Thursday, September 2, 2010

Day 245: The secrets I keep

"Sometimes you feel like you live too long
Days drip slowly on the page
You catch yourself
Pacing the cage."

--- Bruce Cockburn, Pacing the cage
Sometimes the blog posts drip slowly on the page. This happens because there is so much I can't tell you.

Here's the thing about writing a blog: If you're lucky, people read it.

Here's the other thing about writing a blog: You don't know who reads it.

I can't exactly tell you why I lament about office life because my office mates read this. And though some of them will agree wholeheartedly about my laments, there are other office mates that can affect my work life in a not-so-preferred-way if I "run off with the mouth" as my mother likes to say.

There is so much to say and so much that cannot be said. 

But all those things brought me to big giant alligator tears today right in my office right in front of those "other office mates that can affect my work life in a not-so-preferred-way if I 'run off with the mouth.'"

It wasn't a stellar moment.

But hey, "If you want to reach the castle, you've got to swim through the moat," as Richard from Texas says in Elizabeth Gilbert's obscure little book Eat Pray Love. I wonder if that book will ever make it.

You're joking right?

Yes, dear reader, I'm joking.

Today, I swam the moat. I was nervous and frustrated and angry. I was truly at the end of my rope. The workload added up and there was only me to do it. It was so extreme that it was both retarded and ridiculous. For a moment there, I thought someone was playing a joke on me. But when I realized it wasn't a joke, the tears spurted out of my head and I couldn't hold them back. That's when I put the Do Not Disturb sign outside my office where people would stop, then look in my office and wave to me, hence disturbing me.

I just couldn't win today.

One day I will have a life where I can "run off with the mouth" as much as I like. But for now, I haven't got a lot to say other than today sucked and I can't discuss it right now. 

Instead, I'll give you a few photos of self that I found while cleaning out my apartment. Cleaning out my apartment pleases me, though you wouldn't be able to tell by this expression on my face:
Had I known this would forever be my baby photo, I would have at least cracked a smile.

Same outfit. Still no smile.

The piano pleased me. As did the pants.

... then there were the awkward middle school years... I'm not sure what happened to those photos. I probably burned them in a fit of low self esteem. The next photos I have were in my 20s, where I'm happy to report, I managed a bigger smile:

But then I went back to not smiling: 

Hmmm. This is neither a smile or not a smile. A bit Mona Lisa-esque I think.

Happiness is a process.


  1. Dry cleaning is a process. Happiness is a choice. That sounded pretty new-agey didn't it? I don't really believe that - the part about happiness not dry cleaning - but I did like the line. You know what else is a process? Assembling furniture from Ikea. Well, more of a chore than a process. I may be getting off track here...

  2. I've had those. The giant tears that come to the surface when you really don't want them to.
    Hang in there!!!!!! Keep focusing on that ONE suitcase!!!!!!

  3. Yeah, happiness being a choice? Sometimes there are forces bigger than my own power of choice Mr. Frankl. I hear what you're saying but gotta say that if I had the ability to choose, I would have chosen happiness. But sometimes shit happens.

    And yes, Undertaker, the one suitcase. THAT is a choice.

  4. I had those tears on Thursday! In front of all my alpha-male co-workers who pushed me to my limit and then proceeded to tell me that I shouldn't take my job so seriously. And I just couldn't stop SOBBING! I'd say I was embarrassed, but I really wasn't. They shouldn't have pushed me so hard. And I'm sensitive because I care. Nothing wrong with that. Just thought I'd send you out a little "I understand".

  5. I kind of see a little bit of Elle in your baby photo... maybe thats just me, but I definitely see a resemblance.
    She's so cute.

  6. What I hate most about the work tears is that they always come about from anger and frustration - but they're always viewed as oversensitivity or "female emotionality." So unfair. I hope this week is better for you. And I hope those cute baby pictures made it in the suitcase.


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