I know it's not right, and I could seriously regret being hasty, but it's killing me to stay here. My whole body is telling to me to do it, but my mind is vainly holding on to the thread of logic... I've made it this long, why not postpone the damage a bit longer? It's like the urge to smoke, I need it, I want it, and the fight against it just makes it that much more appealing. I don't want to make a mistake, but I don't know how long I can resist.
The longest I've lever held a job is 3.5 years. Every few years I get this burning desire to get out, start over, try to find something I truly enjoy doing. This job I have? It's a job. It's never going to be a career for me. Most days I don't mind it, very rarely I actually enjoy it, and sometimes, like today, like the client I'm dealing with now, the system problems, all of it, I just want to throw it all away.
Because my job is dictated by what the boys upstairs call "Rules and Regulations." In other words, a whole bunch of nonsensical policies that are aimed at helping as few people as possible, while maintaining the facade of being a Human Service Agency.
I know blogging about work is a no-no, but lets see this from a constituent's perspective. I have a decently paying job, but I can't afford to pay for health insurance for my family. So I mosey on down to the local welfare office, stand in line, outside in the cold at the ass-crack of dawn for an hour to try to get an appointment. If I'm lucky, I get seen the first day. If I'm a little late, I have to do it all over again the next day, maybe losing pay from work to be there, but knowing the consequences are dire if I don't get help.
So when I finally make it to an intake interview I learn that the only chance I have of getting insurance is to cash out my retirement funds. Because I earn to much for my toddler to get free Medi-Cal, I have to potentially sacrifice my retirement.. just in case. And even then, I'd have to pay thousands of dollars per month that I use the Medi-Cal, because the government doesn't take in to account mortgage payments, and credit card debt, so the income they are using is exponentially higher than what I actually have left over at the end of the month. And I'm not even going to get started on Eligible Student rules.
And yes, I think that some of the supervisors and staff are doing a wonderful job of improving for the clients those things they have control over, but I feel like a hypocrite. How can I talk about how much I want to help people, and I'm in this position with my hands tied behind my back telling people who need help that there is nothing I can do?
Have you ever heard someone roll their eyes over the phone? I did. When I found out that a requirement that we made of pregnant woman was changed 5 years ago, and we never knew about it. A change that would have been beneficial for them, and it desn't happen. But when there is one more hurdle placed in their way, those are snapped into action immediately (which, for public sector means within 2 years).
So this itch, I thought I would have longer, considering I was out on maternity leave for 7 months, but it's here. Now. It's burning. I want to make a difference. I want to love my work. I don't want just a job to pay the bills.
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
February 7, 2008
December 20, 2007
Closed Doors
(It's a long one... just to warn you)
Sometimes it jumps up and smacks you in the face that you are different from the people around you.
Mostly, I don’t consciously think about those differences. I skate through life with the assumption that people who look like me are treated like I am, because I’m self-centered like that. It’s sort of like forgetting that other people still exist when you aren’t with them, assuming a long-lost friend is the same person they were when you knew them, because, they can’t change if you aren’t there to see it. Right?
But once in a while, it becomes blaringly obvious that we are not a homogenous society. And much as the US has become a “melting pot” there are still those people who are not as accepting as others and maybe it’s an unconscious reaction to a perceived difference, based on skin color or gender, or a prejudicial assumption about a person, but we people of color are treated differently than our white counterparts.
It’s a good sign to me that white people assume we are treated the same, and that people of color receive the same benefits as they do, but it’s also disturbing that they are oblivious to the discrimination that we deal with on a frequent basis. I think it’s positive because it shows that they themselves don’t believe that we deserve less, but it also creates a divide between us because there is a huge part of me, a major influence on my past and present, that they can’t understand.
And really, this county is more accepting of racial differences than other places that I have lived, but I get the feeling that a lot of it, especially with older generations, is a front. They are courteous when you are a customer in their store and they know you’re going to be putting your money in their pockets. They are polite when you are in a position of authority to help them. But many are also blatantly racist when they make an assumption about your heritage, your economic situation, your marital status, or whatever. Sometimes they make racist remarks about a culture they assume you are not connected to. Sometimes they treat you with disdain because they assume you don’t deserve their respect.
This all came about during a conversation this morning in which a blonde-haired, blue-eyed coworker of mine looked perplexed when I pointed out that when I was pregnant, people in our building assumed that I was here to apply for some type of welfare benefit. I was trying to make the point that based strictly on appearances when we were pregnant at the same time, employees were more likely to hold the door open and let her in before the building was officially open, than they were to do the same for me.
She sort of blew me off like I was being dramatic, not in a rude way, but more like she obviously didn’t take my comment seriously. And I was sort of stunned, because it’s something I dealt with often when I was pregnant, trying to walk into the locked building after someone else, and they would go so far as to pull the door shut after them when they saw me coming and saw I was close enough to get inside before it closed and locked behind them. I just don’t see that happening to her. And I know she has faced her own battles for other reasons, but I can’t hide who I am. I am judged on sight and I can’t do a damn thing about it. She is judged on sight too, but unless she was with her partner, I doubt most people would pick her out to discriminate against.
I’m not trying to imply that my struggles are worse than hers. In fact, I think she has probably had to fight a lot longer, and a lot harder than I have against our respective prejudicial magnets. I’m just saying that anyone who is prejudiced against Black people, Latinas, young women, young mixed women in the workplace, pregnant people of color, Black people who are too light-skinned, Black people who marry out of their race, people of color who are doing well for themselves… any combination of the above and many more bullshit reasons, I get it. I’m not even Latina and people are racist against me simply because they think I am. I’m treated like shit by White people for having darker skin than them, and Black people for having lighter skin. I get shit from Black men and Latinas for marrying my husband. I have people tell me that I think I’m too good for them, since I’m not hooking them up with extra Food Stamps. I have older people tell me that I’m too young and naïve to understand what they are going through. I get shit from bosses for talking too much, or not talking enough. I get shit from coworkers for doing too much work….
And I know we all have out struggles, I just get so frustrated sometimes that I can’t escape mine. I can’t walk down the street and have people think, “Oh, she looks like a nice person,” because the minute they see me I’m slapped with hundreds of labels, and people are reacting to their perceptions of me without my doing a damn thing. Not everyone has that curse.
