13 Things I Loathe About Public Transport

My fantasy at one time used to be that I would be a lady of luxury.  I would reside in a big palace of a house where the water was but a stone’s throw from my back porch, where palm trees blew in the warm gentle wind, where everything was bright and sunny and I would be adorned with jewels, furs and expensive shoes and clothes and the most strenuous thing I would do is figure out what charity work I would do that particular day.  I quickly realized that I’m not that huge into jewelry, furs are gross and I can buy perfectly serviceable shoes for under 50 bucks and my clothes?  Well it’s not how much you spend on them, it’s how you put them together and wear them.  Besides, all this was dependent upon a ridiculously rich (possibly old) dude who I could bamboozle into being my sugar daddy.  The other thing, more important than all those things put together, was and is the simple fact that I like being a true functional part of society, having a career, making a name for myself and not being at the mercy of some old geezer.  So yea, no leisurely homebody status for me.

Instead I’ve long since pulled on comfy shoes, slung a ridiculously big purse over my shoulder loaded with a book, heels, ipod, ear buds and on occasion lunch, then joined the work force like millions of other worker drones around the world.  My mode of transport?  WMATA.  Washington Metropolitan something, Transit Authority.  I could Google this but I’m too lazy.  Yes, I was a metro person.  And here in DC, there are really two categories of humans.  The metro-er and the driver.  Each thinks he’s got it worse than the other, each will defend their mode of transport till their dying day or until they decide to switch teams.  There’s another group, the bikers (as in ding ding, not vroom vroom) but we like to ignore them (and some of us try to run them over, just sayin’…) as hippy tree hugging exercise freaks.

Understand this; I used to be one a long time ago (no, not riding a bike, the train).  The reason I’m not anymore is because I hated it…with a passion.  Having spent nearly 7 years schlepping via this particular mode of transport hell in all sorts of ridonkulous weather finally did me in and I was only too happy to convert to a driver instead of joining the massive teaming throngs of disgruntled worker bees stuffed into a tin bin.  There also was the pesky fact that I never ever left work before 9pm.  This meant that the trains were running ‘regular’ schedule.  This basically meant the train would pull up whenever it wanted to and you could be possibly cooling your heels for up to 45 mins in-between.  Awesome.  There was nothing worse than to go huffing and puffing down the escalator after a train only to watch it pull away with a groan and a glow of red rear break lights. 

Anyway, what’s spurred me on to writing a blog about something as boring as commuting?  Well a few weeks ago a colleague came into my office and regaled me with a story about one of our other colleagues who was sitting in the metro and a random woman came to sit right beside him.   Not a big deal, right?  But the thing was, there were at least 15 seats available around him.  I simply nodded in understanding.  Oh how well I remembered.

There is definitely a plus point in public transport such as saving energy, gas and money.  You’re not at the gas station gaping at a 100+ dollar receipt after only one week of filling your tank up.  You’re not incurring road rage and wanting to smash into the butthead in front of you.  True story.

But the negatives of public transport far outweigh those of driving it, in my opinion.  Let me highlight a few pitfalls (according to my prior experience).

1.)     Time and Train Waits for No One:  I don’t think it’s necessarily faster to go the train/bus way.  For me it used to be the following:  drive to the metro, park, hoof it to the station, jump onto the train, change trains, get off the right stop and either a.) walk to work or b.) take a shuttle to work.  This was never faster.  In fact this was frustrating and by the time I either got to work or home from work, I was disgruntled as hell.  I can assure you, a disgruntled me, you do not want to come face to face with.

 

2.)    Reliability, No Such Creature:  It’s like a unicorn or the Loch Ness monster.  You know it’s out there somewhere but have never actually seen it.  There is no such word in connection with public transport.  Not that I’m saying driving your own vehicle is any more consistent but the metro?  Way less.  And if one takes into account how old some of the tracks/trains are, how they are often ‘single-tracking’, how the escalators often break down, problems with the buses and even traffic issues, well you’re screwed.  I’m not going to mention the occasional accidents that occur inside the stations such as…well jumpers.    

 

3.)    Patience of a ____- (insert your own animal or thing or person or whatever):  If you don’t have this particular trait in spades, you can’t go very long using public transport without some sort of arrest-able offense…or breaking down in hysterical sobs when once again you miss another train that takes off without you.

