It was a very eventful fall for me and my family.
With help from some of our relatives, we moved into our new house late in November. There were some snags along the way and we’re still waiting on a few things to get fixed, but overall it’s been great. Several things broke, but the home warranty covered most of it. We got very, very lucky with the home warranty.
Isa has adapted really well to her new school—the pet bunny in her class helped—and we had her first house party in the new place. She’s been asking to do that since she started preschool, and I’ve always had her birthday parties somewhere else because we didn’t have the space. The house we’re in now isn’t huge, but the layout is awesome. The whole first floor is one giant room aside from the laundry and a half-bath. So we just told the guests not to go upstairs and they had plenty of room to run around all crazy-like. To be honest, I don’t know if I could have handled it without my Zoloft, but whatever works, right?
Speaking of Zoloft, the work situation has improved for the time being, but it’s looking like the beginning of the end. The good news is, my boss has been convinced that interrogating me and causing anxiety attacks isn’t a productive way for us to work together. But due to the horrible evaluation she gave me last summer, I am officially on an improvement plan. I haven’t responded to it yet—I have a set period of time to request training and/or resources to help me be successful (unfortunately “boss who doesn’t hate my guts and isn’t out to get me” isn’t a resource I can request…again).
But when you can practically feel someone loathing you every time you are in the same room, what are the odds that your “improvement” is going to be sufficient? I had to up my dosage just to deal with the stress and perfectionism. Upping my dosage makes me forgetful and I make more mistakes. It’s a no-win situation. I could look into a disability lawyer. I could get my accommodation revised with the information that eating this much Zoloft makes me a space cadet. And if nobody finds a new job by the time shit gets even more real, either of those things may happen. But my first impulse is to flee the scene.
I quit everything over the last few months. I quit dance. I aced my poetry class, but I didn’t sign up for a new writing class because I don’t think I’ll be around long enough to finish out the semester. I even quit weight watchers because even though it was working, it started feeling like a burden going once a week and having to stay late at work. I’m OK with that though. I’m planning to keep blogging and check out the local poetry scene. Writing is the one “extra” that doesn’t feel like it’s weighing me down.
For now, I get some time off for the holidays and both me and Dan are going to job-hunt. Mostly him, since I happen to have a knack for finding the craziest bosses imaginable. I’m going to craft too. I have a giant pile of white clothing and a new ice dye group my friend introduced me to, so it will be good to have some time off in our new house where there’s space to make all the things.
I hope whatever holiday you celebrate, it’s stress-free and enjoyable. Here’s to a great 2019 too since this might be my last post for the year. *clinks glass* And speaking of crazy bosses, here’s a poem I wrote for class about my first professional job. Based on a true story! Thankfully nobody got stung or struck by lightning. 🙂
Day of the Bees
It is ninety degrees and humid
when we gather outside
in sweltering office attire
to talk of elephants in rooms.
The boss has brought her best friend
and hairdresser to play corporate mediator.
The ice breaker fails to break any ice.
We dutifully eat snacks
like children in a daycare.
Yellow jackets discover leftover soda.
Team building exercises fail to build teams.
Toward the end it all goes awry
when the Queen Bee asks her workers
How can I improve our relationship?
Criticisms fly like arrows.
Since narcissism makes good body armor
few missiles hit their mark
until the receptionist
And you dress like a whore!
I choke on imprisoned laughter.
The skies darken. Indignant tears
dot the Queen’s power suit,
a precursor to the fast-approaching rain.
Thunder growls. The wind
sends the flip chart sailing.
The agitated bees swarm.
I try not to swat, recalling
they only sting when threatened.
A waft of ozone signals
we must flee for our lives
before this drama is resolved.
Running from the swarm, the storm,
I never knew the work retreat
would be so literal.