Where you running off to?

I figured something else out today, about myself, but before I tell you what, let me tell you how I arrived at this new but old conclusion on knowing myself. Don’t worry, the sad sack has been gone for a while, so any sarcasm you detect isn’t from my whoa-is-me, it’s from my I-can-call-a-spade-a-spade, even if I’m calling myself out.

The VP at my work came to see me today, to ask me, “Are you happy here? Do you have passion for what you do?” and to share with me, “I realize I haven’t gotten to know you. I don’t even know what you’re working on. I’d like to work more closely with you (insert my new immediate manager’s fake name here—let’s go with Mika) since Mika has a lot on her plate. Oh, and we also may look into moving you to a new location.”

Translation: “Are we happy with you? Who the fuck are you?” and tell me, “Have you really proven yourself yet? What have you done for us so far? Why does Mika seem to appreciate you so much and yet the rest of us don’t know what she appreciates? And, by the way, I am a bit of a micro manager so when I say new location, I mean I might move you from the office which makes sense (since it is six physical feet from the room where you perform one of your major functions for our company) to a place which doesn’t make sense, which is to the opposite corner of the floor into a cube right outside of my office. I will do this for no other reason than the fact that I want you to know I have power over you. I also think it would be a great idea if you met my boss, if you maybe gave her a shorter version of one of our recent projects.”

Before I tell you how I responded, I have a quick question. How is it that I now work for someone like Mika, one of the best people I’ve ever worked for, EVER, and Mika not only knows what goes into doing my job (because she’s done it, and therefore understands the experience and skill it takes to do it well, she also knows I’ve produced a fucking truck load of sorely-needed material where there was a major gap, so she leaves me the fuck alone and let’s me do it. Yet, I now also work in an environment which makes thirty percent of the people who work with me cry during the day and the other forty percent either go home at night and drink or they act out sexually.

Okay, so I made up those percentages and the results thereof. But, I am trying to drive the point home that one of my best friends works in the same type of environment as I now work within, for a different company, and she does the kind of work my job function supports, and I have watched anxiety and depression take a little more from this friend every day. (Yes. I am actually talking about a friend and not me, even though it sounds a lot like my recent experiences.)

Ain’t all work a muther fucker? But, what if your work required you to endure external customers yelling at you all day, calling you names, and insulting you personally because they are unhappy with the company you work for? That’s the environment the people I support work within. (God, I’m such a long-winded bitch when I am trying to maintain my anonymity and protect the identity of those I love and of those I talk shit about).

How did I answer the VP? I said, “You have no idea how much I’ve enjoyed working here. And this office, being able to work uninterrupted, I can’t believe how conducive it has been to my productivity. If it seems like a lot of the team doesn’t know me, it’s probably because I haven’t really been invited to any of the meetings. But, I am so glad you mentioned it, because I was just thinking last week, as I came up for air with from all the work I’ve been so focused on, that I should be included more. Yes, per your request, first thing tomorrow I will give you a list of all the projects I’ve been working on.”

What was I really thinking? Okay, so you are a micro manager, but I respect that you haven’t been up my ass so far. Now, it kinds feels like I am going to have to ask you to move in order for me to take a shit.

It would have been fun to get all gangster on the VP’s ass, though, and said, “Look, I’m a’ight here, but it ain’t no picnic, yo! Your peeps are hurting. They’re going home wounded at night. I gotta play the line, baby, and keep it real with the ground forces. I know I’m profile, you want me out there, but I got my fingers on the pulse and I’ve been doing what needs to get done. I’m working this playground, girl, and trying to make this grass grow for both of us. You want the low down? I’ll hook you up. My throw down list will blow your mind. I’ve kicked more ass up in here than you even know. I feel you now. Even though you want to run the game on the yard, and want to intimidate me with meet’n the high roller, I might still feel the love. I might just chill now that you came to see me. But check back. If you start play’n me, I’ll bounce, bitch. I know how to roll.”

Now, I’ll make my point. This is what I’ve realized about myself. When it comes to making points, it takes me a hot, sweaty, wait for it… drawn-out minute to make them. Sorry. That obviously wasn’t my point, but I couldn’t help myself.

I’m a runner. That’s the truth. The question I find myself asking today, and it’s the same question you should ask yourself (work or play), is, “Are you running from or to?”

You know, in the book I haven’t finished yet (perhaps procrastination and the psychology behind it should be my next topic), the main character is a runner. I probably made her that way because I understand running. But I think the difference between her and me is that I created her to run from love yet I run from work. And, since she runs from love, she runs from men.

