Caterwauling

Ran into two old colleagues from two different companies yesterday. They now work at another new company, together … in the office next door. At a company where I turned down an offer (and regret that occasionally).

But I think we’ve all done better for ourselves — me independently of them, and them together — so the ache abates somewhat.

One of the current esteemed colleagues said something yesterday that stuck with me, that we hurt each other’s feelings sometimes. And maybe by sometimes they probably meant “often.”

Funny, I never really thought much about that before.

Like I told my new hire when he started (not the same person who made the comment), we will annoy each other least three times a week. Hopefully total, but maybe apiece.

Then again, I guess I never want to believe anyone would think I am anything other than charming and delightful and productive and AN AMAZING ASSET and, on probably three days a month (because, humidity. And carbs), somewhat cute too.

Because I sure plug my ears when they try to indicate otherwise.

After all, a girl can drive herself nuts if she allows more voices into her head, especially when she has five or seven of her own sounding off at any given time.

I also guess I figured they do the same. Or at least that they are better at coping with it and can help me to redirect my rage into more-productive channels.

It’s almost comforting to remember that we’re all just trying to figure out our way. I guess what I can do is to find ways for us to evolve together as opposed to “in the same general location.”

I just made my inaugural online purchase that ships to my new office. Whee! Wait till they get a load of my online shopping habit that helps me to cope with all my stress …

Had a goofy dream last night that the shiny new office got taken away from us and instead we had to rent a large restroom at a local hotel. The boss had the accessible stall, marketing was next to him, I was next to marketing and my new hire was next to me.

We had to provide our own laptops. And we still had to get on our daily conference calls even though we were in pissing distance. I think that was the scariest part of the nightmare, for me, when the boss announced to the group, “Goddess just joined the call” and I thought, sheesh, like you couldn’t bean me with a toilet paper roll.

I think it’s hilarious that something good finally, finally happens for us and I have the fear of God in me that it will be taken away.

Funny how life conditions you that way.

There’s a certain comfort in knowing that no matter what you do, you will always be disappointing someone. Because, consistency.

I don’t write in my private journal often enough, but tonight I will. I wonder how much money I could get for it, if I decided to auction it off.

I’ve found some unlikely allies recently. Lately that’s been holding me together, when people I don’t know/hang out with are saying amongst themselves that I am a rock star.

Perhaps they could share with more than just me?

Throughout my career, I’ve always managed men. Like, powerful and brilliant and successful and multimillionaire men. Because, I rock like that.

My newest batch is proving to be my most difficult yet. But that’s a story for another blog.

But one thing I’ve always done is be everybody’s fluffer. I’ve done everything from writing their scripts before video shoots to showing up at photo shoots to talk to them about their kids or wives or the hookers whose stomachs they used as tables to do blow … whatever. Anything to get the smile, the humor, the fire, the passion, the WHATEVER I needed from them at the time.

Today one of my boys showed up for a video shoot. So I did the fluffer routine, once again customized for my audience.

“So, how about ol’ Eric Cantor losing his seat, eh?”

Aaaand, scene. Political Viagra. My boy was all fired up and he gave it his all on-camera.

To everyone who needed this shoot to go well, you’re welcome.

One of my boys who overheard this miracle take place said, “There is really NOTHING random about you, is there? You know EXACTLY what you’re doing at all times.”

You’re damn right, Buttercup. Now if only everyone else appreciated it that much!

Perhaps the most fun part of being in excruciating pain has been my inability to sleep. I hope I managed to burn a lot of calories walking the house at all hours.

This is the kind of pain my mom is in every single day of her life. But worse, because it’s multiple teeth, and it’s her back, her legs, her heart, her brain … everything.

And yet, I barely hear a complaint out of her.

She’s a fuckin’ badass, man. Of course, I wish she would complain more so I would be able to prioritize her better.

So Evil Landlady 4 told me she would be HAPPY to terminate my lease today.

I kind of went a little nuts defacing my rent check. I’ve had it with her antics and made it a point to have my roaches tell her so in illustration.

