Thursday, November 23, 2006
Balancing Act
Lots has developed in the last few weeks. A bit is exciting, some is hard and the rest is more of the same. I'm having trouble balancing all that's on my plate right now. I'm reaching out, trying new experiences to help me battle old ghosts. I've started a new relationship which is exciting and intensely satisfying. Recent events have made it tough for my wife and I to maintain a loving connection and I am saddened by our challenges. Mr. Man has been having trouble sleeping and is emotionally volatile. All of these personal ebbs and flows deplete and sustain me at the same time. I have more emotional issues to wade through than I have energy or time for, yet ignoring them reduces the quality of the relationships with those I love most. I desperately need the safety net below the tightrope walker.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Spit Up
Today, more than any other day, this part of my profile rings true:
I am consumed by a corporation and spit out at night.
My eight years of working for an educational non-profit did not prepare me for the greedy, selfish nature and horrible values of my new coworkers in the financial services industry. It is no surprise that they are all avid Republicans.
Yesterday I got stuck in a conversation between a new employee and a departing employee. The departing employee was trying to convey some knowledge to the new employee when the phrase "organically grown" came up in reference to a new client. The new employee wondered what the phrase meant in that context. This led to a sidebar diatribe on the part of the departing employee, who attested to her love of pesticides. It is a direct quote. She said she loves pesticides. She described at length wanting pesticide treated ears of corn with huge, plump juicy kernels. She described her grief over the loss of alar. To her, apples harvested without alar were not attractive or bright red or appealing as those with. I found myself longing for an IV so that I could dose her full of the banned pesticides she loves so much.
Today I had the pleasure of dining with these same two employees and two other colleagues. The conversation was riveting. I think it started out with parenting. The dearly departing employee waxed on about the perils of being friends with your children. She, the childless expert, was certain that only dominance over one's child was the right course of action. The rest of the table agreed, expressing angst over the excessive tendencies of Child Protective Services - that horrible institution that would ban spanking one's child into obedience.
You might think I was relieved for a change of topic. If only the segue hadn't led us to guns. I was the only person among five at the table not to own or to have shot a gun. Everyone else at the table compared notes. Beretta, Glock, Winchester. Which was the best gun? One shot for sport. One shot gophers in her garden. One went hunting. One told of how his 5yo would learn on the same gun he first shot.
The new employee has mentioned on at least three occasions in the first 12 hours of our acquaintance the prevalence of "weirdos" in the downtown area. Our drive back to the office was riddled with disdain for "Dangerway" - the Safeway store with the highest bottle return and the variety of places that "strange people" can be found panhandling downtown. When one coworker stated how "those people" make $300 a week tax-free, my dearly departing employee explained aghast that in Las Vegas, they make $80,000 a year.
You can imagine how impatient I was to get back to the office, into the solace of my cube. Alas, the car culture they love so much bit me in the ass. The Lincoln Navigator that we all traveled in got snagged in traffic. But it wasn't really their fault, after all it was due to construction, not congestion. When someone inquired what the aggravating construction was for, my coworker described how the roads on this block were being reinforced for traffic so that adjacent blocks could be prepared for more light rail lines. Oh, the snickering at the mention of more light rail! Someone mentioned that Portland hasn't build a new road in 20 years. Quickly, the dearly departing driver raced around in another direction trying to skirt the construction.
I hopped out of the SUV at the corner of our office building, relieved that I was back on foot on a block that would be surrounded by more light rail and a newly designed transit mall in 2009. In just a few short hours I would walk down to meet my family in a public square, where my son was being invited by "those people" to play a game of hackey sack.
I am consumed by a corporation and spit out at night.
My eight years of working for an educational non-profit did not prepare me for the greedy, selfish nature and horrible values of my new coworkers in the financial services industry. It is no surprise that they are all avid Republicans.
Yesterday I got stuck in a conversation between a new employee and a departing employee. The departing employee was trying to convey some knowledge to the new employee when the phrase "organically grown" came up in reference to a new client. The new employee wondered what the phrase meant in that context. This led to a sidebar diatribe on the part of the departing employee, who attested to her love of pesticides. It is a direct quote. She said she loves pesticides. She described at length wanting pesticide treated ears of corn with huge, plump juicy kernels. She described her grief over the loss of alar. To her, apples harvested without alar were not attractive or bright red or appealing as those with. I found myself longing for an IV so that I could dose her full of the banned pesticides she loves so much.
Today I had the pleasure of dining with these same two employees and two other colleagues. The conversation was riveting. I think it started out with parenting. The dearly departing employee waxed on about the perils of being friends with your children. She, the childless expert, was certain that only dominance over one's child was the right course of action. The rest of the table agreed, expressing angst over the excessive tendencies of Child Protective Services - that horrible institution that would ban spanking one's child into obedience.
You might think I was relieved for a change of topic. If only the segue hadn't led us to guns. I was the only person among five at the table not to own or to have shot a gun. Everyone else at the table compared notes. Beretta, Glock, Winchester. Which was the best gun? One shot for sport. One shot gophers in her garden. One went hunting. One told of how his 5yo would learn on the same gun he first shot.
The new employee has mentioned on at least three occasions in the first 12 hours of our acquaintance the prevalence of "weirdos" in the downtown area. Our drive back to the office was riddled with disdain for "Dangerway" - the Safeway store with the highest bottle return and the variety of places that "strange people" can be found panhandling downtown. When one coworker stated how "those people" make $300 a week tax-free, my dearly departing employee explained aghast that in Las Vegas, they make $80,000 a year.
You can imagine how impatient I was to get back to the office, into the solace of my cube. Alas, the car culture they love so much bit me in the ass. The Lincoln Navigator that we all traveled in got snagged in traffic. But it wasn't really their fault, after all it was due to construction, not congestion. When someone inquired what the aggravating construction was for, my coworker described how the roads on this block were being reinforced for traffic so that adjacent blocks could be prepared for more light rail lines. Oh, the snickering at the mention of more light rail! Someone mentioned that Portland hasn't build a new road in 20 years. Quickly, the dearly departing driver raced around in another direction trying to skirt the construction.
I hopped out of the SUV at the corner of our office building, relieved that I was back on foot on a block that would be surrounded by more light rail and a newly designed transit mall in 2009. In just a few short hours I would walk down to meet my family in a public square, where my son was being invited by "those people" to play a game of hackey sack.
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