last full week of work

Well, tomorrow begins my last full week of work. I wonder what it will be like?

On Tuesday I’ll only be working half a day because I have a dentist appointment in the morning. Need to get that in before my insurance runs out.

Then, on Thursday, there will be a party in my department for me, a send off of sorts. I wonder if that will be weird?

You know, now, I can understand the impulse to just walk out of a job once you’ve been given your notice for lay-0ff. Why stick around and drag things out? There have been these awkward moments with soon-to-be-former-colleagues. They wish you well, but you can help wondering if secretly they’re feeling relieved that it is me and not them. I suppose I would feel that way to a degree. It’s normal. I wouldn’t blame anyone for feeling that way. I suppose I could have just walked out or refused the send-off party. Not so long ago, I probably would have. But for some reason it seems important to stick it out, to go through all the steps. It might not always be easy, but it feels necessary.

It is going to be sad to leave, perhaps even more so than I realize right now. That’s what really makes me nervous. But it will also feel liberating in a way too. It already does. It’s just the uncertainty of what will come next that is so vexing.

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simplify

The other day I had a text exchange with an old high school friend. Actually, he and I have been friends since kindergarten or the first grade, I can’t recall exactly which — I’m getting old, my memory is going. Anyhoo… he’s going through a divorce too (he’s second actually) and we have been more in touch these days. The other day he was busy selling some stuff on craigslist.org. Of course, it was in part to raise so money. My buddy is also unemployed, and has been for some time, and has been scrambling to cobble together a living ever since. I think that he may be working part-time right now, actually. He’s going to school too. But he’s hard at work putting his life right so that he can concentrate on being a dad to his two daughters. He also has a son and daughter from his first marriage. But the other reason, he said, he was selling stuff, was in order to simplify his life, to get rid of the clutter. This is an impulse that I can totally identify with.

Once I learned that I was going to be laid off from my job at the library where I currently work (until August 9th, anyway) my first impulse, or one of my first impulses anyway, was to figure out how I could simplify my life, as well as cut expenses. My life had been significantly simplified upon moving out of my house anyway, in terms of material stuff anyway. I have only the basic pieces of furniture and very few decorations in my apartment, which is just as well at this point since I’ll likely be moving out come the end of September. I’d gotten rid of a bunch of books as well when I moved into this apartment, but that was well before I knew that I was going to lose my job. Once I realized that I would I felt a strong need to especially make changes that would save me money.

So I decided to ween myself of my antidepressant meds. Of course, my therapist was against this, and other people I knew thought it might not be the best idea, but I was determined to try. I made sure that I did it before my prescriptions actually ran out so that in the event that I could not handle being off of them I could go back on immediately. It was a little scarey at first, and even thought at some point I could feel a change it wasn’t so bad that I had to run back to the meds. I feel good now. I have bad moments, sure, but I also often feel really good. I’ve noticed that, while I can get blue at times, my good moods are even better. I think my therapist might point out that this could be a sign of bipolar but I haven’t gone off the rational edge, not yet anyway. I’m staying off the meds, which is saving me a ton of money, not only in the cost of the meds themselves, which are quite expensive but also the price of visiting a psychiatrist every 3 months in order to get the prescriptions renewed. I also discontinued my visits to my therapist, whom I’d been seeing regularly for around two years.

I suppose I could also argue that moving back in with my parents will simplify my life and considerably ease my financial burden, plus allow me to help out my aging parents. They are both in their 80s.  When I lived with them right after I was separated it was kind of rough, but I think that had more to do with the separation than with living with my folks. Things are different now. I’ll be fine. I’ll have to be.

 

“thirtysomething”

I know, I know. I’m not thirtysomething. I’m fortysomething. I barely remember my thirtysomethings. But I do remember the show “thirtysomething”, which I have been watching  again recently. Well, not so much watching as listening to, on Hulu where all 4 seasons (85 one-hour episodes in all) are currently available while I’m  at work, because my job is so mundane and routine I need something to get me through the day. Of course, that won’t be a problem for long, will it now.

I’m actually watching/listening to an episode right now, although I’m not at work. Episode 19 of season 3. It’s the one where Hope, oh so  perfect Hope, is beginning to be attracted to this guy John that she’ s working with to kill a community trash incinerator. Of course, Michael is so into  his career at DAA, the advertising agency, he does not really notice what is going on.