4.)    Holy Crap, Look at that Crowd:  This was probably my biggest issue during those long endless years.  If there were me or two other people, great but rarely was this the case unless I was heading home at about 11:30pm on a random Wednesday night.  Oh hi, painful.  During peak rush hours you’re crammed into a metal sardine can-like vehicle that is never the right temperature with a lot of other disgruntled folks just like yourself.    I don’t know about you but I know just how ‘pleasant’ I am in the A.M. and the idea of having to endure time in confined spaces is not something even I can stomach.  Actually, even crowded movie theaters give me the sad-y so imagine what this would do to me.

 

5.)    Welcome to FunkyTown:  And when I say ‘funky’ I mean FAWNKAY!  Like as in ‘ew…what the hell is that smell????’  I’ve asked that question many times as I’ve had to resort to stuffing my nose into my own shirt or cover my nostrilage while sneaking a peak around at the possible offender.  You take a combination of folks who fail to bathe, bathe in their favorite cologne/perfume, bathe in spices (yes Indians, I’m speaking to you), drenched in sweat stank or generally their clothes haven’t had a good washing in eons and therefore could probably stand outright from the grime by themselves (*ugh*), and you’ve got yourself a funkytown party.  Oh also let’s not forget all those lovely visitors to the Nation’s Capital who love to tromp around all day in the sun and then assault us with that particular brand of ugh. 

 

6.)    You Want Directions?  I’ll Give You Directions!:  It has never failed, ever.  I’m sitting there minding my own business, music playing, reading a book and all of the sudden there is a tap on my shoulder or a face nearly shoved right in-front of my own.  And it’s someone who looks confused and dazed, may be even panicked asking me where this place or that restaurant is and could I provide the right directions.  Really?  Why are you even on this train without knowing where the hell you’re going?  And why in the world are you bothering me?  Clearly I’m doing something here!  These are the thoughts that are going through my head. 

 

7.)    Chatty McChatterson:  There’s always that one person who decides to plop down next to you, once again ignoring whatever it was you were doing and determines that you are suddenly his/her new bestie.  And no matter how you try to faze them out, politely go back to whatever it was that you were doing, they just won’t leave you alone.   The only way to escape is when you get to your disembarkation spot and scramble to get as far away from Mr. or Mrs. Chatty as is quick as possible.  Now I’m not an antisocial human by nature but still…dang man, back up! 

 

8.)    Get the HELL Out of the Doorway:  Why, oh why, do some people need to camp out right at the doorway of the metro?  What precisely are you afraid of, that you’ll miss your stop?  That you’ll be lost F.O.R.E.V.E.R?  Well guess what, you can just get out at the next station and catch the train going in the opposite direction.  This is not the end of the world, just in case you were wondering.  So how about you move on over, Cupcake, let us all get the chance to enter the train without having to squeeze by your stinky-butt or before you’re beaten into a bloody pulp with a plethora of messenger bags or designer Kate Spade’s. 

 

9.)    Personal Bubble Space Clearly Means Nothing to You, Does It?:   I am convinced that there is a group of metro riders out there who have no concept of ‘arm’s length’.  Granted sometimes you can’t help it, space is limited during rush hour hence don’t expect it either.  But what about those who will actually look around, see that there are about 40 open spots but chose the seat right next to you?  What is this all about?  Why?  WHY?  Don’t you feel the need to spread out like I do?  Are you also the person who gets onto an elevator and crowd the other people there too?  Do you really have so little grasp on the concept of personal bubble?  If not, here…http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Personal_space.  Learn it, Love it and most importantly…STEP BACK!

 

10.)   Creepy Alert:  Here’s a fun story for you.  One evening as I was heading home at about 10pm, I got onto the train exhausted but knew that if I closed my eyes, I would miss my next stop.  Pulling out my always handy book, entitled Mr. Right, I became engrossed quickly.  1 stop from mine, a gentleman comes over to me, hands me a card and leaves.  It’s a small business card and I think not much of it.  At my stop I place the card between the pages of the book and rush out.  While waiting for the next train, my eyes fall back onto the card and I note there is scrawling on the back.  I turn it around and see the following written for mine eyes:  May be I can be your Mr. Right.  My body stiffens as I look around may be fearful that he was there somewhere close.  Not that I would have known because I hadn’t even gotten a good look.  The fact is, there is an abundance of creepers that you have to deal with while public transporting.  You often have to deal with unwanted gazed, unwanted comments and even on occasion unwanted touches.  That incident left such a foul taste in my mouth that soon after I decided I’d rather deal with DC traffic.

