I did something wrong. Pretty self-absorbed, admittedly, but when you’re used to saying or doing something that makes your friends walk away, that makes your family stop talking to you, it’s hard not to.
Honestly, I don’t know how much longer I can deal with this. I get tired of struggling to strike just the right note. People don’t like me. I know this. This is not news. And I don’t always know why. In fact, I usually don’t know why. Sometimes it’s something I said, sometimes it’s something I did, and sometimes, it’s just because they don’t like me. That happens to everyone. That one, I can deal with. It’s when I’ve said or done something, and no one tells me what. They just stop talking to me. How in the world can I avoid it again if no one will tell me what I said or did? My only real choice is to keep to safe topics. I tend not to express my opinion any more, or share anything really important that’s going on in my life. The longer I do that, the farther that avoidance extends. Now, I barely speak about myself. No one’s interested, so I’ve learned. I have things in my past, dark things, that I haven’t told anyone. Not really. An occasional oblique comment here and there, but no one ever wants to hear the rest. Can’t blame them for that. Problem is I can’t see the line. So I have nothing really to say to anyone.
No wonder I feel so completely alone.
Friday, August 8, 2008
2008 Olympics Opening Ceremonies
China. A country that makes Germany seem open and accepting, even gregarious. I grew up in Cincinnati, and while it’s a very American city, some of the German attitudes continue to prevail. Not only in the quirky use of “please” instead of what, but in the xenophobic attitude of her citizens. Before Anheuser-Busch spread their beers all over the country, the best beers were found in Cincinnati. No, I’m not just saying that. It’s been documented. But there was no point in spreading out. First there was plenty of business within the Greater Cincinnati area, and second, nothing but scary monsters outside of the borders. Cincinnatians know what is available in the city, but it’s not really advertised outside of the limits. Very insular. China, as far as most of us know, is far worse.
Tibet. Communism. Darfur. Tiananmen Square. Cultural Revolution. The Great Wall. These are the things we think about when we think about China. We’re accustomed to the right of assembly, the right to speak our minds, to disagree with even our leaders, loudly, publically. We’re accustomed to people sneaking in over our walls, literal and figurative, just for a chance to be a part of our country, even if for only a little while. China, like the USSR during the cold war, seems to be the antithesis of that very ideal, of everything we represent. And yet…
The Chinese people are proud to be Chinese. Not all, it would be preposterous to assume everyone is happy. Not everyone is happy here, and we’re probably the most politically permissive society in the world. Can’t make everyone happy. But what about the ones who are? What about the Americans who are proud to be American, who ignore the very real racial discrimination still prevalent in our neighborhoods, cities and states, or who believe the religious right/radical left have taken over the ruling of our country, that our president is wrong and stole the election in 2000, that he’s right and wish there could be a third term. All of these people are proud to be Americans. The Chinese people haven’t enjoyed the same freedom of the press we have. Even the most diehard conspiracy theorist, when rational, would have to admit that we have more access to information than the Chinese have. Because of events during the torch relay, Chinese people are getting an idea of what the rest of the world thinks of them, of their country. They just didn’t know. A lot of Americans are ignorant of our presentation on the world stage, but that’s mostly ignorance. This information was literally withheld from the Chinese people.
The Olympic Games are intended to bring the world together. To remind us that regardless of language, beliefs, skin or gender, we’re all one people. We’re all human. The Olympics have been used to further political positions. The US boycott in 1980 from the Moscow Olympics, and their response to boycotting the 1984 LA Olympics. The 1972 murder of Israeli athletes by Palestinian athletes. The 1936 Berlin Olympics, intended by Hitler to promote the superiority of the Aryan race. The 1968 Black Power podium salute. It’s a world stage, and it’s tempting to use it to further your own ends. This, the 29th Olympiad, is no different. Regular citizens spoke up about what they see as China’s faults. And governments made their own statements. Heads of state made a point of boycotting the opening ceremonies. Our own leader was pressured to do the same. He chose instead to attend, to show willing to bury the hatchet, to move on, to grow and expand the relationship, from this point forward. And as much as it pains me to say it, I agree with his decision, and his reasoning. I have to go take a hot shower, now, maybe rinse off with bleach.