But sometimes it’s a blessing, because I can look at another person like me, and I get it. There are a lot of prejudices I feel sympathetic towards, but there is no empathy because I’m never experienced it. But there are so many that I’ve dealt with, and learned from, and I appreciate that knowledge because if I was even slightly different, I might not know what I now do.
So that’s all. No hard feelings, just processing. And I am a little sad because I will never meet anyone who has dealt with what I’ve gone through. I ignore our differences sometimes with the hope that I’ll feel totally understood one day, but I think the real issue is that I need to learn to let go of that need to feel understood. There are so many fragmented parts of me that I haven’t wholly integrated yet. It’s my life lesson, maybe, to see myself as a whole person, so then I can really feel that way.
Sometimes it jumps up and smacks you in the face that you are different from the people around you.
Mostly, I don’t consciously think about those differences. I skate through life with the assumption that people who look like me are treated like I am, because I’m self-centered like that. It’s sort of like forgetting that other people still exist when you aren’t with them, assuming a long-lost friend is the same person they were when you knew them, because, they can’t change if you aren’t there to see it. Right?
But once in a while, it becomes blaringly obvious that we are not a homogenous society. And much as the US has become a “melting pot” there are still those people who are not as accepting as others and maybe it’s an unconscious reaction to a perceived difference, based on skin color or gender, or a prejudicial assumption about a person, but we people of color are treated differently than our white counterparts.
It’s a good sign to me that white people assume we are treated the same, and that people of color receive the same benefits as they do, but it’s also disturbing that they are oblivious to the discrimination that we deal with on a frequent basis. I think it’s positive because it shows that they themselves don’t believe that we deserve less, but it also creates a divide between us because there is a huge part of me, a major influence on my past and present, that they can’t understand.
And really, this county is more accepting of racial differences than other places that I have lived, but I get the feeling that a lot of it, especially with older generations, is a front. They are courteous when you are a customer in their store and they know you’re going to be putting your money in their pockets. They are polite when you are in a position of authority to help them. But many are also blatantly racist when they make an assumption about your heritage, your economic situation, your marital status, or whatever. Sometimes they make racist remarks about a culture they assume you are not connected to. Sometimes they treat you with disdain because they assume you don’t deserve their respect.
This all came about during a conversation this morning in which a blonde-haired, blue-eyed coworker of mine looked perplexed when I pointed out that when I was pregnant, people in our building assumed that I was here to apply for some type of welfare benefit. I was trying to make the point that based strictly on appearances when we were pregnant at the same time, employees were more likely to hold the door open and let her in before the building was officially open, than they were to do the same for me.
She sort of blew me off like I was being dramatic, not in a rude way, but more like she obviously didn’t take my comment seriously. And I was sort of stunned, because it’s something I dealt with often when I was pregnant, trying to walk into the locked building after someone else, and they would go so far as to pull the door shut after them when they saw me coming and saw I was close enough to get inside before it closed and locked behind them. I just don’t see that happening to her. And I know she has faced her own battles for other reasons, but I can’t hide who I am. I am judged on sight and I can’t do a damn thing about it. She is judged on sight too, but unless she was with her partner, I doubt most people would pick her out to discriminate against.
I’m not trying to imply that my struggles are worse than hers. In fact, I think she has probably had to fight a lot longer, and a lot harder than I have against our respective prejudicial magnets. I’m just saying that anyone who is prejudiced against Black people, Latinas, young women, young mixed women in the workplace, pregnant people of color, Black people who are too light-skinned, Black people who marry out of their race, people of color who are doing well for themselves… any combination of the above and many more bullshit reasons, I get it. I’m not even Latina and people are racist against me simply because they think I am. I’m treated like shit by White people for having darker skin than them, and Black people for having lighter skin. I get shit from Black men and Latinas for marrying my husband. I have people tell me that I think I’m too good for them, since I’m not hooking them up with extra Food Stamps. I have older people tell me that I’m too young and naïve to understand what they are going through. I get shit from bosses for talking too much, or not talking enough. I get shit from coworkers for doing too much work….
And I know we all have out struggles, I just get so frustrated sometimes that I can’t escape mine. I can’t walk down the street and have people think, “Oh, she looks like a nice person,” because the minute they see me I’m slapped with hundreds of labels, and people are reacting to their perceptions of me without my doing a damn thing. Not everyone has that curse.
But sometimes it’s a blessing, because I can look at another person like me, and I get it. There are a lot of prejudices I feel sympathetic towards, but there is no empathy because I’m never experienced it. But there are so many that I’ve dealt with, and learned from, and I appreciate that knowledge because if I was even slightly different, I might not know what I now do.
So that’s all. No hard feelings, just processing. And I am a little sad because I will never meet anyone who has dealt with what I’ve gone through. I ignore our differences sometimes with the hope that I’ll feel totally understood one day, but I think the real issue is that I need to learn to let go of that need to feel understood. There are so many fragmented parts of me that I haven’t wholly integrated yet. It’s my life lesson, maybe, to see myself as a whole person, so then I can really feel that way.
December 19, 2007
Way More Exciting Than Real Life
I woke up super-late today. I normally don’t do that, I’m pretty good at rationing my slaps at the alarm clock, but I had this scary-weird dream, and I needed to see how it ended. So I kept hitting it until it was over, and then I had only 20 minutes to get ready for work.
And I need at least 30.
****
In my dream, I was going downstairs to see a client whom I knew was applying for someone who did not want the benefits, and he was trying to get information on this woman that we were not allowed to give out. As far as we knew, he was a jealous ex-lover, and we knew he had a history of physical abuse, so I was scared going to see him myself.
As I do in real life if I’m not completely comfortable with a client, I left the door slightly open for a quick escape. Just in case. I sat down with this guy and asked him how I could help him. When he requested to finish an application for this other woman, I politely told him I couldn’t even confirm if she had applied for benefits. He stood up, towering over me like a maniacal clown, his hair a fiery red, then reached down and tried to grab my arm.
I bolted out the door, but he jumped over the desk before I could lock the door and grabbed my arm. I started yelling for a coworker to help me, to call the Sheriff, to hit the panic button, anything… and he was dragging me down this long hallway to the door that led outside. The hallway wasn’t the one at work, it was much wider, and much longer, and there were open stairs at the end of it, sort of like the ones you’d see at a parking garage.