 

11.)   Shut UP!:  This isn’t your office or home.  Stop talking so loud into your phone that everyone can hear what you’re up to.  I don’t care.  Simple.

 

12.)   Um…Is this What Your Parents Taught You?:  During the school year, you have to take into account kids who also use the metro.  For the most part they are quiet and respectful but then there are those little punks who have no home training, who will happily talk at the top of their lungs, jeer and curse without thought and sometimes start something with someone they simply don’t like.  They are irritating, horrible and you want to lay on them an epic beat down with your umbrella and you can’t help but wonder which zoo these creatures grew up in. 

13.) Well Hello There, You Racist, You:  This one is a given.  It’s everywhere, so why would it be spared here?  And it’s a sad sight to witness.  I’ve caught someone shifting away from another simply based on color (and you may wonder how I know it’s due to color rather than something else but when you have someone dressed nicely, looking as professional and work weary as anyone else, then there are some reasonable assumptions you can make).  I’ve once seen a person refuse to sit down because there is someone not of their ‘ilk’ hence instead of taking a load off, the lil racist jerk would rather stand.  Again the only reason I knew this to be true was because the person was not ‘quiet’ about their contempt.  BTW, I’m not saying that it’s one race who avoids another more so, I’m just saying it’s obvious and it’s rampant.  And saddening.

There are a few more things that I don’t like about commuting in general but I’ll spare y’all for now.
Have a great day and Happy Staff Appreciation Week! 

Why You Fake Piece of *$#@!!!!

Bet the title got your attention, eh?

Recently I sent out a message bred of utter desperation for help on Facebook to see if my peeps could throw blog ideas my way.  There were lots of interesting suggestions but the overall majority of folks voted for ‘fake friends’.  I decided to allow Google to assist and came up with the following quotes that I liked best:

“It may...be judged indecent in me to come forward on this occasion; but when I see a fellow-creature about to perish through the cowardice of her pretended friends, I wish to be allowed to speak, that I may say what I know of her character.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

“This is what happens. You tell your friends your most personal secrets, and they use them against you.”
― Sophie Kinsella, Shopaholic Ties the Knot

“What a desperate, pathetic fool I was. Time after time, my "friends" had shown me their true colors. Yet, I still wanted to believe they were sorry for causing me pain. p. 128”
― Jodee Blanco, Please Stop Laughing at Me... One Woman's Inspirational Story

I find this topic very interesting.  Fake friends.  The first question that pops into my mind is, “is a fake friend, a friend at all?”  But it’s nonetheless hard to answer.  I mean how do you know someone will be ‘fake’ or is ‘fake’ from the word go?  You don’t.  Humans are awfully great at putting on elaborate facades (and we are equally okay with being duped.  We inherently wish to give others the benefit of the doubt and live in our own brand of utopia where everyone in it is good, nice, honest, kind, etc…).  Sure there are some who are blunt and in your face, who will be quick to reject even breathing in the same space as you the second you are introduced (or not introduced).  Those people are far easier to deal with and less dangerous.  You may not like what they have to say, you may not appreciate their abrasive ‘I don’t give a hot damn what you think’ attitude either but they are not fooling you because to them, you’re not worthy enough to be fooled and at the end of the day, they really truly don’t give a damn.

The sort of folks this blog is dedicated to is those individuals who would look you dead in the eyes, smile sweetly to you, tell you are the best thing since chocolate and as soon as your back is turned they talk smack up, down and sideways about you.  These people have for the most part honed the art of faking.  Not for a second will you know what they’re all about because for them it’s all about manipulation.  Either they’re manipulating you or someone else while making utterly sure that the two people should never connect and exchange notes otherwise they’d be busted.  These people find disturbing pleasure in others pain.  These people internally cackle with glee when the world fights.  And let's not forget these are also the misguided individuals who feel as if they have a personal vendetta against you and want nothing better than to destroy your good reputation (I find this hilarious because in essence those who do this often are only looking sort of crap-headed to their audience, aside from their own minions).  I figure these are also the hell beasts who would love to kick puppies and drown kittens if they could and if they do?  They’d blame someone else for it.  Just sayin’.  And these are the same people who absolutely love, love, love to start rumors...the nastier, the better. 

