Work Rant

October 28, 2008

Have I mentioned that I don’t really like my job?  I can’t really find anything else to do (although I have a ton of things that I would like to be employed doing but they require more or different education or a connection into state government that I don’t seem to have) so I just stick this out.  The work is a little tedious which I could live with if the atmosphere was fun.  It’s not.  I don’t really like the people I work with.  Scratch that, I don’t really know the people I would with.  It’s nothing like my old job.  I loved those girls, still do.  We don’t socialize, I am never invited to lunch, I have a couple of conversations with one woman on a weekly basis but other than that….nothing.  I once went a whole day and the only thing I said to anyone was “Good Morning…”

And then there is the paralegal whose daughter had a baby in May, one month after I lost Baby B and she doesn’t work so she is in the office with the baby regularly.  And her mother sits across from my office.  I can’t get up and shut the door because that would be rude but I can’t stand to hear, “oh what a pretty little girl” over and over again.  Apparently no one thinks this would bother me.  And I think that’s what bothers me the most, particularly since this paralegal lost a son when he was just days old.  You’d think she’d be conscious of this.  Or she is and just doesn’t care.

No one asks me how I am doing, how I am feeling?  No one acknowledges when they see me running to the bathroom with tears coming down my face or my eyes are obviously red from crying.  It’s weird because they were super-supportive when I was in the hospital and then home on bedrest but now it’s like they have forgotten. 

Maybe they have.

If this were a better economic market, I would look for a new job but with little savings (thanks to six weeks of procedures and bedrest), medical bills being paid off and Hubby just now getting paid for full-time work, it’s not a good idea.  Plus, when I do get pregnant again in the next month or two (fingers crossed), I don’t want to be starting a new job and then bailing in 9 months for maternity leave.  I would love to save some money during my pregnancy and then find a new job while out on maternity leave.  I don’t see that happening though.

This just seems like another part of my life that I can’t seem to get right.

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Love Letters

October 2, 2008

I wish I could post the emails that I get from my dearest friends but there is a selfish part of me that wants them all to myself.  I cherish them like they are little expensive chocolates given as a gift and I don’t want to share.  I savor them, looking at them over and over until I finally devour them.  These notes are so special and so wonderful that every single one has made me cry.  The people who send these notes – Karla, Deb, Jess, Jenn-Jenn, Angie, KB, Gretchen, Frankie, Judy, Lou, Marilyn, Cindy and many others – they write down their warm thoughts and hopes and wishes for me, taking time from their own busy lives, jobs and families, putting aside their own happiness and problems to make sure that I know that they love me and miss me and hurt with me and for me.  These notes are little gifts.

I used to feel lonely in my grief.  When this first happened, I felt all alone and frustrated – like I wrote about in yesterday’s post.  I obviously still have days like that.  I would wrestle with bouts of hope and sadness, happiness and anger.  I was starting to feel a little bipolar.  I tried my little “gratitude list” where I would repeat things I was thankful for when the voices in my head turned dark and negative.  It hard though, to try and talk yourself out of the negative.  I am my own worst critic, my own worst enemy.  That inner voice can talk me into a full blown meltdown quicker than even my mother – and that’s saying something.

So upon reading a really wonderful, mascara-ruining, snot-icle creating (snot-icles are my hubby’s word for when you cry so hard that the snot hangs out of your nose like an icicle – a “snot-icle”), email this morning from Deb, I am taking these “love letters” and I am printing them out (what? You think I deleted them? Oh no…never) and I am carrying them with me in my purse.  When that voice of doubt and sadness and anger and pain starts shouting to me, I am pulling out my love letters.  When those feelings of sadness and self-doubt and worthlessness rear their ugly heads, I’m reading my letters.  Even if I have to pull over on the way home from work, I will do it.

Besides, reading these letters are better than muttering to myself in Target like an escaped mental patient.