do over, please?
I’m up way past my bedtime. It’s approaching 2 am here in Denver, and like the good ole days when I first started blogging, I find myself still awake and full of thoughts.
Friday just wasn’t a good day. It started out pretty good. I got enough sleep. And I was happy–looking forward to a productive morning. Looking forward to an early wrap. And it was payday. I’ve had several days of careful budgeting, so payday meant a lot of my stress would finally alleviate.
Only my check wasn’t in my account, as it always is on paydays. I immediately checked to make sure I hadn’t misread the payroll schedule then pinged our payroll rep. She explained there had been an email sent last night–which I never got–saying there was an issue with our payroll vendor. The issue was supposed to be resolved, but the CFO wasn’t confident it actually was. So, they wired all of us our checks. and we should have it by 12 noon EST, at the latest. Welp, that didn’t happen. It didn’t happen by 2 pm either. Around 4 pm EST, some coworkers got theirs–albeit for wrong amounts–but about 1/2 the company still hadn’t been paid by end of business. The CFO asked us to email him if we were affected.
It was pretty much the worst timing ever for me. Because things had been so lean, I really needed to be paid on time. Even a day delay meant big annoyances for me. So, I was a bit on edge and frustrated. Whenever something unexpected happens, money-wise, my brain rushes into fix-it mode. Basically, every bad childhood memory comes forward, and I get really agitated. Living in poverty as a child leaves a mark, and it never ever leaves you. I will always be terrified of not having enough. As of right now, it’s still not in my account–though our company bank assures us it’s been received. My bank just hasn’t posted it. The CFO will be working tomorrow, providing us with tracking information and paying any fees we might incur. But just kind of a mess.
I will say, I’ve been impressed with my company’s quick action–even if unforeseen difficulties happened. They actually care, and it shows.
Still, I’m frustrated and worried. Trying not to be, but realizing all I can do is sit and wait.
I’m not good at waiting. In case you haven’t noticed.
At the height of all of this (and my frustration), I started seeing murmurs here and there regarding Paris. And a shooter. Not just one shooter, but many. Not just 1 or 2 dead, but dozens. I was too aggravated about everything to really comprehend it, so I didn’t comment much and tried to stay off social to avoid the hysteria that comes with such tragedies (not to mention the idiotic comments…Donald Trump needs a straitjacket, for example).
I finally logged off work later than I intended–having gotten almost nothing done that I planned to do because of the distraction of all the unexpected crap of Friday. I was just pissed off. Mad about how my good mood was ruined. Mad that I’m now behind in bills. Mad that I had to scramble to fix problems that wouldn’t have existed if things just went as planned. Mad that people exist who think it’s okay to shoot into crowds of unarmed people. Mad that someone’s life can be used as a political tool.
Mad about all kinds of shit.
Mad at the bullshit we all let get in between us. Politics, race, religion, difference. The past.
Mad at how it even invades my life, no matter how hard I try to live peacefully.
We all have people in our lives who have hurt us. People we have grudges against. People we don’t understand. Some of us talk to them. Some of us don’t. Sometimes, the not talking isn’t up to us.
I really try to live my life openly. I forgive freely–even when I don’t really want to. Even when people have burned our relationship to the ground, I keep the light on for them. I never turn away a friend–or someone I cared about. To me, that bond is forever. But I still have those relationships–those corpse relationships where that person is not ever going to be in my life. Not by my choice. Theirs. And there’s violence in that–shit I don’t understand. I don’t understand it because a) I don’t deserve it, and b) neither do they.
I’ve let these things go, for the most part. But whenever I see tragic events happen internationally, I have to wonder: How would I feel if that person died tomorrow–with this rift between us? How would they feel? Honestly, I’d be at peace. I’ve tried with these people. My conscience is clear in that respect. But because I do care about them, it pains me that they probably aren’t clean. That the violence that it takes to not be in my life is the result of things they haven’t dealt with–but probably need to. And the thing is–you don’t have forever to make it right. You just don’t.
Of course, it may be me totally being wrong about the situation. Maybe they’re fine with it because our relationship meant nothing. But I’d like to think I’m not that clueless.
Having lost people, I don’t waste time being mad at people from my past. I don’t push them away or actively avoid them. I work through it. Because love is not something you just trash.
If you go through my old journals from childhood, they’ll probably make you laugh. I used to like to poll myself a lot about favorite things all the while randomly being emo about things. I was a seriously sensitive kid, but I never talked about these things until I found writing–and then only there. Ha. I might sorta still be like that. I used to always want to do stereotypically awesome things. Like go to Hawaii or Paris. Because that’s what little girls from Westwood were supposed to dream about. But I always did have a genuine affection for France. It’s why I learned how to make all the mother sauces, became a cheese connoisseur, and ate my weight in croissants as soon as I figured out the good ones weren’t in cans. It’s why I took 10 years of French–despite being horrible at the accent. I never really understood why I liked the culture so much, but it was just this thing. The romantic in me was attracted to the City of Lights and always hoped to go. I’ve only made it to the airport, so far, but it was moving up my Mighty List–as I learned recently that a good part of my ancestry is actually French. Who knew?
When I finally did start reading things about the attacks tonight, I discovered one of my all-time favorite bands (Eagles of Death Metal) were right in the middle of the horror at the concert hall. I’ve had going to one of their shows on my list of to-dos forever. I thought of how surreal it must’ve been to hear shots interspersed with their good-time pop rock. It was bizarre to be able to read all the updates coming in and to understand the French reports. Language skills I forgot I still had suddenly popped up, and I was fluent.
I don’t know how to make sense of these things. I don’t know how to make sense of my own feelings–and what I have not actually been able to feel. You would think I’d feel more than numb, but–that’s about it. I intellectually get it, but I don’t feel it. Not yet. I probably won’t until I see actual pictures. Up close.
Even my anger is numb. Maybe because I was so angry today. Maybe I just shut down after a while. But I’ve felt this way each and every time there’s been a shooting lately. And I can’t help but wonder if this same feeling is what allows people to do these things.
Are we all so disconnected that all our lives just blur together and lose meaning?
Whenever there’s a huge loss of life like this, people lose their minds. And they should.
But why don’t we do it each and every time? Because loss is so awful. It doesn’t matter if it’s just one or a million. That loss is infinite to the people who loved them.
A friend texted me tonight saying, “Bad night in Paris.”
I texted back: “Bad night everywhere.” And I meant it. But I still don’t feel like it’s real. Maybe I just don’t want it to be. Maybe all this loss causes me to die more and more every time it happens.
What the Hell are we all doing to each other?