She FLIPPED and left me two insane voicemails. In. Sane. I mean, incriminating herself in every possible way because she admitted what a jacked-up place this is. She accused me of all sorts of shit that isn’t true. It was awful.

Here’s the thing. They only pay attention to me when I’m paying them. They usually lose my “honey do” lists that I submit with that check. So, I’ve been doodling ON the checks for years. I guess it was the “hunnit fiddy” I wrote in the “payable” line that got them. Who knows.

I was talking to a young friend about performance evaluations over my career. I was saying how it’s really hard to hear how much YOU SUCK from people who, well, live in glass houses.

The thing is, you can’t do much if you still want to get paid. You let your heart break for a while till the pain either goes away or becomes so immense that you find enough alcohol to fill it.

At a place where you say pay a couple grand a month for the privilege of being ignored, lied to, laughed at and otherwise fucked with … yeah, no. It took them sending me a “YOU IN VIOLATION” notice (their grammar, not mine) for having a goddamned welcome sign on my door that NOBODY SEES, and I Lost. It.

I can’t get around dealing with obnoxious drivers when I’m in the car an hour and a half each day. I have to deal with working as much as I can and not being able to produce enough.

I also struggle with what a dear friend used to call a “Magic Pot of Jobs” (i.e., as if one existed) — only mine is a “Magic Pot of Candidates” who do not actually exist even if we want to believe they are out there somewhere with the unicorns and the leprechauns and the talking puppies sliding down rainbows.

So while I’m busy failing everybody for about 13.5-ish hours of my day and that’s not including the landlady, forgive me for saying something out of turn that was born out of sheer frustration.

I mean, yes I want out of this lease. But on my terms, not hers.

I replied by e-mail, because I do everything in writing when it comes to this place, “It was unprofessional of me and I will be happy to issue a new check. My emotions got the better of me with the recent letter you tacked on my door. You are doing a better job than your predecessors and I appreciate your efforts.”

Let her be the hysterical one.

And if I get tossed, well, I can’t say I wasn’t heard. Which is my biggest complaint across all areas of my life — I get pushed to the limit, I scream and then they think I’m the crazy one. Considering HOW MANY times this pattern has played out in my life, you’d think I’d find a different course of action …

I felt like I had the upper hand and didn’t have to give away my power. But then I did.

I had a shitty candidate pool. I fished the one decent candidate out of the bunch and I feel like the girl who just waited for SOME boy to look at her. Not the right boy.

The kid is young but very bright. Good editor. Good head on his shoulders. Not the most interesting person on earth but I thought, for having a year and a half of experience, I could mold him into something great.

And then he’s asking for my salary. Like, playing hardball with me and demanding an answer ASAP.

Homey don’t play that. I take time to make decisions. Not much time — I needed to sleep on it. But I didn’t have that. He put me on the defensive with a phantom (I think) other offer for a huge salary that frankly I think he should take.

I had just talked to my girl S and to HR about the fact that I was not attached to the outcome. I was willing to raise my offer a bit but I think he’s already out of his depth and I would feel like I am “giving” it to him rather than him earning it.

Also, some punk who was born while I was in college bossing me around on the first day of the relationship? I don’t want to continue it this way.

I did give him a final offer and told him he has the weekend. But I want to retract it.

I told my boss, before that final call, that I wanted the weekend to think about a counter offer. Me. My power. My PSYCHIC power, which I didn’t say. I wanted the night to sleep on it.

He said meet the kid halfway and be done with it, with a raise in six months.

I told the kid a raise ONLY IF he is pretty fucking exceptional.

I feel powerless and walked over and angry. And if this dumbass actually admits what I’ve felt all along — that he’s playing us — I am going to be all over his ass for the slightest thing.

I said before all of this that I would rather be alone than wish I were. No I am not a fan of the 72-hour workweeks. At all. But I like my team. The wrong person will fuck it up.

And I didn’t sleep last night. I am sick over the situation and want it undone. In the two short hours of fitful slumber I did have, I saw myself walking out because I could see him aligning with the boss and making my life hell.

I am so angry. I did not want to be pushed into making a rush offer. And I was. I let myself be. This kid isn’t worth it. He really isn’t.

