Is that my cake left out in the rain?

I seem to have a sound track. I hear Donna Summer’s version of  MacArthur Park playing in my head most of the time. Is that weird?

Anyway, I feel like I need to do some kind of wrap up for this crazy year.  Please hum along to MacArthur Park as you read.

First my heart.  My broken heart. My fluttery Taurus heart that is not beating correctly.

For months I have been on blood thinners to prevent a stroke, different drugs to keep my heart rate down, and then newer drugs that were supposed to make it start beating correctly again. Nothing has worked.  It is stubborn, my Taurus heart.

I went to a new specialist last week and he told me I need to get put out and electrocuted. OK, maybe he said drugged and then shocked, but all I heard was “put out” and “electrocuted.”

This whole thing started when I got “put out” so they could operate on my toes.  I swore I would never let the man put me out again.  But here I am, letting the man put me out.  No choice.  I go in on New Year’s Eve at 6:30 AM. They will give me that drug that makes you sleepy and forgetful – the one they give you when you need to have a dislocated shoulder popped back in. Then they will attach lightning-emitting rods to the front and back of me and fire away.  It is designed to be a very narrow and focused blast of lightning but with little thunder.  I am only supposed to be out for like 90 seconds.  They assure me that I will in fact wake up and that when I do my heart will be beating correctly and that also I may become fiscally responsible, allow leftovers in my fridge, believe in god, and like boobs.  I am dubious, but the fixing of my heart would be nice. And so would just waking up in general.

Obviously I am more than a little stressed about this.  The whole reason that I hate the idea of being put out is that my greatest fear in life is dying in my sleep.  Since I know with absolute certainty that there is no light for my soul to go into - because I do not have a soul, and there is no light - just shutting off without knowing it is like the worst thing that can happen to a boy. When the time comes I want to see it full on and be aware, not drooling and snoring.

I would never ask you to pray for me, because that would just be silly, but if you need to do something to be supportive then donate to Hillary.

Golly, no one can say that I have not had my fair share of drama is year.  Thus the none stop MacArthur Park in my head.

Speaking of drama, after all the hysterics about getting laid off, I can honestly say that things are better.  Things are good.  I have a job.  I like the people I work with, mostly.  I seem to know what I am doing, some of the time.

It’s not that I have not had some bad days.  On one especially bad day a couple weeks ago, I wrote this dreary and unpublished little diatribe:

Remember that dancing demon in the musical episode of Buffy?  Yep, so do I.  Odd that I would use him as a reference point for mental health.

So I am walking from my car to my job.  I just paid $27 for parking. I have on these fancy shoes that are really hurting my feet.  It’s cold, it’s dark, I am behind on several key initiatives, someone just quit on me without giving two weeks’ notice.  I hear this Tourette’s syndrome sound come out of my mouth, “I don’t want to do this anymore!”

I look around to see if anyone on the street heard me say that.  I don’t think so.  Everyone seems to be lost in their own little hell dimension.  I assume most of them are thinking the same thing I am.

When I was unemployed this summer all I wanted was a job.  The money, the routine, the human interaction.  Now all I can think of is not wearing shoes, warm sunlight, and daytime drinking.

I am pretty sure this place is not going to work out for me.  I have no manager.  Seriously.  He blew off my first interview, did not ask me a single question when I met him in person, did no onboarding when I got here, did not introduce me to anyone on my first day, does not respond to email, and does not have one-on-ones with me. He wouldn’t even look at my goals. Also, the pay sucks, the benefits are terrible, and I am unable to even bring in a contractor to fill an open position while the rest of my team works overtime.

“Well that sounds gloomy,” said the dancing demon to Buffy.  “No,” she said. “That’s life.”

Sigh. Doesn’t everyone hit a wall after their first few weeks at a new job where they think they made a huge mistake?

The reality is I was in my own special hell dimension all summer.  Sure it was nice to sleep in, go to the gym every day, go to Pilates three times a week, but the reality of not working was horrible.  The stress broke my heart, literally.

My brain has been trying to get all nostalgic about my old job but I keep shutting that down.  There were so many days at the foundation where it took every ounce of my strength to walk through that front door.  One especially bad day I remember also having a Tourette’s syndrome moment where I shouted out, “There is no human kindness here!”  I am pretty sure other people in the parking garage heard that one.  But it was true.  No point in being nostalgic about a place that nearly destroyed my self-esteem. There is an awesome song on the most recent Shelby Lynne album called Better that helps when I start to be all Pollyanna about that place.  Not that there weren’t some good people there, but the overall culture was toxic.

  

……………………. 

I think I stopped writing at this point because I knew I was being a self-indulgent whiner. My new job is mostly fine.  Mostly.  Or it was. There was an incident.  Another of those career-limiting incidents that I am so good at.

So the day started off bad.  First thing in the morning my cat came into the bathroom and pooped all over the rug.  Then when I was walking to my building I was stopped in the middle of Westlake Park by a biker.  Not just any biker, no, this annoying individual is a project manager at the foundation mentioned above. I always found him excruciating due to his arrogant, know-it-all, aggressive Microsoft upbringing and his snotty Christian holier-than-thou attitude. Instead of telling him to get the fuck away from me, I stood there for 10 minutes while he recounted how awesome the foundation is now with so many of us gone.  Words to live by – good people do not ride bikes.

Now the incident. Every month there is an all hands meeting.  Managers have to stand up and introduce any new people they have hired.  I hired Bethany.  Her name is Bethany, my new employee, Bethany.  I got up and called her Tiffany.  I have never met a Tiffany in my life, and yet I called her Tiffany like 9 times as people were whispering to me, “Bethany!  It’s Bethany!”  It was horrible, like a slow motion mix of Tourette’s syndrome and a stroke along with a brain tumor.  As soon as I realized what I had done I started shaking like a fool.  It seemed like I was up there for 20 minutes, shaking and saying, “Tiffany likes to clean and Tiffany like to eat leftovers and Tiffany has a one year old daughter with pink eye.”  What a freak.  When it was over I screamed and ran out.  

Later that day I was talking to my boss, who now calls me Todd, and I referred to her as Tiffany again!  I even spelled out Tiffany in my notes. People have been singing, “I think we’re alone now” to her for days now.  And it continues! Even this morning I invited someone named Tiffany to a team meeting instead of poor Bethany.  That Tiffany responded back to me and suggested that I get an appointment with a neurologist.  I know there is no way for me to recover from this.  Perhaps it’s just for the best if I do go into the light on New Year’s Eve.  If only there were one.

Nah, that is crazy defeatist talk.  I know what I need.  Airline tickets. Ever since the summer’s drama started all I have wanted to do is get on an airplane, sit in seat 1A, and fly someplace fun while holding a glass of champagne and making full eye contact with the poor as they make the walk of shame to the back of the airplane.  I just booked a trip to LA in January and another to Honolulu in May. I was about to say things are getting back to normal, but it occurs to me that the last time I flew to LA I broke the main bulkhead of the airplane. Things are never normal around here. 

OK, do not pray for me, but please do some hoping that I do continue to live into the New Year. And donate to Hillary regardless.

I will add more later if I do in fact wake up. And if not, go buy MacArthur Park. 

.