Side bar:  As a stupid teenager I too was guilty of talking smack and causing a ruckus, of even being a friend yet not knowing what that meant.  I went through a brief stint in life where I hurt some people who I never intentionally nor viciously wanted to hurt and that came back to ultimately bite me right in the tuckus.  I’ve learned my lesson and since then have never ever repeated the same mistake.  If I can’t be a real friend, I won’t be one at all, this is now my motto. 

Moving on, the worst thing about these sorts of ‘fake friends’?  It’s that by the time their inner self has been revealed to you, you’ve already pretty much trusted them with enough personal information about yourself that you live in fear as to what precisely they’ll reveal to whom.  It’s a sickening feeling and they know this and I suspect, revel in this fact.    

But I’ll admit not many people have this brand of power over me (anymore) and that’s because I’m very cautious about who I allow into my ‘circle of truth’ particularly now as an adult.  Those folks are well vetted and whom I have enough dirt on that they would never dare to turn around and talk about me (I joke, I joke (but I don’t)).  Seriously, no longer do I let into my world the first person who says hi or seems even a slight bit cool.  I know that under each façade there can be a layer of crazy so it takes me a while to open up and reveal my true self.  And this also extends to the net.  I don’t just add anyone, even if they’re a friend of a friend or simply because they look ‘cute’.  To me, I gots to know you in order to let you get a glimpse of my existence.  And I have yet to understand how in the world anyone just ‘accepts’ anyone else into their life at face value anymore.  Not with the crazies that roam this planet, no Siree.  If you haven’t done your due diligence then I can’t say you don’t deserve whatever it is that fake friend is going to eventually dish out to your nincompoop-ish butt, either in reality or virtually.

And that brings me back to Facebook.  I’ve seen many very passionate folks on my FB timeline calling out others for being fake and of course like the little nosy busy body that I can be (time permitting), I have to wonder what led to it.  What made someone log onto social media only to call someone else out?  And moreover, if you’re announcing it on FB, is that person still a part of your ‘friends’ list?  If they are then why are they?  Why haven’t you proverbially kicked that person to the curb and be done with it?  And okay so they are a part of your friends list still even after committing whatever transgression they have against you, are you calling them out in hopes to teach them a lesson?  Like a virtual tap on the shoulder?  No really, what is the ultimate point?  What message are you trying to get across?  And why give them the glee and pleasure of knowing that they caused you any sort of angst at all?  I mean, why even address it and give them that evil delight?  The block button can often be your best friend.   Lastly, say you did employ the defriend option, then what’s the point of the rant?  To seem like you’re a badass, smarter than the average bear?  Look at it this way, that person can’t even see what you’re riling on about.  This to me is akin to talking to a brick wall or an empty room. 

I’m not asking these questions because I’m judging; I’m just simply trying to understand the human psyche.  I believe it is because we are emotional creatures and quite reactionary bunch by nature (not all but a good majority) which spurs us on to posting something dramatic on a public networking site, particularly when we know we will receive votes of support and cheers from our counter parts.  However I can’t help but wonder how useful this truly is when the people ‘liking’ or saying ‘go girl/dude’ does not actually know the meat of the matter?  What’s the point when there is no 3^rd person perspective?  And that too completely unbiased.  But again, humans like instant gratification.  We run away from offering too much honesty and information because possibly, just possibly, we have to be faced with the fact that we could be wrong.  And god forbid we should ever stand accountable for our own actions. 

But that is neither here nor there.  The fact is that yes there are fake individuals everywhere and now thanks to the internet, there are even more interesting ways that they can mess with you.  Whether it’s from a general comment to a post, a post of their own which they tag you in or all out start some crap on your wall.  We are now able to air our dirty laundry easier, start up a virtual war far quicker and even add to the ranks with a simple private message and before a person understands fully what they have done wrong, they are suddenly de-friended.  We can amass more of an army via FB, Twitter or whatnot then the draft, think about it. 

If you hadn’t realized how powerful social networking is, now you do. 

And for a moment, let’s talk about those who add you to their friends list but never ever say a word.  Never mind even on birthdays a wish, they simply jump onto your page to stalk the hell out of you but stay quiet creepers.  These are the same people who have been categorized as a ‘friend’ (by virtue of nature to the way FB is set up) and yet they are not by any stretch of the imagination.  These people are the same who may read about your problems yet never once write a ‘k’ in response.  You are simply a drive by on their radar.  You add drama and something interesting to their newsfeed but you’re not good enough to really communicate with you.  Heck, some of these folks, after hitting the ‘add’ button not once thought it would be nice to actually talk to you, to get to know who you are.  The acceptance of their friend request is enough and besides, it bumps their own friend number.  Mmmm...k.  Let me tell you how much I like these people…if like meant I generally find them to be douchebags.  I personally think that these people also fall into the ‘fake friends’ category.  Hell, to more easily identify them, I think FB should have a group called ‘fake friends’.