I love the Olympics. I was thrilled when the timing was changed from every four years to every two. Sure, there are still four years between each summer games, and each winter games, but it doesn’t seem as long. What I love is the sportsmanship, and the display of nationalism. I love the pride each person takes in their home country, and the heart they show when they perform. I was thrilled to see Cathy Freeman of Australia win a gold medal. I still get excited when I see the Jamaican bobsled team, and other countries, not known for having a winter, much less a winter sport, turn up on the slopes. And I swell with pride every time I see Old Glory rise up, hear the Star Spangled Banner played for one of our own. I wish the games could be about sportsmanship and not about politics, but let’s face it, not gonna happen.
China has thousands of years of history, accomplishments during a time when Europe was still living in caves and wearing raw furs, and a pride that would make anyone, well, proud. Their country isn’t perfect. They’ve committed atrocities against their own people and others. They’ve spent centuries trying to keep barbarians out, and everyone was a barbarian. They’ve suppressed the right for people to have thoughts contrary to the government line. They’ve created a people who are expected to follow what their leaders demand, be it having only one child or giving up a car to reduce pollution. Preposterous to think we haven’t done anything similar. For atrocities, look up the Tuskegee Experiments, or even slavery. Yes, slavery existed for millennia, but not the way we practiced it. How about all the treaties made and broken with various native tribes, now forced to live on the least tenable land in an otherwise fertile country? Then there’s the fact that our government can help rebuild entire countries (Japan, Germany after WWII), but can’t lift a finger to rebuild a single city (New Orleans). We’re not perfect. But most of us are proud to call ourselves Americans, native or naturalized. Let the Chinese be proud, too. They have a lot to be proud of. They deserve it.
Tibet. Communism. Darfur. Tiananmen Square. Cultural Revolution. The Great Wall. These are the things we think about when we think about China. We’re accustomed to the right of assembly, the right to speak our minds, to disagree with even our leaders, loudly, publically. We’re accustomed to people sneaking in over our walls, literal and figurative, just for a chance to be a part of our country, even if for only a little while. China, like the USSR during the cold war, seems to be the antithesis of that very ideal, of everything we represent. And yet…
The Chinese people are proud to be Chinese. Not all, it would be preposterous to assume everyone is happy. Not everyone is happy here, and we’re probably the most politically permissive society in the world. Can’t make everyone happy. But what about the ones who are? What about the Americans who are proud to be American, who ignore the very real racial discrimination still prevalent in our neighborhoods, cities and states, or who believe the religious right/radical left have taken over the ruling of our country, that our president is wrong and stole the election in 2000, that he’s right and wish there could be a third term. All of these people are proud to be Americans. The Chinese people haven’t enjoyed the same freedom of the press we have. Even the most diehard conspiracy theorist, when rational, would have to admit that we have more access to information than the Chinese have. Because of events during the torch relay, Chinese people are getting an idea of what the rest of the world thinks of them, of their country. They just didn’t know. A lot of Americans are ignorant of our presentation on the world stage, but that’s mostly ignorance. This information was literally withheld from the Chinese people.
The Olympic Games are intended to bring the world together. To remind us that regardless of language, beliefs, skin or gender, we’re all one people. We’re all human. The Olympics have been used to further political positions. The US boycott in 1980 from the Moscow Olympics, and their response to boycotting the 1984 LA Olympics. The 1972 murder of Israeli athletes by Palestinian athletes. The 1936 Berlin Olympics, intended by Hitler to promote the superiority of the Aryan race. The 1968 Black Power podium salute. It’s a world stage, and it’s tempting to use it to further your own ends. This, the 29th Olympiad, is no different. Regular citizens spoke up about what they see as China’s faults. And governments made their own statements. Heads of state made a point of boycotting the opening ceremonies. Our own leader was pressured to do the same. He chose instead to attend, to show willing to bury the hatchet, to move on, to grow and expand the relationship, from this point forward. And as much as it pains me to say it, I agree with his decision, and his reasoning. I have to go take a hot shower, now, maybe rinse off with bleach.
