Jennifer Leah’s blog

No one gets out of this life alive.  Never is that more evident than in a hospice.  After a painful battle with leukemia, my uncle felt his life forces wane.  The struggle is becoming too great a burden, the treatments seem to be killing him as ferociously as the disease.  His wife’s eyes are reflecting his pain, watching as his body begins to shrink, as the spirit loosens itself from its earthly domain.

I had never been in a hospice before.  I’m not quite sure what I had expected, but I was completely overwhelmed.  As I walked through the front doors, doors that were made large enough for stretchers and teams of medical professionals, I could smell it.  It was the ubiquitous stench of death, and it was part of the tapestry.  Death was engrained in the carpet that we walked upon; it seeped from the walls that protected the patients from the elements for the last time; it was engraved in the paintings that adorned the walls and witnessed countless final breaths; it masked the faces of the staff, etched in the lines of their kind expressions. 

Death was a constant visitor to this place.  He had, in fact, just visited and taken the patient in the room across the hall from my uncle.  The man across the hall was being wheeled out of the room, his eyes open (oh God…why couldn’t they at least close his eyes?).  His mouth was gaping, as though he had been surprised to see Death—or perhaps, surprised by the feeling.  Maybe it wasn’t as he had expected, but this man now knew the final mystery of life, and he was infinitely wiser than I.

And Death, that dastardly being, sat in the corner of my uncle’s room.  He appeared to be patient, but would glance at his watch.  And only he knows how many hours, how many more breaths, remain.  The sole labor of my uncle’s life now is to breathe and each breath is a great work of strength.  And there will be no miracles.  Death is imminent.  It is waiting. 

This morning, I awoke and watched as my mind ran amok.  My thoughts ricocheted from the walls and continuously assailed me.  My eyelids felt as though they were glued shut; my body was tired and still in need of restorative slumber.  But my mind…my mind had other plans.

To what shall I attribute these racing thoughts?  Has Mademoiselle Writer finally decided to show her dastardly and maddeningly elusive self?  Perhaps—though I suspect that I need to digest yesterday, as a snake needs time to fully digest its kill. 

Firstly, I had lunch with a few of my now-former co-workers yesterday.  Seeing them enter the restaurant was like being reunited with family…for a moment.  The conversation centered around The Job, the drama, the stress and the endless race.  It made me at once thankful not to be as stressed as they clearly were, but it also made me feel pensive.  Life had resumed, the routine had continued (and fairly unaltered at that); even though my world had been completely turned on its head and is in a precarious and seemingly perpetual state of “what the hell?” the corporate world still turns and does not miss me.  I seem to be the only one who is struggling to move on. 

I’m not arrogant enough to presume that the world would collapse without me.  I feel slightly daunted, and extremely tired.  I am faced with the inevitable task of starting over, yet again.  I will build new relationships; I will hopefully befriend new co-workers (or fellow students, if that is the path that I am lucky enough to find).  But I must first somehow punctuate the previous chapter, and I have so far failed in my efforts to do so. 

I have realized, however, that I’ve been awarded a gift in this joblessness of mine.  As I watched my co-workers reluctantly box their lunches for fear of being late, I realized how little time mattered to me.  More succinctly, I understood that, with the exception of showing up on time to work my shifts at Starbucks, I could do what I wanted, whenever I so chose.  Directors, people of “importance” (in their own minds), do not matter to me.  They have only as much significance as I choose to give them now (in as much as I indulge my anger).

And so the voices came this morning, and they have stirred my mind, along with recollections of yesterday.  The voices, those of characters yet unwritten, of my great toil and sorrow.  I lurk in the shadow of the opus that has plagued me with its ubiquitous presence, trapping me in a prison of work that I must do, of a tale that I must tell.  I am reminded of it every day, every hour, every moment…and yet, I am so very afraid.  I fear that I will fail.  I fear that I am not great, cognizant that greatness is only a means, but not merely an end.

Please, God, let me be great. 

I woke up at the crack of noon, changed the kitty litter (because I want Chewy and Magic to remain my friends—I’m such a kiss ass like that) and showered.  And then…nothing. 

Melinda and I had lunch at the Fox Chapel Yacht Club.  We lazily gazed at the Allegheny River while we consumed a few alcohol-laced beverages (by the way: “a few” is the deliberately nebulous code for “more than two”).  Delicious.  Lazy.  Amazing.  And yes, friends, this fabulously relaxing, unproductive and indolent afternoon was brought to you by the letters “F” and “U,” directed straight at my former employer. You can run the rat race and I will become beautifully intoxicated, while enjoying a riverside lunch on a MONDAY AFTERNOON.

Who’s laughing now?

With all of the negativity of my previous blog entry, I have to admit that things aren’t as dire as they seem.  If given the proper perspective, it may actually be said that I’ve been awarded a gift by my former employer.  There are moments in life when one is standing on the precipice of change and blatantly refuses to jump—so she must be pushed.  In order for the next stage of my life to commence, I had to be forced out of my comfortable complacency and forcefully thrown into a new era. 