The thing though that I can’t understand, the very basic of it is, why the need to be fake?  What pleasure does it truly garner?  Do you not have a life?  Do you lack something interesting to do other than going around messing with other people’s lives and happiness?  Or are you just that evil that the agony you may cause another, even of the pettiest sort, in turn brightens your day?  Is that what you were taught when you were but wee little tykes?  I can’t imagine a mother or father anywhere sitting their son and daughter down saying something like, “well this is how you go about destroying someone… and don’t forget to laugh in a maniacal way at the end once they’re crying bloody tears.”  Of course I’m probably wrong, there are probably rentals out there in the world teaching their kids all sorts of horrible things to do, leading by example.  But this was never a lesson I was taught hence I cannot fully fathom.

Anyhow, I guess long ago I stopped expecting anything from anyone which is why I don’t have to worry about who is fake and who is real.  That is revealed to me with time anyhow.  In the meantime I recognize that we are humans; we will disappoint, sadden and let each other down.  Sometimes we hurt others unintentionally, other times it’s malicious and the pain inflicted is indeed a conscious blow.  Even those who speak long and loud about the fakeness that abounds within their own relationships (often accompanied with outrage and towering anger) to some extent fail to look within themselves to see whether they, at one point or another, had done the same thing to someone else.  Oh, I’m not saying they don’t have the right to their feelings, of course they do.  I don’t know you’re details, only you do, so go on, you do you.  But I can say I have (been malicious as well as introspective of my own behavior) and this, in essences,  is why I consciously would not and do not represent myself as a friend when in truth I could care less about you.  Sounds cold, right?  But the fact is that this attitude causes less damage.  If you don’t expect anything from me, then when I give you nothing, you won’t be all that upset.  

Anyhow, so I think I’ve written enough about this.  I’m sure many thoughts will pop into my head as soon as I hit ‘post’ but that’s just how my brain works.  Long after I’ve published a blog, I’m still thinking about the angles I failed to cover.  It’s probably also why my brain hurts long into the night.

So to all my fake and real friends out there, enjoy your weekend. 

Altering My Disney Beliefs

I’ve been thinking a lot about this concept of ‘happily ever after’.  May be it has to do with my love for all things Disney.  I may be 41 but I’m all about the magic of the Magic Kingdom and always have been but as a starry eyed little girl particularly so.  Those princesses?  I wanted to be one.  And those princes on their white steeds?  I wanted to have one of them too (the prince, not necessarily the horse although I had once asked my father for a pony for my birthday.  He gave me an odd look and asked where I planned to keep it.  I responded, ‘in my bedroom’.  That made perfect sense to me).  I wanted it all at one point and really rather expected it.  I thought that once the ‘…and they lived happily ever after’ happened at the end credits, the romance remained as alive 50 years in the future than at that very moment as the  happy couple rides off into the sunset surrounded by singing birds, fluffy tailed rabbits and galloping deer. 

**Note:  I’ve probably written about this in the past somewhere amongst my 5000 entries.  Sorry for the redundancy but I believe this is a subject of enough importance that it’s worth writing again.  Besides who in the world is liable to go back to try to even look for that blog anyhow? **

I know you’re visualizing the galloping deer, right?  But no matter, the point is, those were the visions I had.  And because I was just that naïve, I expected all this and more to come true.  I strongly believed that the man I was going to live with forever and I, would never fight, that we would never disagree, argue, go to bed mad and that at the end of the day unicorns would be pooping sunshine and rainbows all around us.  That’s just how green I really was. 

The reality, as most of you are well aware, is vastly different.  I’m not going to go into what precisely those are, they are too tedious and I’m not that patient (not to mention this blog in itself is rather redundant, any more redundancy and I’ll be shamed into closing my blog forever).   I just ask for those of you who are married to please relay the truth to your desperately seeking to get hitched single-counterparts about what marriage is really about (oh and this excluded those of you who have been married for a hot second.  Y’all are still in the honeymoon phase so shush up and enjoy).  It’s not fair that just because you feel there’s more solidarity in numbers that you’re going to lead the ignorant astray.  And as for you single folks, use your brains.  Just think about it this way:  you take two individuals; give them a piece of paper that states they’re now husband and wife while basically proclaiming how ‘you got to live with each other UNTIL YOU DIE’ (and that too living in the same space).   