I love the Olympics. I was thrilled when the timing was changed from every four years to every two. Sure, there are still four years between each summer games, and each winter games, but it doesn’t seem as long. What I love is the sportsmanship, and the display of nationalism. I love the pride each person takes in their home country, and the heart they show when they perform. I was thrilled to see Cathy Freeman of Australia win a gold medal. I still get excited when I see the Jamaican bobsled team, and other countries, not known for having a winter, much less a winter sport, turn up on the slopes. And I swell with pride every time I see Old Glory rise up, hear the Star Spangled Banner played for one of our own. I wish the games could be about sportsmanship and not about politics, but let’s face it, not gonna happen.
China has thousands of years of history, accomplishments during a time when Europe was still living in caves and wearing raw furs, and a pride that would make anyone, well, proud. Their country isn’t perfect. They’ve committed atrocities against their own people and others. They’ve spent centuries trying to keep barbarians out, and everyone was a barbarian. They’ve suppressed the right for people to have thoughts contrary to the government line. They’ve created a people who are expected to follow what their leaders demand, be it having only one child or giving up a car to reduce pollution. Preposterous to think we haven’t done anything similar. For atrocities, look up the Tuskegee Experiments, or even slavery. Yes, slavery existed for millennia, but not the way we practiced it. How about all the treaties made and broken with various native tribes, now forced to live on the least tenable land in an otherwise fertile country? Then there’s the fact that our government can help rebuild entire countries (Japan, Germany after WWII), but can’t lift a finger to rebuild a single city (New Orleans). We’re not perfect. But most of us are proud to call ourselves Americans, native or naturalized. Let the Chinese be proud, too. They have a lot to be proud of. They deserve it.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Death and Taxes
This isn’t some doom and gloom foretelling of the future, nor is it a missive from the mind of a depressive. It is merely an observation, and some desires of mine. And it may not be pleasant.
Death
It’s gonna happen. It happens to everyone. As I saw on a television show the other night, everyone has temporary immortality, it’s called life. It was funnier when the cast said it. But I think about these things. Yes, partly because I am an untreated depressive. How much that colors the rest of my thoughts, I honestly don’t know. I’ve only ever tried one anti-depressant, and I wound up getting almost no sleep, even though I took it first thing in the morning. It helped my mood, but I was exhausted. Ah the joys of ADD and the paradoxical reactions. One of the other reasons, what I think is the primary reason, I think of death a lot is the fact that I’m sick. I have Polycystic Kidney Disease. I have kidneys the size of toddlers, that each weigh the same as a small bowling ball. They’re supposed to be about the size of a fist and weigh a quarter pound. And it hurts. Always. To some degree, I’m in pain. Some days it’s worse than others. Some days, I am merely uncomfortable, others I need to take something just to sit up. There are nights I can’t sleep because of the pain and discomfort. And clothes…that’s a tough one to handle. I always had an hourglass figure. Even when I was over 240 lbs, I had an hourglass figure. I had muscle tone. Clothes looked good on me. Not any more. As my kidneys grow, I think more and more that I’ll be shopping in the maternity aisles for my pants. I’ll have to.