Anyhoo… I remember really digging this show when it first aired in the 80s, even though it was about a bunch of whiny yuppy Boomers. But I don’t think I really understood it then. How could? I was in my early twenties. What did I know? Not like I do now, now that I’ve become a parent,have  been married, and am now divorced. It really hits home, sometimes a bit too sharply. But I can’t stop watching it.

In contrast, Generation X has it’s own mid-life TV show in Parenthood, which in some ways is a better show, but I’m probably biased.

Because of John Cusak: a story

 

Because of John Cusack


It was because of John Cusack that I contacted Josie.

I was watching that movie “High Fidelity” (based on the novel of the same name by Nick Hornby) in which John Cusack plays a character named Rob who owns a record store in Chicago and who has made rather a mess of his relationship with his current girlfriend and in an effort to understand what went wrong with his life he looks up five ex-girlfriends, the top five.  I’m not sure if Josie even qualifies as one of my top five ex-girlfriends since we were never really together to begin with. (We never got the chance to get to that point. Our relationship, such as it was, never got passed the hooking up stage. How could it? I was sort of dating my now ex-wife at the time. And Josie was in the process of relocating from Michigan to California for her job. We met at work.) But she was special, I knew that. She was smart and sweet, and I liked talking to her, a lot. I thought talking to her now might offer me some insight into where I’d gone wrong in my life.

I have to admit, though, it was more than that. Because even though our relationship never got passed that initial charged infatuation stage, I was sure that the strong feelings I had for her were genuine. I just never got the chance to tell her how I felt. Like an idiot I let her leave without divulging my true heart to her. I was too scared too. And now, now that I was divorced and truly free to pursue something with her, I guess part of me wondered if it wasn’t possible for us to pick up where we’d left off.

I found Josie on Facebook. It was amazing how little time and effort it actually took. But once I did find her I was suddenly leery about contacting her, recalling how abruptly I’d cut off communication with her. Josie hadn’t left the company that we worked for; she’d only taken a position with a division in California. Even so I figured I’d probably never hear from her again. Or maybe I just hoped that I wouldn’t. You see, by that time my now ex was pregnant with our child. It was not planned. In fact, it happened at a time when we were probably on the verge of going our separate ways. My now ex had found out about my relationship with Josie and we’d broken up but for whatever reason we weren’t done with each other. Thus she got pregnant. Anyway, we decided that we wanted to have the baby and we figured we should at least try to do it together, as a couple. Of course, that turned out to be a mistake. In a way, I knew it was mistake from the beginning (I didn’t really love her) but I didn’t feel as if I had much of a choice, and I thought it was the right thing to do. But as it turned out I did hear from Josie again, although she wasn’t the one who made first contact. I had to contact her for a project that I was working on because she had previously worked on it, before moving to California. I sent her an email. It was professional, all business. She replied in kind, answering my questions. But later she sent another email, a casual one, which essentially left the door open for some kind of friendship. I never responded, because I didn’t feel as if I could, because I knew my now ex would not have approved, would have in fact been pretty pissed. So I just let it go. Josie never sent another email. Because of that I thought she might not be very receptive to a message from me now. In fact, it might piss her off. Even so I could not refrain. I had to at least try. So I did. I sent her message via Facebook, hoping she would friend me. And then I waited.

I’ve done other things in my life because of John Cusack. Well, because of his movies anyway. For example, because of his portrayal of Lloyd Dobbler in “Say Anything” I was, in high school, inspired to stand outside of Debbie Kanacki’s house with a boom box blaring a love song in hopes of winning her heart. I did not; she was mortified and her old man threatened to kick my ass. But that didn’t discourage me from dressing like Martin Blank from Grosse Point Blank – black suite, white shirt, thin black tie – for my ten-year class reunion and telling people that I made my living as an assassin for hire. Some people found it mildly amusing, most didn’t get it, though. I’m not sure why exactly but for some reason I identify with John Cusack. I think of him as my famous doppelganger. We’re approximately the same age and sort of look alike, or so I’ve been told. If a movie was every made of my life, I’d want John Cusack to play me. And I’d want Diane Lane to play the love interest, like in “Must Love Dogs,” because she is a “…rare constellation of attributes.”

When, after a couple of weeks, I didn’t hear from Josie, I figured she just wasn’t interested in communicating with me and I gave up hope of ever hearing from her again. That was that. I’d tried and failed, which was starting to feel like the story of my life. But as soon as I resigned myself she responded. And she was actually glad to hear from me. I was over the moon, filled with a sense of possibility that I assumed had escaped me for good. However, my excitement was soon deflated when I learned that she was married and had a child. That was disappointing, to say the least.