And I have to admit that, by the time I was “forcefully thrown”, I was dreadfully miserable and hated my job.

I may have spent my entire career there, wasting my talents and dulling my mind in the daily drudgery that became my position.  While I adored my co-workers and my immediate supervisor, the truth is that I had never been taken seriously by those who could nurture my career advancement, nor was there any room for me to diversify my role.  In short, I had been pigeonholed because positions were being eliminated and the possibility to advance had dissipated.  Even if I had been able to keep my position, I would have been mired there permanently.  It will take a very long time for those who stayed to advance in their roles, if they ever do.  For me, my former company was not my destination.  Given my increasing dissatisfaction, my departure was inevitable.  (And, in all honesty, I lacked any true aspiration to continue in the HR/corporate world.  I’ve grown to hate them both.)

So, why did I stay in a job that I grew to loathe?  The main reason was, simply, fear.  The economy and lack of jobs frightened me.  At my former company, I had thought (falsely) that I was “safe.”  I felt impervious to the economic ruin around me because of the relative financial success that the company for which I worked was experiencing.  I knew of many people who had lost their jobs; I foolishly and naively thought that I would not be one of them.

But there is a time and a purpose for everything, and the significance of my most recent life-quake (and there have been many this year) may have been the universe telling me that it’s time to challenge myself to find meaning.  It’s finally time to matter.  Though I am not yet sure about what that entails, when I am able to see beyond the anger and fear, I suspect that it will be rather exciting.   I hope it will.  As I was leaving the office for the final time (and as Loss Prevention hovered disapprovingly), a friend said that she knew that I would accomplish “big things.”  I pray to God that she’s right.  I can accept nothing less; otherwise, I will have failed myself and all of my lofty ideologies.

It’s time to matter. 

You know what irks me?  What really annoys me??  The phenom known as "Survivor's Guilt."  It's an interesting juxtaposition of guilt and relief.  It's most commonly experienced in a battlefield/war setting; soldiers lose their comrades and wonder why they've survived, but their friends, sadly, didn't.  They start to wonder what fair providence allowed them to live, and why people who are sometimes braver and wiser tragically fell.  They're at once grateful and guilty about being alive.

To a much smaller degree, Survivor's Guilt is experienced by those who remain after the layoff massacre happens.  The thing that makes me a terrible person is that I really don't want to hear/care about someone else's Survivor Guilt; I'm much too busy worrying about my next job/career/paycheck to feel badly for those who have been "left behind."  It's tacky and cruel to complain about your job to someone who has been let go.

Example #1: I'm at my low-paying part-time job when a now former co-worker comes in to tell me that she's "so sorry" and that everyone feels badly, and it's tough to be in the office now, and blah blah blah.  Wow, I'm sorry you're going through that.  Let's trade places--you can be unemployed and I'll be sad in the office (and collecting a paycheck and benefits).

Example #2: I was complaining about my unexpected dental and car expenses on a semi-public forum. One of my now former co-workers had the audacity to complain about her job in the middle of my "I need a root canal and a tire, but I don't have benefits nor do I live near a Pep Boys" lament.  According to her, I'm living the high life--at least I don't have to listen to employees complain about getting their paychecks late because of the holiday.  Again, let's switch places.  I'll listen to employees whine about late paychecks, and you can worry about getting one.

Please don't think that I'm bitter and hateful.  I truly do feel that I've had incredible support from 99% of my former co-workers, and that I would consider most of them to be my friends.  There are days when I find it very difficult to keep the sadness and trepidation at bay.  Maybe I'm too sensitive, but hopefully, a little sensitively can be utilized from those who remain.

I don't know how to handle all of this freedom.  I don't have to be anywhere at any specific time...it's so weird.  The only exception would be my shifts at Starbucks.  My caffeine addiction needs to pay for itself somehow.

It feels REALLY strange not to be able to spend money as freely as I did before, and having to count my pennies.  Instead of actually buying lunch, I went to the mall and ate samples at the food court and then ate at Mom's.  (I actually LOVE eating samples; even when I 'had money'-last week!-I would eat samples instead of a meal.  Much more variety.)  I'm a bit obsessed with NOT spending $$ and getting free stuff.  I am painfully cognizant of the bills that are forthcoming; namely, the COBRA payments.  The last time I was unemployed, COBRA very nearly broke me.  And not having health coverage simply isn't an option for someone with a "pre-existing condition." 

So I suppose that I'm not really "free," as my trepidation over my finances is binding. 

Oh yeah, I received a parking ticket today, as well.  Never going to Aspinwall again.  Bastards.

Day three...stopped by a random pastry/espresso shop on a whim and ate Nutella crepes (heaven!).  I've spent this beautiful day in the city, not missing work. Not missing my job. 