Is it the money? Partly. I wasn’t making that salary till I was like 32. But moreover, these people won’t let me put mom on our health insurance — and I work my ass off for them — but this fucking kid out of nowhere rates? I mean yes I made the offer.

But goddamn it what is in it for me, other than finally getting help from someone I think is only interested in helping himself?

As luck should have it, I got to hear from another colleague from days of yore, also with kind words to say to/about me.

I have to say it’s really starting to smack me in the face that I belong back in Biz Dev. I really, really miss getting to talk to my friends all over the globe and call it work.

Of course, today I got to be a real product manager too. I worked with one of my editors for a good four hours on brainstorming.

I don’t know that we did a great job. But honestly, while it was exhausting, it was GREAT to be in charge of one of my products again.

Generally I’m just trying to plug my fingers and toes and elbows into the holes in the ship while throwing my body over the grenade someone tossed onto the deck I happened to be standing on. So, hooray for feeling somewhat alive again … even if my brain is DEAD after eight meetings today (oh yes, there were more).

In other news, I’m on Day 2 of 14 of medication my doctor gave me. No drinking, she says. For two whole weeks, she says. *bwahahaaahahahaaa*

Side effects of this are great. Not just the “may mess up your immune system further and make you resistant to future treatments,” but apparently “fatal diarrhea” has happened in some patients.

So far, no luck. But I think a poopsplosion is totally the way to go.

Let’s just COUNT the ways this day sucks so far (and it’s not even 11 a.m.)…

1. Insomnia. I mean, ZERO sleep. NONE.

2. Doctor’s appointment. Stitches out, stitches in. Four follow-up appointments scheduled.

2.a. Stitches hurt like a motherfucker this time around.

3. Work phone died yesterday after I beat it (er, it beat itself. Yeah, that’s it) to death. And I got a new one. So I will never miss a conference call. Ever.

4. Keyboard died while I was pounding on it.

5. Why was I pounding on it? Can’t say yet. Not my news to deliver. But my heart broke so loud that it surprised even me.

Re: No. 5. I’m so glad I hugged him the last two times I saw him. I don’t think I’ll see him again. And judging from my reaction, clearly I’m not sure how to wrap my mind around that just yet.

I hate when a weekend day is a perfect waste. Because then the week is even more of a prison sentence — what with hideous commutes, isolation from the rest of society, and a sudden dearth of Taco Tuesdays and work-from-closer-to-home Wednesdays.

And don’t get me started on how I am thinking of giving up the work-from-home Fridays because it’s too hard to pound out all the work I need to pound out on my “Windows craptop.” Much as I love inhabiting my little IKEA desk that overlooks the sea while I’m doing it.

I enjoyed the last few “at least I managed to squeeze in a date night” weeks. But without the “perks” of time NOT spent driving to/being shackled in the frozen tundra, it’s all so … monotonous.

It was a crap weekend day. One I should have spent working. I did give it a couple hours and I’m having that self-argument of whether I:

1. Keep working till I go to bed
2. Give up now and go in early tomorrow
3. Enjoy what’s left of my “me” time like a normal person
4. Realize I’m going to lose half the day tomorrow to meetings and just work through the night.

A colleague and I were talking about these sorts of things the other day. Their thought is to give up when they’re good and mad, and attack things anew in the a.m. My thought is generally to take out my aggression till there is no feeling left, then not feel too much stress in the morning.

Either way, it’s going to be hell week, and I get the feeling that I could park my ass at my IKEA desk till it breaks (it’s IKEA. That should be in about four days anyway), and I still wouldn’t be done.

Oh yeah, and biopsy No. 2 this week. On a day I need to be at the office earlier than usual. Oh well. My doctor called yesterday (on a Saturday) to remind me not to miss this appointment. This after her office already called Friday to remind me of my appointment.

Apparently she called in a few experts and they are all baffled by me. So, now I think they’re making sure I show up because I could make them famous or something.

OK not really. But, even though I think I’m 100% focused on my work, between projects I can’t help but wonder just how much life is left in these years, and what would become of me if that answer turns out to be “not much.”