After watching my mother, and her mother before her, suffer from diseases that took their lives long before they died, I wondered. My grandmother died from things she’d done to herself. She was a smoker. Of course, at the time she started, doctors were saying it’s good for you, so I honestly don’t believe it’s her fault. If I had gotten emphysema, it would have been. By the time I started smoking, we knew the hazards. I would have no excuse. Anyway, I watched them both waste away. And the reality is, that could happen to me. It’s more likely to happen to me than to anyone else in my immediate family. I don’t know what my current kidney function is, I haven’t had health insurance since November of last year. I haven’t taken my blood pressure pills since about April. And even then, I was only taking them occasionally. Can’t afford them. As of February 2007, my function was estimated at about 65%, but that was before my annual pee-in-a-cup day. I have to collect my urine for 24 hours and let them take about 3 quarts of blood. Might be only half a pint, I usually don’t pay attention once they put the needle in. That’s the test that tells my function. I’m exhausted all the time, and as mentioned, always in some degree of pain. I could live like this for another 30 years, or I could go south in just 5. No real way to know. So I think about it. That’s the background out of the way.
What do I want? I have no children, no boyfriend or husband to mourn me, I have very few assets, no foundations are relying on my presence to make them run, and there are a lot of times I feel like a part of my immediate family wouldn’t really miss me for long. Basically, I feel completely expendable. So I don’t want a grave. No point, really. Who would visit? I wouldn’t , I’d be dead. My friends wouldn’t, they’d be too far away. If I were buried anywhere, I’d want to be buried in Cincinnati. But I don’t want to be buried. Besides, I am an organ donor. Not many organs anyone would be able to use, unfortunately, but maybe a medical school could have a field day with my kidneys and other cyst-covered organs. There’s plenty of them. After that, I want to be cremated. Have a funeral if you want. I’d prefer a Presbyterian funeral, but I won’t be there, so it’s up to whoever’s stuck planning it. Again, I have very few assets, so it won’t exactly be elaborate. Enjoy. Try to remember the happy times. If you can’t, then just sit around with the uncomfortable silence of everyone going “Wow, we really did hate her.”
Taxes
I have no earned income this year. There are still five months left in the year, and if I don’t want to go into foreclosure, there will have to be a job somewhere in there, but until that happens, I have no earned income. The bulk of my money comes from a student loan, an insurance settlement and a pension plan, on which I HAVE paid taxes, and unemployment, on which I paid partial taxes. I suppose I’m lucky I decided to take a tax accounting class this quarter. The whole issue of insurance settlements is actually covered. But I’m not looking forward to doing my taxes for this year. Might be a bit of a challenge, that. I’m up to it.
Aside from that, taking my tax accounting class has reinforced even more that I don’t want to be a CPA. I want to be a Fraud Examiner, an auditor, a Forensic Accountant, something not dealing directly with doing someone’s taxes. It’s boring to me. The research is interesting, but I’ve found so far that I can get lost in the research, a particularly valuable trait in the other three paths I mentioned. The other three closely-related paths.
Really, that’s all I have to say on taxes. I just put it in there because the title worked so well, I had to write something. It’s a little lighter, anyway. And yet…I wonder about my own future. Will I be healthy enough to realize my goal? I don’t know. But, even though I’m depressed, I’m also an optimist. That’s why I’m going to school. I could die tomorrow, I could get bedridden, or I could have another 30 years of being a fully-functioning part of society. I’m planning for the last.
Death
It’s gonna happen. It happens to everyone. As I saw on a television show the other night, everyone has temporary immortality, it’s called life. It was funnier when the cast said it. But I think about these things. Yes, partly because I am an untreated depressive. How much that colors the rest of my thoughts, I honestly don’t know. I’ve only ever tried one anti-depressant, and I wound up getting almost no sleep, even though I took it first thing in the morning. It helped my mood, but I was exhausted. Ah the joys of ADD and the paradoxical reactions. One of the other reasons, what I think is the primary reason, I think of death a lot is the fact that I’m sick. I have Polycystic Kidney Disease. I have kidneys the size of toddlers, that each weigh the same as a small bowling ball. They’re supposed to be about the size of a fist and weigh a quarter pound. And it hurts. Always. To some degree, I’m in pain. Some days it’s worse than others. Some days, I am merely uncomfortable, others I need to take something just to sit up. There are nights I can’t sleep because of the pain and discomfort. And clothes…that’s a tough one to handle. I always had an hourglass figure. Even when I was over 240 lbs, I had an hourglass figure. I had muscle tone. Clothes looked good on me. Not any more. As my kidneys grow, I think more and more that I’ll be shopping in the maternity aisles for my pants. I’ll have to.