My one weak moment was when I longed to tell my now-former co-workers about the fabulous crepes.  They're fellow foodies, the only people who would truly understand how highly regarded and appreciated the crepes should be.  Other than that...NOT missing you, Birdie.  I even drank a beer (ok, 2 beers, but who's counting?) at 2 in the afternoon.

Take that, stale and crusty office.

In my three-line Twitter bio, I brazenly proclaim that "I love food.  I love cats.  I hate everything else."  Maybe I was a bit hasty in this brief and snarky bio.  I didn't mean it. 

Don't misunderstand--I still love food (as evidenced by the stress eating that I've been practicing in the wake of my stressful state during the past few months).  But when I claimed to "love" cats, it was definitely a half-truth...I guess that's Corporate America's nasty legacy.  To definitively clarify,  I love MY cats.  Period.  That would be Chewbacca and Magic only.  All other cats can go to catnip-sniffing, bunny-murdering hell.

Cats are, by nature, self-absorbed furballs who take no notice of anyone or anything outside of their own killing sprees.  Screw you, cats.  As the book I am currently reading suggests, they are little more than moveable decorations. 

Basically, my cats are awesome and your cats suck. Just sayin'.

Kitty

Unemployment, Day Two (because the weekend doesn't count): I woke up this morning feeling like I wanted to ninja-kick the world...after I was physically able to get out of bed. It was SO difficult not to lash out at the minute irritations that inevitably crossed my path.  I feel as though I am made of stone, and I wish that was so.  My heart has been broken (though NOT irrevocably).  I am absolutely dumbfounded today; why am I in so much pain because I lost a job that I honestly disliked?  This should be a positive change.  I never have to drudge to work in the cold corporate environment again. This thought is at once thrilling and terrifying. 

But the depression has returned.  Like a specter that was long been shrouded in the background, my feelings of hurt, of anguish, of hopelessness have returned with a vengeance.  It's laughing at me, at my foolishness for thinking, for hoping, for praying that I could forever elude The Demon.  Once again, my emotions have become shards of glass and are cutting me inside.  I'm saddened at the present, I'm angry at the past, and I'm terrified of the future. 

I spent the morning with The Boy and the afternoon with a friend who is navigating the uncertainty of unemployment, as well.  I drank wine, I ate ice cream and I made every effort to enjoy my life.  I know that happiness will return after my heart heals.  Right now, though, depression rules me…and it is such a bastard on so many levels.  I no longer enjoy eating or drinking.  Getting up from the couch can be a completely overwhelming and arduous endeavor, and I have to beg my mind to create coherent thoughts at times.  I saw three of my former co-workers today and almost broke down in a hysterical fit.  I miss them so very much.  I feel as though I've been severed from my family.  In the devious mechanics of corporate eliminations, I was denied the opportunity to bid farewell to my friends.  I didn't even get a damn cake (and here's the kicker--a temp received a goodbye cake only a few short weeks ago as she was leaving; I received the contemptuous glares of Loss Prevention).

So, in the stages of grief (because all massive change, good and bad, must inevitably be grieved), I suppose I am feeling the anger.  I just don't understand how one can look at her/himself in the mirror and say, "I have to let people go today, I have to forever affect their lives and happiness.  I will throw financial and emotional hardships at them...but it's my job and I am willing to do it, as long as I get paid.  Because they won't be paid any longer.  But it's not my problem, is it?"

And as I’ve long believed, karma’s a bitch.

Day One:  I'm officially unemployed.  Exactly 24 hours ago, I took the dreadful walk into my now-former director's office and was told the company "didn't have a role" for me any longer.  Though not entirely unexpected, my lower lip quivered as we discussed the details of my termination.  It was nothing but a cold business deal.  I forced myself to focus on the paperwork and held my head high as I marched back to my desk for the final time. 

My immediate supervisor, Glaze, was amazing.  He stayed by my side as I took a deep breath and packed my things…pictures, awards from the company (what a joke), plants, mugs.  He found a box for me and helped me to fill it and carry it to my car.  And he promised to take me to Five Guys and make me eat a hamburger.  :c)  How I did not break down as I packed my belongings, as I hugged my teary-eyed now-former co-workers, as I ducked from the harsh glares of Loss Prevention, I do not know.  I felt overwhelmed with the uncertainty of the future...but most of all, I felt the sharp pangs of separation.  I will not miss my job, nor will I miss the company and the cold corporate environment.  I will, however, most certainly miss my co-workers.  They became my second family.  I laughed with them, shared my joys with and my sorrows with them--loved them.  It is the camaraderie that I will miss most. 

And so, life goes on, job or no job.  I woke up this morning and thought, "Now what?"  It is so very odd not to truly have a purpose, not to have to be anywhere at any specific time.  I've been unemployed before, and I completely wasted what should have been an excellent opportunity.  I am determined NOT to repeat that mistake this time.

But now, at least for today, I am going to enjoy my newly-found "freedom."  Maybe I'll drink a beer for lunch and catch up on my reading.  Life is still good, albeit enigmatic.