So there was no chance of rekindling any flame that had once existed between us. Fine. That didn’t meant I that I didn’t still want to talk to her. I did. I hoped that by talking to Josie I could gain some perspective on my current circumstances. Also, I was eager to hear Josie’s take on our relationship back then, what it meant to her, because I was sure that she had felt it was special, short-lived perhaps but intense and real. I wanted to be reassured at least that we could have been together had our situations been different.

Unfortunately, Josie was reluctant to discuss such things. She was glad to hear from me and sorry that my marriage had not worked out but she wasn’t really interested in rehashing the past. I told her that I understood, even though secretly I was crushed and wanted to beg her to please reconsider. I did not, though. I swallowed any such impulse.

My restraint was rewarded, however, when a few days after our initial email exchange Josie contacted me and for whatever reason was willing to talk about our past but only under the condition that we talk about it once and only once and then never again. From then on we could be email friends and discuss books or movies or whatever but never again our romantic past. I agreed.

I wanted to know how she remembered our relationship. I wanted to know if it jived with how I remembered it. She said she recalled it as being fun and interesting, that she’d found me smart and funny and enjoyed hanging out with me and talking. I was encouraged because what she said matched my memory of things, generally. But then she said something that profoundly disappointed me. She said that ultimately she hadn’t taken the relationship seriously, that she considered it just a casual fling. In part, because she was moving on and she hadn’t wanted to get to deeply involved with anyone, but also – and this is what really bothered me – that she didn’t consider me to be the kind of guy to get seriously involved with anyway, because, she said, I struck her as the kind of guy that was only interested in sleeping with a lot of different women. She said that wasn’t a judgment on me, just an observation. Even so I couldn’t help feeling hurt. I wasn’t mad at Josie, she was just telling me the truth. But it did make me sad. I was glad that we were not discussing this matter in person, and that she could not witness my dejected reaction.

Despite that I wanted to know more. I wanted to know what she remembered specifically?

What did I mean by specifically?
I didn’t want to lead her in anyway. I wanted her to remember things on her own and my hope was that what she remembered is what I remembered. But clearly she needed a little direction. So I said, Like the day we spent in Arbor. Do you remember that?

Of course, I remember that day. Quite fondly in fact.

Yes. But what do you remember about it?

Well, I remember you coming over to my apartment. And we went and had lunch at that thai restaurant. I remember walking around downtown Ann Arbor holding hands and spending several hours in Borders bookstore. Mostly what I remember though was going out to dinner with my sister and her husband. I remember how proud I felt because I was with this smart, funny, good-looking guy. And I remember later that night back at my apartment giving you really great head.

I of course remembered that too. How could I forget? It was the best blow job I’d ever gotten, before or since. When I came in her mouth I felt as if I was sinking into the floor and out of my physical body. It was amazing, almost transcendent. And I remembered everything she detailed, but there were other things that I remembered that she didn’t mention. Maybe she’d forgotten them or maybe she just didn’t bother to mention them, didn’t consider them important. Maybe she just wanted to get through this exercise and be done with it.

That night in Ann Arbor, I was supposed to be spending the night with my college friend, whose apartment was in Ypsilanti, but instead I drove into Ann Arbor to meet Josie. (This was before my now ex found out about my involvement with Josie.) I went to her apartment. We fooled around in her bed, making out and getting naked. We didn’t have sex. We did everything but. Afterwards, we lay holding each other and I distinctly remember her saying to me, “I’ve got you, I’ve really go you, don’t I.” I didn’t say anything. I just nodded, because I wasn’t sure exactly what she meant by that, but it seemed significant, genuine and true. I’d wanted her to remember that detail specifically, but she hadn’t.

I also wanted her to remember her saying to me – not that night, but another time – that she wanted to have six babies with me. I know, it sounds crazy, but I’m sure she said it. Maybe it was just a wild notion that popped into her head. Maybe she didn’t realize what she was saying it at the time, or didn’t recall saying it now. But I do remember her saying it, because is scared the crap out me, and yet it pleased me a great deal. I wanted the same thing, I just didn’t know that I’d wanted it.

And the other thing I remember was her suggesting that I come to California with her. I actually asked Josie if she recalled saying that, but she didn’t. I believe that just she didn’t remember saying it, but that she actually did say it, I know that she did. Maybe she was the kind of person who just said things carelessly and so forgot about them later.