This here in itself is basically a set-up for failure…and an epic one at that.  I mean who can win in this situation?  If you’re thrown into jail, you’re not gonna feel great about it, are you?  And marriage (at least the way it’s stated generally speaking) seems like nothing but bars that holds a person in and restricts them from doing anything ever again…until they die.

So right…back to happily ever after.  This denotes needing to find someone to share it with.  That’s the key to it, I suppose.  I personally went through my youth trying to figure out what that person would be like, particularly before taking the walk down the aisle myself.  It was all a big jumble of Prince Charming mixed in with the three members of A-ha and even some Tom Cruise (whom I j’adored at that time but now not so much) thrown in for good measure.  As time went by and I grew up, I realized may be some of these folks were just too unattainable or their characteristics.  After all celebrities were celebrities for a purpose, a reason and that meant they were special.  I looked around and realized that I wasn’t precisely surrounded with this particular brand of special, at least not the boys I knew.   Still I held onto the hope that Prince Charming would find me. That wasn’t asking for too much, right?

I guess you could say he did but it didn’t take long to realize that PC (“Prince Charming”) was actually a real man with a temper, bad mannerisms sometimes, a not so great attitude a lot and who farted in bed.  Okay I’m not trying to call anyone out but all you women know for a fact that the man you were dating and who romanced you to the hilt, dressed and smelled nice at all times and who threw flowery phrases at you at the drop of a mere hat somehow managed to morph into but a shadow of that alter ego as soon as they put that blasted wedding band on your ring finger.  Often times you are suddenly faced with a selfish, snarly, negative, lazy buggar who you want to drown in a glass of water or spork in the jugular.  Not that I’m saying I’ve wanted to do any of these things…*ahem* 

Don’t be outraged, guys, I’m well aware that women are way worse.  Before, we were the supportive, loving, cool, laidback females who would give you shoulder rubs and baby you, even gleefully putting up with all your nonsense as well as your dumb escapades because we were trying to achieve our happily ever after (this was usually because we didn’t want to be the only person amongst our girlfriends who was single or the last to take that big leap and then throw a dash of biological clock a-tickin’ and you certainly have one cray cray party of one on your hands).  After the ring is slipped onto our finger?  Oh we become something else…and I don’t mean this in a positive way at all.  In one fell swoop we take on the roles of wife, mother, aunt, caretaker, bread winner, home maker, psychologist, cheerleader, sexual deviant, blah blah blah…the list is endless.  And that is all to one person…your significant other.  Never mind the others who vie for your attention (taking out the role of sexual deviant of course).    All this in a nutshell is exhausting and we end up morphing into sufficiently horrible crabby negative harping shrews.

End product?   I’ve come to realize that there is no such thing as happily ever after.  Rather I now believe in ‘happy for now’.  It’s a fairly simplistic concept, doesn’t demand much and most certainly it’s not overtly reaching.  If you think to yourself, I’m happy…now, then I believe that’s the real recipe to your own happy ending (shut up Smut, you know what sort I’m talking about).   I won’t lie, it was nearly impossible for me to do this until most recently.  Like the a-typical woman I think far into the future, weighing consequences and possible outcomes.  I never used to take a step in any direction without writing out a pro and con list and even then I would get the view point of no less than 10 people to see what they would think.  Can you say ‘indecisive’?  But no, I wasn’t indecisive now that I think about it, more like cautious.  That’s definitely the word.  I’ve lived my life cautiously and now…at the age of 41…I’m ready to stop.

No, there is no such thing as a PC coming in to sweep you off your feet, one who also happens to have a sword which they can take on the world for you and therefore slay all your dragons.  No, there is no such real thing as happily ever after.  Yes, there is a palpable concept called ‘true love’ but the problem is that it’s interrupted with another thing called ‘life’ and life, Folks, kills love slowly, painfully until it’s snuffed.  Reality smashes it to bits before you can blink an eye, even before you can attempt to save it.  And when it does, at one point we look back to what we had at one time and become angry and frustrated, wondering why we couldn’t have had that again. 