Finally, a couple coworkers came to my rescue, hauled him off of me and restrained him while they waited for the Sherriff to come. There was a huge crowd gathering around him, employees and clients all abandoned what they were doing to watch him claw and bite at the men holding him. He looked like one of those animals on the Discovery Channel who fight with every ounce of their strength to free themselves from their captors, and he was wearing them down. I could see the men holding him getting tired, they were all covered in cuts and claw marks, chunks of skin missing from where they had scraped their bodies against the rough floor trying to keep a good grip on him.
I started to worry, thinking he was going to get free and come after me again, so I paged everyone in the building to come downstairs to make sure that if he got loose, he wouldn’t be able to get away. When I finished the page, I turned around with the phone still in my hand and the crowd was gone. The only ones left were me, the crazy guy, and the two male coworkers who had been holding him, but were no longer by his side. I backed slowly towards the stairs, thinking that it would give me a slight advantage to be above him, and maybe as he was chasing me the two guys could grab him again.
I was yelling at them frantically to grab his arms while he was so close, but they just stood there watching us, like some sick game of cat and mouse, but I was the one being stalked. I started up the stairs, swinging the phone by the cord, hoping my aim would be good enough to knock him out if he came within striking distance. I was halfway up the stairs when he started up after me, and I was slowing inching up backwards so I could keep my eye on him. For every step I took, he took two, and I gave up yelling at my coworkers because I could see that for some reason, they weren’t trying to go after him.
Then I saw one of them lunge after him, and I turned around and raced up the rest of the stairs onto what looked like the top level of a parking deck. I was standing in the middle of it, I could hear the Sherriff's sirens blaring, getting closer every second, but I didn’t know what had happened in the stairwell.
Then these two red-headed twins stepped up to my level and sat grinning at me. Now, the actual people I saw in my dream were Spencer and Evan, two of the sweetest guys I have ever known, and actual red-headed twins that I went to high school with. I didn’t worry what was going to happen to me anymore. The coworker that had lunged at the crazy guy was *that* particular person I have dreamed about in the past (not my husband) who evidently in my dream was my lover or something. The other coworker who had initially restrained the crazy was one of the twins.
I could never tell them apart in real life, and I had no idea which was which in the dream either.
And as I sat there, contemplating my imminent demise, the death of my lover, and the utter irony that had the Sheriff been closer like we kept asking, most of this could have been prevented, but yay! At least after I die they’ll be forced to put some type of security in reception… My lover jumped up from the stairwell, tackled them both, and restrained them until the Sherriff came to haul them away.
*Swoon*
So this is about the part I hit the last snooze. We of course hopped into a car to drive into the sunset, but then we stopped at Safeway to get some sandwiches. It turns out this lover was really my husband (my handsome husband in real life, I mean), but he was ripped (unlike P) and his Dad was driving the SUV we were in (entirely plausible, if we were in Paraguay). I didn’t have any shoes (not sure what happend to them) and we searched the whole car for them, then decided we’d wait in the parking lot and get cozy while his Dad went inside to get the food (classy, eh?). We parked in a semi-remote spot to get to know each other better. Ya dig?
But then P saw his motorcycle parked a little ways down, so we hopped on it and zoomed off into the sunset, kissing and getting more friendly than is probably possible on a 2-wheeled vehicle.
But I guess it could happen?
And I need at least 30.
****
In my dream, I was going downstairs to see a client whom I knew was applying for someone who did not want the benefits, and he was trying to get information on this woman that we were not allowed to give out. As far as we knew, he was a jealous ex-lover, and we knew he had a history of physical abuse, so I was scared going to see him myself.
As I do in real life if I’m not completely comfortable with a client, I left the door slightly open for a quick escape. Just in case. I sat down with this guy and asked him how I could help him. When he requested to finish an application for this other woman, I politely told him I couldn’t even confirm if she had applied for benefits. He stood up, towering over me like a maniacal clown, his hair a fiery red, then reached down and tried to grab my arm.
I bolted out the door, but he jumped over the desk before I could lock the door and grabbed my arm. I started yelling for a coworker to help me, to call the Sheriff, to hit the panic button, anything… and he was dragging me down this long hallway to the door that led outside. The hallway wasn’t the one at work, it was much wider, and much longer, and there were open stairs at the end of it, sort of like the ones you’d see at a parking garage.
Finally, a couple coworkers came to my rescue, hauled him off of me and restrained him while they waited for the Sherriff to come. There was a huge crowd gathering around him, employees and clients all abandoned what they were doing to watch him claw and bite at the men holding him. He looked like one of those animals on the Discovery Channel who fight with every ounce of their strength to free themselves from their captors, and he was wearing them down. I could see the men holding him getting tired, they were all covered in cuts and claw marks, chunks of skin missing from where they had scraped their bodies against the rough floor trying to keep a good grip on him.
I started to worry, thinking he was going to get free and come after me again, so I paged everyone in the building to come downstairs to make sure that if he got loose, he wouldn’t be able to get away. When I finished the page, I turned around with the phone still in my hand and the crowd was gone. The only ones left were me, the crazy guy, and the two male coworkers who had been holding him, but were no longer by his side. I backed slowly towards the stairs, thinking that it would give me a slight advantage to be above him, and maybe as he was chasing me the two guys could grab him again.
I was yelling at them frantically to grab his arms while he was so close, but they just stood there watching us, like some sick game of cat and mouse, but I was the one being stalked. I started up the stairs, swinging the phone by the cord, hoping my aim would be good enough to knock him out if he came within striking distance. I was halfway up the stairs when he started up after me, and I was slowing inching up backwards so I could keep my eye on him. For every step I took, he took two, and I gave up yelling at my coworkers because I could see that for some reason, they weren’t trying to go after him.
Then I saw one of them lunge after him, and I turned around and raced up the rest of the stairs onto what looked like the top level of a parking deck. I was standing in the middle of it, I could hear the Sherriff's sirens blaring, getting closer every second, but I didn’t know what had happened in the stairwell.
Then these two red-headed twins stepped up to my level and sat grinning at me. Now, the actual people I saw in my dream were Spencer and Evan, two of the sweetest guys I have ever known, and actual red-headed twins that I went to high school with. I didn’t worry what was going to happen to me anymore. The coworker that had lunged at the crazy guy was *that* particular person I have dreamed about in the past (not my husband) who evidently in my dream was my lover or something. The other coworker who had initially restrained the crazy was one of the twins.