My romantic construct of my relationship with Josie was slowly eroding. And I didn’t like it. But what could I do. I wanted the truth, as much as that was possible. And I was getting it.

I told Josie that I wished that we’d had sex just once before she’d left, but she was glad that we hadn’t, she thought it was better that way. I disagreed. Maybe it was just one of those things that men and women differ on, fundamentally.

The first time I saw the John Cusack movie “Serendipity” – not in the theater, on cable, late at night while my now ex was fast asleep in our bed – I found myself thinking of Josie. I hadn’t thought of her in years but suddenly there she was in my head again. It was intoxicating, just as our relationship had been. Just like the relationship between John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale in the movie. In the movie the two characters meet serendipitously (thus the title) one night and fall instantly in love but since both are with other people they part, casting their faith in the belief that if they are meant to be together they will somehow meet up again one day. Maybe it’s not a spectacular movie but I was really hooked into it and in the end when the two get together I cried, silently, bitterly. I slept alone on the couch that night.

For a time Josie and I maintained a convivial correspondence, mainly through emailing but every once in awhile we’d chat online. I was enjoying our renewed relationship, such as it was, just having her to talk to was…rejuvenating.  And then out of nowhere Josie asked me if I wanted to meet for a drink. She was going to be in town for business. Of course, I jumped at the offer.

I couldn’t wait to see her. I felt that same giddy excitement that I felt when I first met her. I tried to tell myself that we were meeting as just friends, that this was not some romantic tete-a-tete, because Josie was a married woman with a child, but at the same time I couldn’t help wondering if there might be something more to our get together than just two people having a friendly drink. Maybe there was something specific that Josie wanted – no, needed to tell me face-to-face, something very important.

I arrived at the bar early and grabbed a table. I didn’t want us to have to sit at the bar. I wanted to be able to look at her, right into her eyes when we talked. I wanted to feel that spark, that soulful connection that I remembered.

When she didn’t arrive at the time we’d agreed to meet I didn’t think anything of it. She said she might be running late, because she had a long busy day at work. But then fifteen minutes passed and then a half hour. And then past a point that was reasonable. I wondered if something had happened, something bad. Like a car accident. Because if she was hung up at work wouldn’t she have called? I checked my cell phone even though I knew it was pointless. I would have felt the vibration. Maybe she’d texted me. But no, nothing.

I had another drink and waited.

I don’t know why I didn’t just call her. I mean, I was entitled to know why she was late, wasn’t I? But for some reason I couldn’t make myself dial her number. I guess because I knew what she would say, that she wasn’t coming. This way there was still a chance that she might show up. There was still hope.

I can imagine her entrance, like something out of a movie.

Tracing the grain of the wood table top with my finger, I look up just as she enters. She’s dressed in business attire, a dark skirt and white blouse, but she’s let her strawberry blonde hair down, probably undid it out in the car before coming inside, running her hands through the silky mass several times while checking  her look in the rearview mirror of her rental car. She smiles when our eyes meet, a little coyly, blushing slightly. The world seems to stop as she crosses the room, all eyes focused on her. Finally, she reaches the table and slides into the chair across from me. She beams beautifully at me. And I know that I’ve got her, I’ve really got her.

But of course that didn’t happen. Life isn’t like a movie. I just want it to be.

The ice melts in my glass.

Voldemort vs Darth Vader: a new generational debate

After seeing the final installment in the Harry Potter series this past weekend with my daughter a discussion was sparked. I asked my daughter who she thought was more evil — Darth Vader or Voldemort. Upon reflection she said Voldemort, reasoning that it was because it took seven movies to kill Voldemort and only six to kill Darth Vader. Furthermore Darth Vader wasn’t even Darth Vader and therefore not even evil until the end of episode 3. So really, according to my daughter, it took like 3.5 movies to kill Darth Vader. Plus, Darth Vader redeems himself in the end, at the end of Return of the Jedi, when he saves Luke by tossing the Emperor’s evil ass over the rail and into…whatever that was.

A pretty good argument, I thought.

I didn’t argue against it, although I suppose I could have said that fact that Darth Vader was once Luke’s and Leia’s father made his intentions all the more evil, since he was trying to recruit his children to the dark side. I mean, come on, what kind of dad does that? But, in the end, he didn’t. He redeemed himself. So, I suppose that’s not much of an argument.