The reason you can’t is because at that time, that was your happiness…then.  For that moment in time you were meant to be happy and things were meant to be simpatico and once that time had passed, it passed.  There is no going back.   And moving forward?  Stop thinking about that past.  I’m not saying you shouldn’t remember the past with fondness, sure go for it, that’s yours to cherish and hold close.  But stop holding your future up to the specter of that past.  I’m sorry to be harsh about it, Cupcake, but none of us were born with a notarized statement of life asserting we are guaranteed that unicorn which pooped sunshine and rainbows.  In fact, if you’re smart after the first time you fell and scrapped your knee, you should have known that it ain’t gonna get much better.  I’m not being fatalistic, I’m being realistic, know the difference.

Okay, so my two cents are here.  Right now, happily ever after has been replaced with happy for now.  I’m okay with that.  I sound like I’m settling, doesn’t it?  Well you know what?  Been there, done that, and the disappointment is always rather heartbreaking.  I now take it for what it is, the moment.  That, Friends, is above all the most important thing.  There are some things you can control, you can plan for, like your degree or career and even those get derailed and pitfalls present themselves on the way.  But something as big as expecting happiness to surround you in a glow forever?  Nope, not happening.  And since I don’t believe in reincarnation, I got this one life to live.  That’s it.  This is the end all and be all.  So if I know this, and I do not know when it will be taken from me, why then should I waste my time in not only assuming I will be happy forever but then becoming embittered when I realize in fact it won’t?  Seems silly to me.  I rather live for that second that I’m presently breathing in, take that and put that in my memory bank and accept that may be I will never experience that feeling again. 

 You may call me ‘happy for now, Rubes’.  This is all I’m aiming to be from here on out.  And I suggest you decide to copy me as well.  It’s liberating.

I Got Nothin'

I wracked my brain to come up with a good blog topic.  I considered a few that had been brewing in my head for a few months but those seemed lame.  I checked out a couple of drafts of old entries that I had started but didn't finish, quickly realizing why.  They weren't worth the Arial font usage.  Sometimes, I wonder what the heck I was thinking regarding some of the nonsense I write.  Like, what wall did I run into and incur brain damage in order to come up with such drivel?  Seriously.

 

Anyhow, I guess I'm a tad brain dead.  I'm going to have to figure out a way to kick start the grey cells which in itself is going to be a tough task.  Wish me luck on that one.

 

Alright Kiddies, have any ideas for me?  Throw them out and let's see where I go with them because for now, I got nothin'.

 

Until then, Ciao.

Not a Machine, Just a Human

In my life, I've nearly convinced myself that I'm invincible.  Not emotionally, but physically.  Emotionally I'm often a wreck although you may not be able to recognize this since I hide it well.  But physically?  Well sure.  I've pushed myself to the limits many times unable to decipher when enough is enough.

 

This morning proves my point. 

 

I got up to a fairly gloomy weather, very groggy and tired.  My brain couldn't register the alarm, that's how bad it was until the constant buzzing of my phone indicating emails roused me.  As I peered through half shut eyes at the messages, panic set in.  There was a slight 'emergency' with a client and it was clear I had to get into gear immediately.  Barely able to take a fulsome shower, I was out the door in less than 50 minutes, fighting traffic, manically monitoring my phone for additional situations and cursing up a storm in my head.

 

By the time I got to work, I started to feel relief.  I should have known better. 

 

I pull into the garage and as I spot my favorite space open for use, I make a tight turn, misjudge and hear metal on cement.  That is not a good sound.  It never is.  You know that sound, right?  It's abrasive and loud and horrifying.  It means a lot of money, time and energy wasted on a stupid mistake.  I jumped out of my car, zoomed to the back right side close to the wheel praying the whole way that it would miraculously be nothing and there it was in all it's glory, a nice big ol' dent with flecks of grey (the color of my car) and green (the color of the pillar that I had hit) all entwined together.  My heart sunk.  My knees went weak and my hands started to shake.

 

My burning eyes took this sight in and I had to blink back tears of frustration and anger.  But I didn't have time for a nervous breakdown but I assure you that's precisely what I wanted to do.  I wanted to sit down on that dirty garage floor and weep like a baby.  Still, I had to get going and the situation at work needed my attention.  This much I knew, this much I could deal with.  The dent?  Not so much.  My mind (and body) couldn't deal with this.

