Moving On

I’m really moving on in so many ways these days, that my head is almost spinning.

There’s the literal moving of home, which is now 95% complete, and will be finished before close of business today. And while this moving is the most immediate and phyisically demanding, it’s not the hardest.

I’m a clinger. I hate change of any kind. but I love growth, and growth demands change.

I’m learning that it’s okay for some people not to be in my life, even if their influence is mostly positive, and especially when their influence is mostly negative. Time may be infinite in the long term, but in the short term, there is a distinct shortage. It reminds me of that joke that in the long run, the market will fix itself, but as Keynes says, ‘in the long run, we are all dead.’

Letting go of fanciful notions is a tough process, too, and it’s one that pushes me into cynicism, as if I am not jaded enough. My One True Love is not my one true love. Heck, even my crushes are no longer my crushes. This aspect of moving on is one that is so healthy, but not so healthy, too, because it makes me build walls every time. I still have some growing to do in this department.

Instead of letting go and letting God, I am simply letting go of God. If he is really all-knowing, he will know why, and perhaps if he can see the future, he can see my eventual return, or maybe I won’t return. The universe I envision does not include a God who needs or wants worship. He seems far too laissez faire for that.

That post is still coming, but the boxes are beckoning.

Why So Silent?

There’s nothing like moving to demonstrate to oneself how much of a consumer one is. 

I am tempted to just light a match to everything and start over.

But then, I would have to walk around naked. 

And that is good for no one.

That’s a Stabbin!

Despite my two week notice, I still had to go to a training class for two days this week. And the nerd in me rejoiced. I love the theorhetics of my job. If my job happened all on paper, and it mattered more what I knew than how I executed it in the face of reality, I would be golden.

But yesterday marked the return to the face of reality. Despite my jaded cynicism, I’m still an limited optimist. See, I drink the koolaid; I think that our Operations Systems are there for a reason, and the best run stores are those that run according to Systems. 

So, I went to work yesterday, and gave it the old college try. There was TTMing and Coaching going on, and I decided it was time to hold people accountable. So what if it was my last two weeks; there was going to be decorum on my last shifts, and it was going to be driven by me.

It started with the iPod. “Jane Doe, you are on order taker, you can’t have your iPod in.”

“I’ve had in on all day.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have. Put it away.”

And after some huffing and puffing, it was put away. 

Except that Jane Doe was now pissed, and proceeded to SLAM the window everytime it closed and opened. 

“Jane, you really can’t be slamming the window. Please stop.”

And then I moved on. “Joan Doe, you’re leaving at seven, so I need you to make sure all the salads are moved over and everything is stocked and cleaned.”

Imagine, Joan Doe didn’t give me a problem. She simply said, “Okay, I’m working on it.” I said thank you and moved on…

…to Jane Doe, who was leaving at 8.

“Jane, I really need you to be working on those dishes. They’re piling up back there.”

“No, I don’t want to do them.”

“Well, if they’re not done by eight, you don’t get to leave, so I suggest you do them now. Seriously, please just go do your dishes.”

I won’t recount anymore of the discussion, because it was both tedious and completely out of control. This girl had a meltdown. The swearing and the screaming on her part led to a phone call on my part to my supervisor, in which I completely lost it and threw my keys across the office and slammed the door in a fit of rage, and a declaration that I wasn’t going to make it the final week and a half.  It was not pretty.

But even uglier was the scene that ensued when I tried to get Jane Doe gracefully out the door, so as not to impact the operations of my restaurant any further. While I was switching drawers, she told whomever she was speaking to on the phone, that she was going to “stab that bitch.”

Three guesses as to who the bitch in question was.

All over dishes. 

God Almighty, I need a nice, serene job. Stat.

The Downside of Happiness

I know without a doubt that quitting my well-paying job, and trading my salary for my happiness is the right thing to do, but there are those little thoughts that just nag at me sometimes.

Like, the fact that Christmas is two months away, and my low paying new job, if I find one, just won’t buy quality Christmas gifts. 

This was supposed to be the year that I could afford really great gifts for everyone. I had finally landed myself a “real” job, and could gift accordingly. 

Ah, but life totally gets in the way. 

And I know, I know. Christmas isn’t about the gifts, yadda yadda.

But it still makes me a little sad inside.

Growing Up and Letting Go

Today was a big day for me. 

Today is the day I finally let go of even the idea that we will ever be more than friends. And now that the closure is here, I don’t care if he reads this. I mean, I doubt he even knows where my blog is, but even still. 