I could never tell them apart in real life, and I had no idea which was which in the dream either.
And as I sat there, contemplating my imminent demise, the death of my lover, and the utter irony that had the Sheriff been closer like we kept asking, most of this could have been prevented, but yay! At least after I die they’ll be forced to put some type of security in reception… My lover jumped up from the stairwell, tackled them both, and restrained them until the Sherriff came to haul them away.
*Swoon*
So this is about the part I hit the last snooze. We of course hopped into a car to drive into the sunset, but then we stopped at Safeway to get some sandwiches. It turns out this lover was really my husband (my handsome husband in real life, I mean), but he was ripped (unlike P) and his Dad was driving the SUV we were in (entirely plausible, if we were in Paraguay). I didn’t have any shoes (not sure what happend to them) and we searched the whole car for them, then decided we’d wait in the parking lot and get cozy while his Dad went inside to get the food (classy, eh?). We parked in a semi-remote spot to get to know each other better. Ya dig?
But then P saw his motorcycle parked a little ways down, so we hopped on it and zoomed off into the sunset, kissing and getting more friendly than is probably possible on a 2-wheeled vehicle.
But I guess it could happen?
August 23, 2007
Psychosomatic
I feel sick.
My neck hurts, my stomach is upset, my throat is sore with the dry coughing and I’m irritable.…
I thought maybe I caught a bug somewhere, but when I called P to ask how he was feeling, he suggested maybe I’m just stressed. I can see that, maybe, considering the circumstances and my lack of control about them, maybe I’m a bit stressed. But I thought I was handling this well. I thought I wasn’t too worried about anything, that money wouldn’t be too much tighter than it is now, but I’m rethinking that idea, and it’s very possible that I’m psycho-somatizing.
Is that even a word?
I’ve been feeling really tired lately, and that gaping chasm in the earth that is my depression feels like it’s going to swallow me whole again. But this time instead of hurling myself over the edge without abandon, I feel like one of those circus-clown bears riding a pink miniature bike with streamers flowing off the handlebars and those clickety-clack beads on the spokes bouncing up and down as I slowly spiral my way into it.
I thought I was handling this well, but I’m scared.
Being faced with possibly losing the house when we already barely have enough cash after bills to pay for food and gas is terrifying. Where would we go? Would our marriage survive a loss like that? We are so far from being content with each other as it is, the stress of worrying more than we already do about money is taking its toll. But I know we’ll have enough, and he’ll find another job soon. At least I think we’ll have enough. We have no savings. I can’t afford insurance for him and if something happened…. We would be screwed.
But I didn’t realize I was so worried about this. The loss of control, and knowing that next week there will be another check is hard. We’ve been hand to mouth for so long I thought we would be comfortable by now, but we’re not. One thing could ruin everything we’ve worked so hard for. It wouldn’t be like this if he listened to me, but part of marriage is letting the other person have a say and this is what happens when he makes financial decisions for us.
I feel awful. I don’t even have the energy to want to read a book and oink out on ice cream, just want to sleep it all away. I really did think I was handling this better, but I guess suppressing the fear and anxiety just makes it manifest in another way.
Damn.
My neck hurts, my stomach is upset, my throat is sore with the dry coughing and I’m irritable.…
I thought maybe I caught a bug somewhere, but when I called P to ask how he was feeling, he suggested maybe I’m just stressed. I can see that, maybe, considering the circumstances and my lack of control about them, maybe I’m a bit stressed. But I thought I was handling this well. I thought I wasn’t too worried about anything, that money wouldn’t be too much tighter than it is now, but I’m rethinking that idea, and it’s very possible that I’m psycho-somatizing.
Is that even a word?
I’ve been feeling really tired lately, and that gaping chasm in the earth that is my depression feels like it’s going to swallow me whole again. But this time instead of hurling myself over the edge without abandon, I feel like one of those circus-clown bears riding a pink miniature bike with streamers flowing off the handlebars and those clickety-clack beads on the spokes bouncing up and down as I slowly spiral my way into it.
I thought I was handling this well, but I’m scared.
Being faced with possibly losing the house when we already barely have enough cash after bills to pay for food and gas is terrifying. Where would we go? Would our marriage survive a loss like that? We are so far from being content with each other as it is, the stress of worrying more than we already do about money is taking its toll. But I know we’ll have enough, and he’ll find another job soon. At least I think we’ll have enough. We have no savings. I can’t afford insurance for him and if something happened…. We would be screwed.
But I didn’t realize I was so worried about this. The loss of control, and knowing that next week there will be another check is hard. We’ve been hand to mouth for so long I thought we would be comfortable by now, but we’re not. One thing could ruin everything we’ve worked so hard for. It wouldn’t be like this if he listened to me, but part of marriage is letting the other person have a say and this is what happens when he makes financial decisions for us.
I feel awful. I don’t even have the energy to want to read a book and oink out on ice cream, just want to sleep it all away. I really did think I was handling this better, but I guess suppressing the fear and anxiety just makes it manifest in another way.
Damn.
August 3, 2007
I am Fertile Again!
After a short 22 months, Aunt Flo is back for a visit and I am officially (biologically) ready for #2! If only my finances recovered to quickly. I'm bummed out due to the inconvenience, but stoked that my magical baby-making powers are back.
And it is on this old-newcomer that I am blaming the following statement:
I have been having some seriously inappropriate dreams about someone other than my husband.
And I'm slightly disturbed, because this is someone that I haven't thought of in that way before. Okay, maybe a little bit, but not quite so...graphically.
Gawd, and what to do? I see this person every day, more than a few times a day at work, and I know I'm blushing when we speak, so thank Goodness my office is so dark, but I feel like the bright red ACT NORMAL sign on my forehead is blinking and it's throwing me off so that I know I get a tiny smile in the corners of my mouth when we speak, but I can't help it.
How naughty, eh? But don't worry folks, this person is in a committed relationship, as am I, and there is not a hot damn thing that I going to do about this in real life. It's just tripping me out, you know, and since shame is not a word I'm familiar with lately, I wanted to share.
Thanks, I feel better. And I know it's only 9pm, but I'm suddenly very tired.
