What if....

EDITED TO ADD:  I'm even scared of leaving this post up because someone might run to DH and tell him, and he might take it all the wrong way.  Wouldn't be the first time it's happened.


I'm worried - big surprise right?

But I'm worried that my time will come and I'll look back on my life and see that I spent the majority of it afraid.  I'm worried that I'll go my entire life without ever having stood up for myself because I was worried about the reprecussions.

I'm worried that I'll have spent my whole life miserable because I was too much of a coward to take that one step that could have made all the difference between happiness and misery.  And I won't do it because of fear, and because of comfort.  And I won't even be comfortable.

I've spent my whole life so bloody uncomfortable in my own skin, never knowing who I truly am, or owning myself.  I've fought against giving in to society's pressures, for a reason.  They didn't feel right to me.  But neither does my life now.  And there are days I think that I maybe should have given in.

Maybe I should have had the baby.  Maybe I should have gone into something "non entertainment related" like teaching.  Maybe I shouldn't have cared if the popular kids liked me.

But I didn't have the baby.  I wasn't ready.  And I LOVE the entertainment industry.  I hate teaching.  And I did care if the popular kids liked me.

I can't change the things I did.  There's a lot of things that I did that I wouldn't change.  And, like the majority of us, there's a lot I would.  But I can't.

And now, I'm still that scared little girl that wants everyone to like her.  Hell, I'm still overweight.  The heart attack didn't change anything that way.  My life took a brief detour down a better path, but I wound right back up in the brambles - tangled up, cut and bruised and trying to fight my way out with a butter knife.

I hate my job - in case you couldn't figure that out.  Today, I asked the boss if we could put the heat on in the morning, just for a couple of hours, just to warm up the building because my hands are freezing, and I don't intend on wearing jeans to work for the whole damn summer.  We get no sunlight in here, so it's cold and breezy and awful.  I was told no, it costs too much money.

I want to refuse to come to work because these are lousy conditions.  I'm just flat out miserable.  My manager can't make any damn phone calls on his own and at least sixteen times a day I have to hear the words "Can you call....." even though it would be easier for HIM to make the damn calls because he has to tell me what to say anyway.  By the time he explains it all, and tells me how he wants it worded, he could have just as easily picked up the phone.  And then if the person on the other end has any questions, they would be answered right away instead of the incessant game of telephone Q & A we inevitably wind up playing.  And so when I hear those words....all I want to do is throw something large and heavy at his head.

Life at home is pretty miserable too.  DH & I are getting along I guess.  We both try to keep our mouths shut about things that are bothering us.  Because when they do get brought up, nothing gets done, except a major fight.  We both know we're not good for each other right now.  I don't take care of myself, he doesn't take care of himself.  Neither of us wants it to end, but if we don't do something about it - we're going to wind up fourty and hating each other.  It's been over an year and a half since I've confessed to my indiscretions, and all that's happened is a lot of spitting and hissing like cats.

I have a blog about it - about what's going on with us.  But no one can read it, except me, and today I went back and read all the entries.  I started it in September last year, and it's amazing how pathetic I sound.  Thank God no one can read it.  I'm a pathetic wimp with no backbone.  I'm embarrassed about half of what was written - not the sentiment behind it, but the wording itself.  And it's all the same shit.

So I'm scared to stand up for myself at work because then I won't be working.  And what would I do then?  Jobs aren't easy to come by.  And my boss might just be a prick enough to make sure I can't collect anything while looking for another job.

I'm scared to change things at home because what if DH is REALLY who I AM supposed to be with?  What if we split up and he decides to leave for good?  But then again, what if there is someone else out there who I'm meant to be with, and by staying with DH I never get the chance to find him?  Because I KNOW we're not meant to be, not this way - not the two people we are now.  But if things don't change, we're going to be the people we are now for the rest of our lives.


The most courageous thing I'm doing so far is going back to school.  But that's it.  The coward in me wants to stay where I am at work, stay in the marriage without a trial separation, and just keep things status quo.  Then MAYBE have a kid.  And even then, I'm not sure if I want to do it, or if I want it because DH wants it.

Yep - I'm a coward.  Maybe I should accept that it's my lot in life, and just leave it all at that.



Stay sane inside insanity ~ and never forget your towel.

Ranting and Rolling.....

**A TOTAL pissed off rant. If anyone who knows my boss reads this, there's no need for him to see it. I'm just frustrated.**

Dear Asshole Boss:

I’ve been working here for four years now. At the same miserable hourly rate I started at, only with a hell of a lot more work. When I was hired, I was told that if I was still here in three months, I’d get a raise.

Never happened. But what DID happen was the joker you had on the sales desk, who made MORE money than me, gave me half his workload to do, and I thought that I had to do it. So I did. Which left HIM free to play pool on the computer and listen to his mp3 through headphones. When I, out of sight from customers and staff, was on MSN, I got in shit for it, even though my work was complete. So I stopped.