I think what finally did it was the sheer ridiculousness of the whole thing. The trait I value most in myself–my intelligence–is why he rejects me as anything more than a friend. I was standing at the kitchen table, carefully constructing my dinner, and I just laughed, quite literally, out loud at the thought of it. 

At work, Barb asked me if I were in a serious relationship with someone else, and Justin wanted to get together, would I leave that person for Justin. I said in all sincerity that I would not.

And then everyone I talked to proceded to disbelieve me. 

Which I gotta tell ya, makes me wonder what kind of girl my friends take me for. 

I mean, I know that when I fall, I fall. If I like you, I adore you and that’s that. I would do absolutely anything for you. 

Anything that would not compromise my integrity. I would never make a serious commitment to someone and then just ditch them because someone “better” came along. 

And someone who has been blind (willfully or not, I am not sure) to my affection for five years is not “better” than someone who would actually make a real and lasting commitment to me. 

I relayed the Barb story to Justin and his response was, “Crystal, you’re just too smart for me. I could never be with someone as smart.”

The line is, and has for some time, been clearly drawn. I was just too stubborn to see it. 

Now that I’ve moved past this barrier, it’s time to start knocking some of the other walls down.

Another Pill

“Just take another pill.” 

We all laughed. 

I was upstairs with Bret and Kora, whining about being incapable of putting together a resume. 

“I just have all this anxiety about it.”

“Why?”

“I have nothing to put on it. No skills.”

“Sure you do. You’re an assistant manager. Talk about all your responsibilities, how many people you manage. Stuff like that. Just make it basic.”

It should be easy, right? I should just be able to open a Word Doc and type and lay it all out there, and then whatever. I mean, there are templates all over the place. 

But the mental block is just there. 

And it needs to die in a fire!

Dear Self,

Despondency, abject tiredness, alcohol–even in small quantities, and blogging do not mix. 

Please keep this in mind. 

Helpfully yours, 

You

NB: Who the hell pushed my view count from 14 to 95? You impress me.

That’s It

The decision is final. I’m just not very good at my job. I can’t continue to have days like this and be okay with it.

I just can’t. So much for development.

I am sooooo angry, I can’t even write about how I had to physically get in the middle of a fight, in the middle of my busy f’n lunch time, and how the police came and how I had so few people to run the floor with that I actually had to lock the dining room.

Anger.

And screw my homework, too. I don’t care about the stupid degree, that even if I get, I’ll never use.

Anger.

Anger.

Anger.

Battered Housewife

I know everybody hates their license picture, much like most cringe at the sound of their own voices, but mine takes the cake. 

Anyone who sees it draws back in abject horror and simply says, “Crystal!” 

I look like a battered housewife. Like he had to tell me twice. Both of my eyes look black and swollen. What do you want after a year and half of 3-4 hours of sleep a night. I was tired. 

Kind of like I am now. The only difference is I have now slept 8 hour nights for two nights in a row and my eye hurts. 

Once again, I look like a battered wife, but the why is a mystery. While I was already meeting with my doctor, I asked her about it, and apparently, it exhibits all the symptoms of a sty, but no sty is to be found. So, just meaningless pain and ugliness. Awesome!

It has been the theme of the week, actually. I spent Wednesday night puking my guts out (ugly and meaninglessly), in complete, raw throat pain, praying for relief.

Thursday was spent in bed, weak and tired and cranky and heavy, just not moving. I thought maybe strep throat.

Went to the doctor today and the sum total of all of my ailments is a higher dose of my current meds, something to help with the anxiety, maybe I have crazy allergies, and maybe a sty will appear over the weekend.

All this pain amounts to a big nothing. There is nothing really wrong with me, but I am going to stay in bed, just in case.

I don’t want him to have to tell me twice.

The Pickup Window

I rocked the 2.5 hour sleepy time, sandwiched between lots and lots of work. Not only was I exhausted, but I was also pleasant, positive, productive, as well as punch drunk.

I like me that way. And apparently, so does everybody else. I got hit on by three separate cars full of guys. Attractive guys, nonetheless.

The last carful was the most entertaining. Three guys from Mass Maritime. They asked me when I was getting out of work. 

“Late, very late,” I answered with a wry grin.

“You should come hang out with us,” the one with the cute smile urged.

“I don’t make it a habit to associate with guys I meet in the drive thru. Never ends well.” I continue to grin as his buddies all laugh.

“Ohh, c’mon.”

“Look me up on Facebook,” I tease. “Or better yet, Craiglist, under missed connections.”

That does it. The laughter goes up a notch and I smile the smile I only smile when I feel completely at ease and in total control of a situation. 

“Enjoy your food, guys,” I say, my hand pushing the window closed, and they drive away. 

Missed connection, indeed.