Afraid of Change, Afraid of Staying the Same
I broke my toe last week. I thought you should know that, since I never seem to talk about anything except physical maladies around here. I tripped over the dog on our way back in from a walk and crunched my pinky toe against the back deck. The urgent care that I elected to visit to procure an x-ray was run by a group of people who'd surely very recently escaped from a sanitarium, as the nurse -- who could not detect my blood pressure and had to call for backup, subsequently forgetting to tell the doctor that I was waiting in the exam room for 35 minutes -- was clearly stoned. Also, it seemed that the x-ray tech had never before been asked to take a picture of a small toe, which yielded a fast-forward-style Benny Hill comedy act that ended in her grabbing my toe and bending it sideways, stopping only when I yelped and jumped 16 feet in the year. Her reaction: "Oh, sorry. I forgot." Apparently she thought I was having my toe x-rayed because blowing three hours in the local urgent care is my idea of a rip-snorting good time.
Anyway. I have a boot cast thingy that I have to wear for the next four weeks or so. Could've been worse. Could've been my femur or clavicle or something.
We've picked ourselves up an extra dog, as if the existing dog, four cats, and bird weren't sufficient. The dog's a foster; we're taking care of him for a local rescue group until they find him a permanent home. Some idiots left him alone and starving in an abandoned building, and the rescue group yanked him out of the pound right before they were going to euthanize him. He's a tremendously sweet dog, the only problem being that he was never properly socialized, yet exists in the frame of a 65-pound boxer/mastiff body. I find it very sweet that he wants to run across the room to pounce joyously upon my ribcage, yet am rather less excited about the ensuing flesh wounds.
There I go again about injuries.
I've been meaning to update the blog for a long time now, because I've really had a lot to tell. I just wasn't allowed to tell it until very recently.
After November's nervous breakdown, my job situation continued to degrade to the point where I was fairly sure I was placed upon this earth to stare blankly into space for eight hours a day just so I could go home and watch cable shows about forensic detectives. Around the same time, there was some family stuff happening, and it all became just a pinch more than I could bear. One Sunday in February, I told Marc that I wanted to take a leave of absence from my job, both to help my family and even more just to Figure Things Out. This was not the most opportune time to be rendering oneself without gainful employment what with Marc being in school full-time and not working, but I had reached a point where keeping my grasp on sanity was somewhat akin to dangling from a crumbling Nepalese precipice with only dental floss tied around my waist. I wanted to want to like my job, to do what I was supposed to do to support us, but I wasn't strong enough to stay.
I ran away from Corporate America with the goal of living my life in a way that made sense to me. I started doing freelance web work, first for a few local companies, then part-time in-office for a local nature preserve. It was scary there for a while. For the first couple of months, I couldn't get enough work and was afraid I'd have to go back to the corporate world at the end of my designated leave. I thought I'd failed us because I was too scared and lazy to suck it up for our greater good.
Then I got a little more work, and then just a little more, and just recently, I lucked into a contract position with a software company. The hours are flexible and I can work from home. I'm also continuing to work part-time for the nature preserve, not because of the money (which is marginal at best) but because I like it there, and I like being part of something that does good for the world. The rest of my time is occupied designing web sites for non-profits. I'm busier than hell, working 60 hours a week, falling exhausted into bed at night, and I have never been happier. Our TiVo is filled with shows that I watch when I want to rather than because doing so passes the time.
Last week, Marc drove me to my former workplace so I could turn in my ID and collect things from my cubicle. When we walked into the office, I was almost knocked over by the feel of the place. That thick, stiff air that lives in office buildings mixed with overtones of copier toner and chemical cleaners. The fluorescent lights that causes everyone to squint just a little. The eery quiet despite thousands of people hidden behind six-feet-tall cubicle walls, everyone afraid to speak or laugh over the din of typing taps and mouse clicks.
I put my belongings in a box, wished my coworkers well, signed the paperwork that said I wouldn't reveal any company secrets, and walked out for good. It was humid and raining a little, the air felt clean and familiar, and I knew I'd made the right decision, because outside that office is the inside of this new world I've created. I can stand to breathe here, and I never knew how important that was until I found the courage to stop doing what I was supposed to.
posted by Kate at 10:30 PM link/comments