I don’t run from men, or from love. Not really. I’ve not had much of a reason to run from men. When I was younger, I didn’t know how to use my gut, so I was too stupid to run from my mistakes. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned not to be stupid and to trust my gut. And, since my gut has only gotten better, and the red flags have always gotten brighter, if love is in front of me (which is rare and I’ll take it when I can get it), no matter how scary it can be, it feels stupid to run (especially if it feels like I can learn as I love).


How is running from work different than running from love? Maybe it’s not. Maybe it is. When is the battle worth fighting and when is it better to take flight? IN love, I’ve always known the answer, or thought I did. My gut has been the guide.

In work, I haven’t always known. Or, at least, I don’t think I do, that’s why the last few years have gone down the way they have.

I guess when it comes to the people I have to spend eight hours a day with, when it comes to authority, to people who have control over how I pay for my life, when it comes to compromising my ultimate path, or when my independence and security are tampered with, if it doesn’t fit, if it doesn’t feel good, if it hurts, if it’s scary, check the door and check the temperature, because the door was already open and I was ready to bolt before the room got too hot.

I’m sure where work is concerned, my gut has also guided me. But, again, I have more trouble reading the map. Maybe I’ve never been comfortable putting my financial affairs into anyone else's hands because that’s not where my affairs ultimately belong.

Again, now that I am working for a great manager, Mika, and not a totally villainous VP, let’s just see if procrastination, panic, general apathy, and/or comfort sets in as I find my way back to healing in the work place. Time may still be revealing the VP’s character, but my concern is that the power-hungry, estrogen/fear-driven persona I met during the initial interview process may be exactly who she is.

It's so sad that my last job gave me PTSD. (If only that was a joke.)

God help me. I want that sense of accomplishment at work back again, but don’t let me get so comfortable that I forget it’s not my destiny to work for someone else. Maybe this blog has always been about me finding my love in my work. If so, seriously, God, help me! I want to run to my destiny not from my fear.

What’s really going on?

I will tell you what’s going on. I don’t want to find the other beige sock that goes with the light brown loafers. I don’t want to iron another pleat or cold wash another appropriate cotton and polyester blend blouse. I don’t want to pack my lunch the night before. I don’t want go to bed at 9:30 pm or wake up at 5:30 am. I don’t want to comb my hair or put on mascara.

Instead, I want to stay up as long as the creative juices are flowing and I want to sleep in and get up when I am damn well good and ready. I want to wear flip flops. I want a pair of yoga pants to be my daily uniform. I only want to put on make up when I have plans.

In other words, I’m getting it. The last few years have been about the universe telling me that I need to work for myself. Have we covered this? Am I just daft and I take nine blows to the head until I am called to action?

Trouble is, my creative juices have been dried up lately. I haven’t felt much like writing or painting. So, I’ve decided I need to steal from my prior self. That’s why I’m getting off my ass and trying to license some of my previous paintings to see if I can make money off my images.

It’s going to take an initial financial investment, and so far it’s taken it’s time toll (in keeping up the momentum, I’ve gotten a head cold), but fortunately, I’ve gotten what I’ve asked for so I can’t slow down now. All these years I’ve know what a horrible administrative/business person I am and I've hoped I could find someone to do it for me or tell me how to do it when it comes to making money off my art. "Where or where is the art manager or consultant for me to trust and light a fire under me?" I've asked.

Turns out, no one is going to do it for anyone, so the universe sent me someone to tell me how to do it. I've met that consultant and she's started me on my way.

More later… I’ve got to get some nose spray now so that I can breath. (God, I’m a head case in more ways than one.)

Am I baked?

What the fuck? I have so many other things I could post, update on, etcetera, but, apparently, this is me checking in and asking, "Is the pot smoking from the downstairs neighbor giving me a contact high?"

I'm not kidding. I always smell my downstairs neighbor's cigarette smoke and pot smoke rise up through the pipes and hit me in my bathroom. (I still can't figure out how the fumes get isolated and rise up to my bathroom, but they do.) But, until now, tonight, I had only smelled the cigarette smoke and/or pot smoke coming up through the bathroom.

The smoke is now more aggressive. It is rising up through the plumbing, the pipes, the carpet, the walls, and the what-ever-the fuck, and doing so so aggressively that I not only am getting a smoke/sinus headache, I'm pretty sure I'm going to get enough of a contact hit that I am going to go to bed high.

Good night.