:)
And it is on this old-newcomer that I am blaming the following statement:
I have been having some seriously inappropriate dreams about someone other than my husband.
And I'm slightly disturbed, because this is someone that I haven't thought of in that way before. Okay, maybe a little bit, but not quite so...graphically.
Gawd, and what to do? I see this person every day, more than a few times a day at work, and I know I'm blushing when we speak, so thank Goodness my office is so dark, but I feel like the bright red ACT NORMAL sign on my forehead is blinking and it's throwing me off so that I know I get a tiny smile in the corners of my mouth when we speak, but I can't help it.
How naughty, eh? But don't worry folks, this person is in a committed relationship, as am I, and there is not a hot damn thing that I going to do about this in real life. It's just tripping me out, you know, and since shame is not a word I'm familiar with lately, I wanted to share.
Thanks, I feel better. And I know it's only 9pm, but I'm suddenly very tired.
:)
July 18, 2007
It's 2007, Right?
Today I had what would have been an incredibly awful experience a couple years ago, and now, I'm just overwhelmed with pity.
A coworker was in a workshop with me today, and we were paired together for an exercise. About half of the class was discussing work-related communication issues, and the rest of us were focusing on personal issues, which was okay-ed by the facilitator, though the spin of the workshop was toward work (duh).
So this woman, when she heard what I wanted to discuss flat out refused to speak to me. She said in no uncertain terms that she would not role-play as Nanny, and really, it wasn't role-playing but more her sitting and listening as I spoke to her as if she were Nanny.
This woman, who is quite a bit older than me, slammed her book shut and physically moved away from me as she told me should would not work with me. She then packed up her purse and left the room!
A couple activities later we were back in a larger group together, and she told me to my face that maybe if I didn't act so immature (her words) my clients would not get angry with me. Another woman in the group jokingly said, "Yeah, you should ugly yourself up a bit," and another woman sympathized with me and said something to the effect that people must patronize me a lot for being so young in the work I do. But this other coworker of mine just bull-dozed on, talking about how I probably don't take people seriously enough and that I didn't look professional, and that's why people don't take me seriously.
Now, granted, she has a point. I tend to dress down on the days I have intakes (or workshops), and adopt a fairly familiar, friendly attitude with my clients, but it is very intentional. If I was applying for public assistance, I would not want a worker I didn't feel would understand me. By dressing down and really trying to connect with clients and understand their situations during the intake, while in my opinion not sacraficing my position as the EW, I feel like I get much more honest information from them. If I wore a business suit every day, my clients may respect my position more, but they would not feel understood, and would consequently not be as open with me. I can't count the number of times I've gotten information from people who have been on aid for years and years and was never reported before, because I have a converstaion with them, I don't just interview them.
So aside from her attacks on my age, maturity level, and clothes, this woman made several derogatory remarks about another person in our office. She made blatantly racist and age-ist statements about him, and right now I feel so bad for her, to be so back-ass-wards and racist, in 2007 in MARIN County, where the white folks may have the financial upper-hand, but their numbers are nothing against my pro-creating brown, black and yellow brothers and sisters.
And I'm also torn as to whether or not to report these remarks. I was deeply offended not only by what she said about me, but also about this other man. No offended to the point of wanting revenge, or breaching confidentiality, but really very saddened that people still think like that.
So what do I do? Broach the subject with my supervisor? Pray that she finds some wisdom in her old age? I'm really torn here.
A coworker was in a workshop with me today, and we were paired together for an exercise. About half of the class was discussing work-related communication issues, and the rest of us were focusing on personal issues, which was okay-ed by the facilitator, though the spin of the workshop was toward work (duh).
So this woman, when she heard what I wanted to discuss flat out refused to speak to me. She said in no uncertain terms that she would not role-play as Nanny, and really, it wasn't role-playing but more her sitting and listening as I spoke to her as if she were Nanny.
This woman, who is quite a bit older than me, slammed her book shut and physically moved away from me as she told me should would not work with me. She then packed up her purse and left the room!
A couple activities later we were back in a larger group together, and she told me to my face that maybe if I didn't act so immature (her words) my clients would not get angry with me. Another woman in the group jokingly said, "Yeah, you should ugly yourself up a bit," and another woman sympathized with me and said something to the effect that people must patronize me a lot for being so young in the work I do. But this other coworker of mine just bull-dozed on, talking about how I probably don't take people seriously enough and that I didn't look professional, and that's why people don't take me seriously.
Now, granted, she has a point. I tend to dress down on the days I have intakes (or workshops), and adopt a fairly familiar, friendly attitude with my clients, but it is very intentional. If I was applying for public assistance, I would not want a worker I didn't feel would understand me. By dressing down and really trying to connect with clients and understand their situations during the intake, while in my opinion not sacraficing my position as the EW, I feel like I get much more honest information from them. If I wore a business suit every day, my clients may respect my position more, but they would not feel understood, and would consequently not be as open with me. I can't count the number of times I've gotten information from people who have been on aid for years and years and was never reported before, because I have a converstaion with them, I don't just interview them.
So aside from her attacks on my age, maturity level, and clothes, this woman made several derogatory remarks about another person in our office. She made blatantly racist and age-ist statements about him, and right now I feel so bad for her, to be so back-ass-wards and racist, in 2007 in MARIN County, where the white folks may have the financial upper-hand, but their numbers are nothing against my pro-creating brown, black and yellow brothers and sisters.
And I'm also torn as to whether or not to report these remarks. I was deeply offended not only by what she said about me, but also about this other man. No offended to the point of wanting revenge, or breaching confidentiality, but really very saddened that people still think like that.
So what do I do? Broach the subject with my supervisor? Pray that she finds some wisdom in her old age? I'm really torn here.
July 3, 2007
On the Road to Jadedness
Should I be offended or pleased that people keep attacking my age?
One the one hand, I have to laugh, because when clients are mad at me, or mad at the program rules, they chalk it up to me being young, inexperienced with life, or the fact that they are parents (and don't know that I am as well). I suppose I should be pleased that they aren't saying I'm stupid, or unknowledgeable about the programs, or ugly for that matter, but really? Why does everything have to come down to age?
And not to be a complete asshole, but are they really just mad that at my age I'm holding down a steady job while they are the ones applying for assistance?
