Love, Jimmie

This post will be a bit of a deviation from the norm.  It isn’t happy.  It isn’t funny.  It is in no way heartwarming.  It is raw and honest, though, and it is my bloodletting.  You don’t want to read me whine? Then go away because there is nothing here for you.

I mentioned a meltdown I had a few weeks ago.  I had another one last week.  These were not my only two since losing my job.  Looking back over these last four months or so, I’ve had more meltdowns than I’ve been honest about.  Sure, I have been positive about good things happening for me, and yes, I do look for the good in my life.  I cannot deny that some very nice things have happened for me and that I have been carried through some troubles and that, of course, these are first world problems.  It does not mean that these last few months haven’t been rough on me, though, and honestly, I’ve had enough.  If I began to cry about them, right this instant, I’m not sure I would be able to stop.  I’m not being funny.  I’m dead serious.

Yes, I have a new job that many people would love to have.  I also make $10 grand less a year than I used to.  I’ve had to make big adjustments in every aspect of my life and while I can do it, I resent it.  I miss my people.  It is a visceral, deep ache, a true loss.  My friends will always be my friends but this is a big change.  I worked closely with a man who did a lot for me and whom I did a lot for, then I got left behind.  I had to leave my gym with my friends who worked out with me every day.  I was denied unemployment because of a glitch in the computer system that I am still trying to fight and thus spent more of my savings than I wanted.  I was uncertain on every level how I would survive.  I felt abandoned and alone and very, very sad a lot.  I was mad at myself for trusting humans, for putting my eggs in a basket that got thrown out a window.  I was mad at everyone around me who was making it, who didn’t suffer alone, who seemed to breeze through this with ease.  I know that is not fair or even a little true.  Didn’t change my anger. 

I briefly mentioned here a few posts ago that I was saving my squealing brakes for another story.  I’ll make it short.  About two months ago I needed new brakes.  I took my car to a reputable place, had to sit in the floor of the business for hours, propped up against the wall between the men’s and women’s bathrooms because they had no waiting room, and got cheated by at least $100 because I don’t know enough about brakes to know what a fair price is.

Coach fixed my toilet as promised and two days later it broke again.  It hasn’t worked right since April.    

A couple of weeks later, my check engine light came on and upon taking my car to the dealership, I learned that my catalytic converter had croaked.  Thank you, Ethanol.  It is another fix I will have to budget for before the end of the year.  I was smarter on that trip, declining to leave my car at the dealership so that I can shop around for a fair price before signing over the last of my savings to fix my exhaust system on a car that is only five years old.   

Last week, I bought a new deodorant and dropped it in my makeup bag which I take to the gym faithfully.  While I work my bags sit in my car, usually in the shade, but this day was particularly hot and I didn’t get my regular parking spot at work under my leafy tree.  That afternoon when I left, I thought I would touch up my powder and reached into my bag only to discover that my brand new deodorant had melted thoroughly and completely into a soup in the bottom of my bag.  There was not even a miniscule scrape of deodorant left in the container.  It was all floating around my eye brushes, my glittery eyeliner, my beloved mascara that makes my eyelashes look like caterpillars.  The air conditioner, which generally works very well, blew cool air onto the bag during the drive home, solidifying the soup back into deodorant which is now caked in big chunks on everything that was in that bag. 

The very next day, my blower motor for my car’s air conditioner died.  This was Friday.  Phranke and I did some research before making an appointment to repair my air conditioner (and may I say here that I am so, so thankful for her). Because I didn’t really know where I was going, I was a few minutes late for my appointment.  I began with an apology to the man behind the counter, yet it fell on deaf ears. He was intent on putting me in my place for being late which he did no less than three times, exactly as many times as I apologized for being late.  I finally just stopped talking to him altogether.  I merely handed over my keys and sat in silence while I waited.   The part is being ordered and hopefully by Wednesday I will have a working air conditioner.   

All day on Friday co-workers asked me if I was alright.  I was told that I looked tired, sad, like I had been crying, that my eyes were red, etc.  I have no makeup.  I am sad.  I am tired.  I only want to sit at my desk and do my job and not have to give an answer when someone is concerned for my well-being, because again, if I start crying I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop. 

So this is my bloodletting.  I don’t want to talk about it after I’ve written all this.  I don’t need anyone to check on me because I really am fine.  Again, first world problems.  I will live.  Yes, I have tried to be positive through all of this mess but it doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard and wasn’t scary and that I’m not still slightly resentful.  I resent the fact that I’m completely out of my comfort zone now.  I resent the fact that I make far less money than I used to.  I resent the fact that the benefits I worked so hard to achieve are no more and that I’m starting over from scratch, again, at forty.  I resent the fact that I’m doing it alone.  I resent the fact that the only fighting for me is done by me. 

I know that millions of people do this every day.  I know that millions of people are alone, even when their spouse is right next to them, or their brother, or their mother, or their best friends.  I don’t get to claim loneliness as my singular battle.  I don’t get to claim fear as mine alone.  I know that.  But this is my walk, my experience. I’m the one who feels my pain and my confusion and despite my having people around me who support me and love me, I feel it alone.  I walk it alone. 

Here is where I bring my spin on it, my flair.  I do know that somewhere during all of this mess, I learned something.  I do know that I have grown although I may have no idea how right now.  I do know that someone will come into my life who needs my wisdom and friendship because they are going through what I went through.  One day I will look back on all of this as a valuable experience.  But when I’m sitting in my sweltering car and the air craps out and I can’t even put the windows down for my drive to work because it’s raining buckets and I have no glitter on my eyelids to make me smile through the tears, I really can’t give a shit.

In conclusion, and this part wasn’t even planned for this post, I’d like to tell you that three hours ago my wallet was stolen.

No more.  I cannot take it.