After watching my mother, and her mother before her, suffer from diseases that took their lives long before they died, I wondered. My grandmother died from things she’d done to herself. She was a smoker. Of course, at the time she started, doctors were saying it’s good for you, so I honestly don’t believe it’s her fault. If I had gotten emphysema, it would have been. By the time I started smoking, we knew the hazards. I would have no excuse. Anyway, I watched them both waste away. And the reality is, that could happen to me. It’s more likely to happen to me than to anyone else in my immediate family. I don’t know what my current kidney function is, I haven’t had health insurance since November of last year. I haven’t taken my blood pressure pills since about April. And even then, I was only taking them occasionally. Can’t afford them. As of February 2007, my function was estimated at about 65%, but that was before my annual pee-in-a-cup day. I have to collect my urine for 24 hours and let them take about 3 quarts of blood. Might be only half a pint, I usually don’t pay attention once they put the needle in. That’s the test that tells my function. I’m exhausted all the time, and as mentioned, always in some degree of pain. I could live like this for another 30 years, or I could go south in just 5. No real way to know. So I think about it. That’s the background out of the way.
What do I want? I have no children, no boyfriend or husband to mourn me, I have very few assets, no foundations are relying on my presence to make them run, and there are a lot of times I feel like a part of my immediate family wouldn’t really miss me for long. Basically, I feel completely expendable. So I don’t want a grave. No point, really. Who would visit? I wouldn’t , I’d be dead. My friends wouldn’t, they’d be too far away. If I were buried anywhere, I’d want to be buried in Cincinnati. But I don’t want to be buried. Besides, I am an organ donor. Not many organs anyone would be able to use, unfortunately, but maybe a medical school could have a field day with my kidneys and other cyst-covered organs. There’s plenty of them. After that, I want to be cremated. Have a funeral if you want. I’d prefer a Presbyterian funeral, but I won’t be there, so it’s up to whoever’s stuck planning it. Again, I have very few assets, so it won’t exactly be elaborate. Enjoy. Try to remember the happy times. If you can’t, then just sit around with the uncomfortable silence of everyone going “Wow, we really did hate her.”
Taxes
I have no earned income this year. There are still five months left in the year, and if I don’t want to go into foreclosure, there will have to be a job somewhere in there, but until that happens, I have no earned income. The bulk of my money comes from a student loan, an insurance settlement and a pension plan, on which I HAVE paid taxes, and unemployment, on which I paid partial taxes. I suppose I’m lucky I decided to take a tax accounting class this quarter. The whole issue of insurance settlements is actually covered. But I’m not looking forward to doing my taxes for this year. Might be a bit of a challenge, that. I’m up to it.
Aside from that, taking my tax accounting class has reinforced even more that I don’t want to be a CPA. I want to be a Fraud Examiner, an auditor, a Forensic Accountant, something not dealing directly with doing someone’s taxes. It’s boring to me. The research is interesting, but I’ve found so far that I can get lost in the research, a particularly valuable trait in the other three paths I mentioned. The other three closely-related paths.
Really, that’s all I have to say on taxes. I just put it in there because the title worked so well, I had to write something. It’s a little lighter, anyway. And yet…I wonder about my own future. Will I be healthy enough to realize my goal? I don’t know. But, even though I’m depressed, I’m also an optimist. That’s why I’m going to school. I could die tomorrow, I could get bedridden, or I could have another 30 years of being a fully-functioning part of society. I’m planning for the last.
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