Speaking of redemption one of my favorite things about the final Harry Potter movie was the Snape story line, how he turns out to be a redeemable character in the end,  who played a very dangerous duplicitous role with Voldemort all in the name of saving Harry in the end. And why? Because Snape loved Harry’s mother Lilly so much, that he was dedicated to her to the end. I knew there was something about Snape’s storyline that I liked. Of course, I suppose I would have known that had I read the books but I never finished the series. I only read the first three.

My ex-wife and I used to read them aloud in bed together when she was pregnant. She kept reading them on her own while I stopped. I suppose I could always pick them up again if I find that I don’t have anything else to read. I could read them along with Addy. She’s just started the first one. She and I could read them together.

 

 

Border’s Liquidation Sale

Went over to the Borders over on Woodward in Birmingham today to check out the sales earlier today, and I have to say I was a bit disappointed. I’d been hearing that books were discounted up to 40%, but the only thing I saw discounted at 40% was the greeting cards. Most of the books were only discounted by 10 %, which was cool for the majority of the fiction, the genre I’m most interested in, because usually most of the fiction is NOT discounted at all. However, pre-liquidation, new books were often discounted at much 30% but not now. Seemed a bit of a jip, I guess.

Despite my disappointment, I did buy a book,  a novel by Douglas Coupland entitled Player One: What is to Become of Us. This novel was pubbed in 2010 but seeing it in the bookstore today was the first I’d heard of it. And there was only one copy so I guess I count myself somewhat lucky. Otherwise I might never have learned of it.

It was kind of depressing. I couldn’t help wondering how this was going to effect the publishing industry — opportunities for writers, especially new, as yet unpublished writers, of which I am one. I suppose that even though I don’t do much writing (of fiction that is) these days I still hold this hope that one day I’ll get my shit together and put together publishable book. For some reason, the closing of Borders seems to make that less likely than ever, although why precisely I couldn’t say.

Of course, even if the likelihood of getting a book published has diminished, that doesn’t mean one can’t continue to write. That’s what I found myself thinking today while wandering the store. It made me think that maybe it’s time to start just throwing up my fiction here on my blog. Why not? So that’s what I’m considering.

In the past, I never wanted to do that. For some reason I thought it would hinder my chances of getting a story a bit of novel pubbed, that  publications weren’t going to want to pub a story that had already been thrown up on the web, although I’ve no hard evidence that this is true. Is it? I don’t know.

So I’m thinking that that’ll be  goal for this week, to try and get a story up here on my blog. See what happens. Probably nothing. But I don’t see how it could hurt. Do you?

 

 

The source of my angst ….today

Sometimes I just can’t help wondering where it comes from, this angst. I wake up and I’m fine, I feel good. And then I remember that the AC was running all night because it was so damn hot last night and I start wondering how much that is going to cost me. I’m scared to get my power bill this month. Because when I first moved in my second power bill was enormous and it seemed out of whack but of course I couldn’t convince the customer service jag-off of that and so what else could I do but pay  it. I can’t afford big power bills but if I dont’ pay it that fucks up my credit rating and…..

It’s six a.m. and I know exactly where I am, and I wish that I could be anywhere else. I try to go back to sleep for thirty minutes but my mind is racing already so you can forget about a few extra winks. And I remember that I won’t be seeing my daughter today after work; she’s going with her mom to a BBQ. And that makes me sad. I’ve got nothing planned for this evening, no distractions. Everyone I know is busy, has plans, or just not responding. I feel as if I have no friends.  I suppose I could go to my parents’ for dinner. I’m always welcome there, I know. But sometimes….I don’t know.

Then, I got to work this morning and when I went to check my gmail account there was no job alerts. I get these job alerts delivered to my email in-box via indeed.com. And when they weren’t there I felt this panic because there always there. But I mean, really, what’s the big deal anyway? I could easily just go to indeed.com and do the searches myself. But for some reason it bothers me. And I begin to really worry about my job situation, that I’ll never find another job, or if I do it will be some piece of crap job that I won’t have any choice but to take and I’ll be stuck with it forever.

And like that I’m having a crap day, one like I haven’t had in awhile. I can’t even concentrate enough for the measly hour of my lunch break to enjoy reading a book.

But then, after my lunch break, I sit down at my desk and check my email and there they are — the job alerts. And yeah, out of the dozens of jobs listings there’s only one that I can really apply for and even that is a long-shot, it’s better than nothing. There’s hope.