Then I had my medical incident. I spent four months off recovering, and when I came back, I was given more responsibility because the joker got fired. BUT I was told that I’d get a raise. Not only was I moved out of my office onto the floor, I got the jokers job plus mine. And I STILL had free time, because I know how to do my work.

Still no raise. AND I find out that the joker made at LEAST four more dollars an hour than I did for doing a quarter of the work.

Now, not only am I OFFICIALLY doing two jobs, but I also handle all the fucking phone calls the department manager doesn’t want to deal with, I do all the shipping, plus all the bitch work that seems to come my way because I have a set of tits.

I am supposed to be able to take time off to care for my health, and my dr’s appointments, but yet, whenever I do I get THE LOOK. You know, the one where you roll your eyes and bite your tongue and stop yourself from saying stuff like “Aren’t you better yet?”

NO PECKERHEAD - I’m not better yet. This is something I’ll have to live with for the rest of my pathetic little life and for the amount of goddamned stress you put on me IT’S NOT WORTH IT.

You’re never around, instead concentrating your efforts on another business the owner just HAD to open (because your fucking friends needed work), even though they’ve now got four sales people, plus two drivers and the manager. How many front office staff do we have? TWO. That’s it. To take care of sales, and warranties and receivables and problems and issues and office bullshit.

Today, when you ask about the vacation time I put in for - two weeks, plus three days - you had the most vicious snotty tone I’d ever heard. I wasn’t asking for pay for the additional three days. In fact, I don’t even have to ASK for the time off. I can just tell you I’m taking it because it’s doctor mandated. But instead of calling in * cough cough * sick for three days, I figured I’d be up front about it. So I told you to forget it. Never mind I only took a week last year. You don’t think of that shit do you?

But fuck that. I’ll get a note from my doctor - hell ALL of my doctors if that’s what’s required. I come in to work when I’m sick, when I’m exhausted, with chest pains and all. My blood pressure goes through the roof, my blood sugar goes haywire and I STILL come in. And the one day I was coughing up a fucking storm, I get asked by the fucking douchebag I have to work with - the one that thinks anyone who hasn’t worked here twenty years isn’t worth his time and yet he gives me all the shit to deal with - in his “world weary god spare me from the peasants” tone of voice “Do you need to go home?”

Nah - I’ll just spit up a lung right here on my desk.

And for the record - my cell phone is NOT the company grapevine. You have a fucking cell phone and a call list. YOU CAN CALL THE DRIVERS IF YOU NEED THEM FOR WORK. While you’re at it, the head builder is in California? YOU text him.

I don’t get paid nearly enough to put up with all this shit plus more. I have to deal with every fucking idiot that wants to try and sell us something. I have no idea what we’re paying for our fucking oil and cleaners because I DON’T USE THEM. Don’t pass those idiots over to me. I am rude and obnoxious to these people. It’s bad enough that the guy who doesn’t speak English properly is the accounts rep that we’ve been assigned through our local office supply place and I have tried putting him off a million times only to have him call back.

My lunch break, regardless of where I choose to take it is just that. MY lunch break. I take it at one so that you cretins can have a relatively peaceful lunch break without having to answer phones. So don’t take your lunch at the same time I take mine. Oh yeah, it won’t matter because as long as I’m at my desk eating, you’ll fuck off and do whatever you want so that I have no choice but to answer the phones and take orders and in general all the stuff I was doing during YOUR lunch break so that you can eat in peace. So unless I eat in the lunch room, which usually stinks, or go outside for lunch, where there’s no where to sit so I have no choice but to take a walk (to where I have no idea), then I’m still working during my break. Which you justify by saying I spend too much time on the net during the day. Which brings me to my next point.

I have been chastised a million times for being on the internet during work hours, but you know what? THERE’S NO FUCKING WORK TO DO. In a bid to keep myself busy I have cleared out the storage/supply closet, only to have it messed again within a matter of hours. I have cleaned every dish in the place. I have re-arranged every filing cabinet, updated stock numbers, entered purchase orders, cleaned desks, and made scratch pads out of recycled paper.

AND THERE’S STILL NOTHING TO DO.

Yeah, I’m working, which I am grateful for. And in this economy, it’s a good thing. But you can’t tell me that the meager pay cheque you give me is worth the hits my sanity and my health are taking. You are not only screwing ME over, but the husband as well, who quit his job because you told him that you wanted him to manage a shop. This was two years ago and he’s now only working four days a week, and half of that is a commute an hour away with no gas reimbursement. So we can’t afford to quit, to split or to even die right now. This company is the biggest fucking joke and I don’t care how nice our owner is, or what FUTURE you see for either of us right now.

FUCK YOU AND THE GODDAMNED COMPANY.

I’m tired of being your bitch.

Stay sane inside insanity ~ and never forget your towel.