I don't like to think like that. I know that one major event could easily land me in this office in need of food and money to take care of my child. I don't like to think that there is a huge disparity between myself and my clients, or that I am any better than they are. Because if I felt that, I wouldn't be effective in my job. I can't walk around thinking we're different, I think that's how people get jaded here, by the assumption that it could never happen to them, and its these peoples' fault for the situation that they are in.
And sometimes it is. But many times mental illness or alcohol and drug abuse that got them here. And though I don't understand addiction, I can still see that obviously it has a major influnence on people's actions and isn't as hard to overcome as I may like to think.
But once again I have to mention the entitled folks, the ones who used to be where I am, and now are who I am determining benefits for. Would I be like that? Would I raise hell and swear to high heaven that I deserve benefits because I've been paying takes for 10 years? I may want to, but I hope I would be a bit more humble. And at the same time I can't imagine how people feel when they are denied for their kids. I think I could handle it if I didn't get anything, but why should T-Boog suffer? That being said though, most of the people who say I'm too young to understand what they are going through are single without kids.
But being subjected to verbal abuse and really having no recourse but to walk away does take it's toll. I notice how grateful I am for motivated clients, and people who understand that what I'm doing is not personal. If they are ineligible, it's not because I don't like them or beleive their story, it's because the government says they don't qualify. And I notice how irritated and angry I get sometimes with people who want me to bend the rules for them. Who want to skip the steps everyone else has to go through and just get what they want.
"Sorry Sir, it doesn't work like that."
Because really? A single guy, educated or skilled, getting help from family and friends is going to be much better off than a single parent of an infant who didn't graduate high school. If I could bend the rules, who would I do it for?
***
On a completely unrelated topic, I've figured out why parents take so much more time off from work. It's not because we have to stay home with our sick kids, or we catch infectious, contagious diseases from them, it's because we'd much rather stay home and play with those lights of our lives, than sit in an office thinking about them all day long since we haev nothing productive to do at work.
I'm pretty positive.
One the one hand, I have to laugh, because when clients are mad at me, or mad at the program rules, they chalk it up to me being young, inexperienced with life, or the fact that they are parents (and don't know that I am as well). I suppose I should be pleased that they aren't saying I'm stupid, or unknowledgeable about the programs, or ugly for that matter, but really? Why does everything have to come down to age?
And not to be a complete asshole, but are they really just mad that at my age I'm holding down a steady job while they are the ones applying for assistance?
I don't like to think like that. I know that one major event could easily land me in this office in need of food and money to take care of my child. I don't like to think that there is a huge disparity between myself and my clients, or that I am any better than they are. Because if I felt that, I wouldn't be effective in my job. I can't walk around thinking we're different, I think that's how people get jaded here, by the assumption that it could never happen to them, and its these peoples' fault for the situation that they are in.
And sometimes it is. But many times mental illness or alcohol and drug abuse that got them here. And though I don't understand addiction, I can still see that obviously it has a major influnence on people's actions and isn't as hard to overcome as I may like to think.
But once again I have to mention the entitled folks, the ones who used to be where I am, and now are who I am determining benefits for. Would I be like that? Would I raise hell and swear to high heaven that I deserve benefits because I've been paying takes for 10 years? I may want to, but I hope I would be a bit more humble. And at the same time I can't imagine how people feel when they are denied for their kids. I think I could handle it if I didn't get anything, but why should T-Boog suffer? That being said though, most of the people who say I'm too young to understand what they are going through are single without kids.
But being subjected to verbal abuse and really having no recourse but to walk away does take it's toll. I notice how grateful I am for motivated clients, and people who understand that what I'm doing is not personal. If they are ineligible, it's not because I don't like them or beleive their story, it's because the government says they don't qualify. And I notice how irritated and angry I get sometimes with people who want me to bend the rules for them. Who want to skip the steps everyone else has to go through and just get what they want.
"Sorry Sir, it doesn't work like that."
Because really? A single guy, educated or skilled, getting help from family and friends is going to be much better off than a single parent of an infant who didn't graduate high school. If I could bend the rules, who would I do it for?
***
On a completely unrelated topic, I've figured out why parents take so much more time off from work. It's not because we have to stay home with our sick kids, or we catch infectious, contagious diseases from them, it's because we'd much rather stay home and play with those lights of our lives, than sit in an office thinking about them all day long since we haev nothing productive to do at work.
I'm pretty positive.
June 15, 2007
Dead Eyes
I don't normally get angry at clients. I feel like for the most part I can empathize with those people with mental health issues, and sympathize with the ones with serious medical problems. But yesterday I had a client who not only made personal attacks on me, she became hysterical, made a complaint about me, and was generally difficult when I was giving more time and effort to her than I do to most clients.
And I don't know when my frustration turned to anger, but I felt all the emotion drain from my face and I just sat and stared at her blankly while she ranted and raved, calling me immature and inexperienced, saying I was too young to know what she was going through and after spending close to 4 hours with her over the past three days, trying to piece her situation together and get a determination as quickly as possible, she got angry that I hadn't processed her case yet.
And I had to break it down for her that she was not my only client. And that the four hours I spent with her could have been used to process cases, and if that was how my time was being spent, and if she had all her documents back to me, I may have been able to tell her something difinitive.
But she didn't get me everyting. And she still wasted my time.
And after I left work, she left me three more messages, apologizing for how she was acting. But obviously the apology came after she complained to my supervisor about me. And I'm not taking the complaint personally. She may have had a personal problem with my age, but I know the over-arching issue was the process she was frustrated with, and my age was the only part of my involvement that she could attack. So fine.
But I'm still miffed as to why I was so angry with her. I think a part of it was I did expect some gratitude for my going above and beyond my job description to try to help her get things straightened out. Partly I think I was tired and frustrated with my ineffective attempts to get her to understand me and how the program is going to treat her income.
So I gave her the dead eyes. I stared at her, trying to rationalize her behavior in my mind. Not giving away how much I just didn't care anymore. That really bothers me. That I was so angry that I just didn't care what happened to her anymore.
And I don't know when my frustration turned to anger, but I felt all the emotion drain from my face and I just sat and stared at her blankly while she ranted and raved, calling me immature and inexperienced, saying I was too young to know what she was going through and after spending close to 4 hours with her over the past three days, trying to piece her situation together and get a determination as quickly as possible, she got angry that I hadn't processed her case yet.