 

Anyhow, that was earlier today.  As I went to get java (after addressing all the fires I had to) I stood in line thinking that this was a telltale sign of exhaustion for me.  In the past, whenever I'm about to hit the proverbial exhaustion wall, often I start to make thoughtless mistakes.  These manifest in such things as sending an important email to the wrong person, copying over an important document, dumping hot water on myself, vastly miscalculating a piece of furniture's proximity to my butt and then unceremoniously ending on it in a painful position on the ground.  But you know what, Folks?  For all that I seem like a pretty intelligent person (and I use the word intelligent loosely) I'm actually a superlative bonehead. 

 

My body could be screaming at me to rest and I will not listen to it.  I will keep pushing and pushing until it shuts down on me.  It's happened before.  The scariest example of this was back in 2008.  I had traveled to HK for a month on a document collection for a client.  Once back, my firm was apart of what would be the biggest merger of the year and I was the lead paralegal.  I worked tirelessly, traveling all over the place, staying up for straight 24, 36, 72 hour stints at a time (and when I say staying up, I mean staying up.  No catnaps for this girl).  A normal worker bee puts in about 1600 hours a year (40 hours a week).  In the span of 10 months, I had logged in about 2600 hours.  Yea, I was a beast.  I was badass.  I was headed straight for a fall of epic proportions but I wasn't willing to recognize this.

 

Near the end of the year, I started to experience numbing pain in my left arm.  Every night without fail, my arm would tingle and the middle of my chest would ache.  For about 2 weeks I ignored this (nope, da-Nile isn't just a river in Egypt).  Then one night I laid in bed staring at the ceiling wondering 'am I having a heart attack?'.  Sweating, I quietly pulled out the laptop to look up symptoms.  BTW, self-diagnosis is always a bad thing.  At one point, my hands were cold, my feet were freezing, my chest was hurting and I almost couldn't feel my left arm.  The symptoms were there.  Heart attack.

 

Eventually I went to the emergency room.  This was January 1st of '09.  I had thought to myself that I had an awesome way of starting off the year.  The doctors did their thing and once all was said and done (which included me becoming a human pincushion) I was informed that I was suffering from severe acid reflux and basically was stressed.  These things have the same earmarks of a heart attack and that I was 'wise' to get myself checked out.  Let me tell you, I did not feel in the least smart.  First, I was ashamed that I had so misjudged what was happening to me.  Second, I thought I had been far too reactionary by rushing into the emergency room.  And last, but most importantly, I had to question myself as to my ability to handle my stress.  Surely in the past I could take it, why not this time?  I was, after all, invincible. 

 

The emergency room doctor suggested I go to my primary doc and then possibly a psychologist (or is it psychiatrist?) because I needed to figure out what was mentally wrong with me.  What?  No way, I didn't need a shrink. 

 

So it turns out that my primary physician is actually an Indian woman.  After my check up and a prescription for Nexium, she sat and had what one would consider a 'chat'.  She told me that as an Indian, she understood the stresses that define our lives such as work, family, responsibility, sacrifices expected and the numerous roles we play.  She advised me to take a step back and learn to say 'no' more often. 

 

Have I learned that lesson?  Not on your life.  I tried and it worked for a few months but then I fell right back into my 'pattern' of self destructive behavior.  I am a hard worker, I am a dedicated worker as well.  Actually not just in my career am I like this.  I am thus in all aspects of my existence.  I am fantastic at saying 'yes', lousy at saying 'I can't' and I will push myself until I want to fall down right where I stand but even that I wont allow to happen.  I feel like I owe everyone around me my 1001% and that's what I do, even at the mental and physical detriment to my own self.

 

Lately, I've been doing that again.  I've been pushing myself at work and other aspects of my life.  I don't sleep much, I wake up irritated and exhausted, I go through the day with far too much energy (which boggles my mind since I don't get hardly any rest) and my mind never shuts off.  I get yelled at constantly about not going to bed on time but it's not something I can control.  Even if I do manage to lay down, everything else is still 'turned on'.  I don't know how to shut off.  Where's that switch? 

And I go through my days worried that I'm saying something wrong, doing something wrong or generally hurting/offending/pissing off the world.  People would never guess this about me because the façade I've honed won't allow for it.  Do you know how exhausting all this really is?

 

But here is the true fact (the only one I'm willing to admit):  I am not a machine.  I am human. 

 

Now, I just have to convince myself of this fact, right?