And I had to break it down for her that she was not my only client. And that the four hours I spent with her could have been used to process cases, and if that was how my time was being spent, and if she had all her documents back to me, I may have been able to tell her something difinitive.
But she didn't get me everyting. And she still wasted my time.
And after I left work, she left me three more messages, apologizing for how she was acting. But obviously the apology came after she complained to my supervisor about me. And I'm not taking the complaint personally. She may have had a personal problem with my age, but I know the over-arching issue was the process she was frustrated with, and my age was the only part of my involvement that she could attack. So fine.
But I'm still miffed as to why I was so angry with her. I think a part of it was I did expect some gratitude for my going above and beyond my job description to try to help her get things straightened out. Partly I think I was tired and frustrated with my ineffective attempts to get her to understand me and how the program is going to treat her income.
So I gave her the dead eyes. I stared at her, trying to rationalize her behavior in my mind. Not giving away how much I just didn't care anymore. That really bothers me. That I was so angry that I just didn't care what happened to her anymore.
June 1, 2007
Not Going to do It
I decided not to apply for the promotion at my job.
I don't think I'm ready for it, I don't know enough, I'm not on top of it yet.
And really, I don't want the responsibility.
I kind of like the fact that I have my list of stuff to do, and when it's done, I still get paid to pay my bills, or blog, or surf the 'net. I don't have people knocking on my door for questions (mostly) I don't have to stay later if a client drops in and it;s time for me to go, and when I get someone pissed off, I can hand them over to someone else to deal with.
And I get paid pretty well as it is, for the amount of work I have to do.
Maybe next year.
I don't think I'm ready for it, I don't know enough, I'm not on top of it yet.
And really, I don't want the responsibility.
I kind of like the fact that I have my list of stuff to do, and when it's done, I still get paid to pay my bills, or blog, or surf the 'net. I don't have people knocking on my door for questions (mostly) I don't have to stay later if a client drops in and it;s time for me to go, and when I get someone pissed off, I can hand them over to someone else to deal with.
And I get paid pretty well as it is, for the amount of work I have to do.
Maybe next year.
May 29, 2007
Late in the Day, and Brains all Mush
Not really sure why, but I love to bake. Not the results so much as the process, mixing ingredients, measuring out things, making a goopy mess which turns into a yummy creation.
Normal cooking just doesn't do it for me unles there's a process with it, a glass of wine, someone to talk to, or else I feel like I'm just slaving away for no cause. I do love cooking for T-Boog though, cutting up the veggies and blending them all, letting her taste while she sits in her highchair playing next to me and trying to guess what she thinks from her facial expression.
Maybe it's that people appreciate baked good more than dinner? Maybe dinner and lunch are just taken for granted as necessary, but dessert or fresh-baked bread are appreciated for being novel, in my home at least.
I'm so tired, yawning and I can't work right now because my brain is mushy. I don't want more mistakes, and since my eyes are blurring I think it's a better idea to blog than work on cases. I have been working hard all day, CalWORKs intake, couple of CMSP/FS apps, processing everything that accumulated over the long weekend.
Maybe I'll make cookies for dinner, or brownies. Johana eats cereal everyday anyway, I'm sure she wouldn't care. Maybe some eggs benedict again. You know what made me feel crazy? Watching Running with Scissors. Pretty damn depressing. And crazy. Lots of crazy.
I need to go to Safeway, but I have $7 in my checking account. I have money in savings but I need it for stuff, like T-Boogs birthday, and to get a new windshield.
I don't know when it will end, the hand to mouth. It's sure as shit getting old though, and P keeps looking into buying me an x5. I told him I don't want it, even if he's making the payments. I crash. And his non-moving objects. I don't need to stress off the cost to repair a BMW. I'd like the Volvo though, or the Rav4.
Maybe when the next kid comes.
Normal cooking just doesn't do it for me unles there's a process with it, a glass of wine, someone to talk to, or else I feel like I'm just slaving away for no cause. I do love cooking for T-Boog though, cutting up the veggies and blending them all, letting her taste while she sits in her highchair playing next to me and trying to guess what she thinks from her facial expression.
Maybe it's that people appreciate baked good more than dinner? Maybe dinner and lunch are just taken for granted as necessary, but dessert or fresh-baked bread are appreciated for being novel, in my home at least.
I'm so tired, yawning and I can't work right now because my brain is mushy. I don't want more mistakes, and since my eyes are blurring I think it's a better idea to blog than work on cases. I have been working hard all day, CalWORKs intake, couple of CMSP/FS apps, processing everything that accumulated over the long weekend.
Maybe I'll make cookies for dinner, or brownies. Johana eats cereal everyday anyway, I'm sure she wouldn't care. Maybe some eggs benedict again. You know what made me feel crazy? Watching Running with Scissors. Pretty damn depressing. And crazy. Lots of crazy.
I need to go to Safeway, but I have $7 in my checking account. I have money in savings but I need it for stuff, like T-Boogs birthday, and to get a new windshield.
I don't know when it will end, the hand to mouth. It's sure as shit getting old though, and P keeps looking into buying me an x5. I told him I don't want it, even if he's making the payments. I crash. And his non-moving objects. I don't need to stress off the cost to repair a BMW. I'd like the Volvo though, or the Rav4.
Maybe when the next kid comes.
May 23, 2007
FUCK !
I keep fucking up. I'm going too fast, speeding through and keep making stupid-ass mistakes. Fuck.
I don't feel all here. I'd rather be home, I'm thinking of all the other things I need to do. I'm letting my personal life interfere with my work, and it's messing me up. Fuck.
I need to take a breath. Stop. Think. Re-think, before I take an action. Before I mail a letter. I'm putting myself on these deadlines, gotta finish before the end of the day, and the mistakes are piling up. Stupid, stupid, stupid shit.
Overwhelming fear of failure, and it is becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy. I'm rushing myself to beat myself. I prove to myself I can do it, and "it" ends up so riddled with errors, would have been better if I hadn't done it at all.
I have to grant people I don't think are eligible, and I'm granting folks I shouldn't have done.
Slow down. Stop being so sloppy. There's no rush. I'm rushing myself. But there's no real rush. There's no one looking over my shoulder, watching my actions. No one but myself, and I'm making mistakes that I should have caught before they happened.
Fuck. It's okay to not be perfect.
It better be.
I don't feel all here. I'd rather be home, I'm thinking of all the other things I need to do. I'm letting my personal life interfere with my work, and it's messing me up. Fuck.
I need to take a breath. Stop. Think. Re-think, before I take an action. Before I mail a letter. I'm putting myself on these deadlines, gotta finish before the end of the day, and the mistakes are piling up. Stupid, stupid, stupid shit.
Overwhelming fear of failure, and it is becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy. I'm rushing myself to beat myself. I prove to myself I can do it, and "it" ends up so riddled with errors, would have been better if I hadn't done it at all.
I have to grant people I don't think are eligible, and I'm granting folks I shouldn't have done.
Slow down. Stop being so sloppy. There's no rush. I'm rushing myself. But there's no real rush. There's no one looking over my shoulder, watching my actions. No one but myself, and I'm making mistakes that I should have caught before they happened.
Fuck. It's okay to not be perfect.
It better be.
May 22, 2007
A Letter to You
[As funny as I think this was, I can't leave it up. There's drama brewing and I can't afford to lose my job right now]
May 17, 2007
Even Worse
While pumping this morning, one of the clerks had the freaking audacity to knock on my door. I have a sign that I thought was obvious enough...
CAUTION: Do Not Enter
Mom Pumping for Baby.
But evidently it wasn't blatant enough that I don't want to be bothered when my door is closed and my sign is up. And what was it over? Someone in reception calling to see me. Which anyone else on the floor could have handled.
But no, she comes to my door, stops to read the sign, then knocks and calls my name.
Idiot.
CAUTION: Do Not Enter
Mom Pumping for Baby.
But evidently it wasn't blatant enough that I don't want to be bothered when my door is closed and my sign is up. And what was it over? Someone in reception calling to see me. Which anyone else on the floor could have handled.
But no, she comes to my door, stops to read the sign, then knocks and calls my name.
Idiot.
May 16, 2007
Oxymoron
Am I the only one that thinks the phrase "Constructive Criticism" is kind of stupid? I mean, if it's really constructive, why is is called criticism? Why not feedback, or analysis or something? It may very well be me, myself and I who have a negative connotation of the word criticism, but it just seems so ... critical.
So forgive me for not taking it well. I don't think I get all bristly-like, and jump down your throat instead of taking the finer points of the statement as advice and the rest with a grain of salt (another stupid-saying, if you ask me. But who's asking, right?). I do, however, feel the need to explain myself, and I think that comes off as being ungrateful and rude, even if my intention is a bit more mellow.
A lot of my problems in life come from that fact that I want to be understood, and simply am not. I can't get over the fact that people don't get me. I like to think it's because I have such a dynamic personality, it's hard to grasp that so many conflicting ideas and emotions and actions can be contained in one person. But let's be honest, maybe the truth is I've swayed a little further than I'd like to believe in the direction of Crazy than most folks, which makes my ramblings harder to follow. But crazy is a mindstate, no? I prefer eccentric, or unconventional personally, and therein lies another problem. I have a very hard time labelling myself independently. I tend to see myself through dark-grey glasses, the same ones I imagine other people see me through.
Back to crazy and criticisms in a minute, I just have to say I was royally pissed off when my mom told me a friend of hers was disappointed in me. For acting my age. What? Just because most of my life I have been more mature than other folks of a comparable age (like said friend's own daughter) does not mean that when I act my age I am a disappointment. It means I was a fucking kid.
Back to the topic of ... yes, criticism. I have the tendency to want to explain my actions, because I hate for people to be disappointed in me (thanks Catherine!) almost as much as I hate to be disappointed. But then I tend to get flustered when I feel the urge to explain myself which is, I can imagine, not a pretty sight. So between the mumbling and stutters (as least I have the sweaty pits under control...go me!), and I tend to speak how I write which is not exactly linear, though very logical if I can get it out, I think I not only freak people out, I also seem very defensive.
And I'm not, really. I just want you to know I'm not a dumbass. Though I may look like one trying to explain that I'm not, really, I promise, am quite intelligent. At least on paper. And I don't want people to think I'm making excuses for things that I could have handled but didn't, like if a client drops in with a contagious disease that is eating away his vision and his livelihood, since he's a cab-driver and he's supposed to take 5 pills per day and ran out and needs to get a re-fill like, now? And then when I let you know he dropped in and is downstairs waiting for his card because his GA worker told him that I had already granted benfits when I hadn't really, and then you tell me to leave the case on you desk next time, instead of your "grant pile" so you can get to it right away? See in that situation, I want to explain it all, and I end up looking like the freak. Which I'm okay with mostly, but this time? Not so much. I wasn't being irresponsible, it isn't my fault you have to do this RIGHT NOW, and it's vitally important to me that you know that. For no particular reason, really, just that I want to pretend that in at least one realm of my life, I have my shit together. And I was hoping it was this one, and on the inside I do, but maybe it doesn't look like that on the outside, ya dig?
And another thing. Crticism, no matter what kind it is, constructive or not, the shit hurts. And I've got a tough facade, but really, I'm a very tender person. So between the Hurt and the Fluster, the Explaining probably comes out a little hysterical. Which is not good for business.
That's all. Thanks for reading.
So forgive me for not taking it well. I don't think I get all bristly-like, and jump down your throat instead of taking the finer points of the statement as advice and the rest with a grain of salt (another stupid-saying, if you ask me. But who's asking, right?). I do, however, feel the need to explain myself, and I think that comes off as being ungrateful and rude, even if my intention is a bit more mellow.
A lot of my problems in life come from that fact that I want to be understood, and simply am not. I can't get over the fact that people don't get me. I like to think it's because I have such a dynamic personality, it's hard to grasp that so many conflicting ideas and emotions and actions can be contained in one person. But let's be honest, maybe the truth is I've swayed a little further than I'd like to believe in the direction of Crazy than most folks, which makes my ramblings harder to follow. But crazy is a mindstate, no? I prefer eccentric, or unconventional personally, and therein lies another problem. I have a very hard time labelling myself independently. I tend to see myself through dark-grey glasses, the same ones I imagine other people see me through.
Back to crazy and criticisms in a minute, I just have to say I was royally pissed off when my mom told me a friend of hers was disappointed in me. For acting my age. What? Just because most of my life I have been more mature than other folks of a comparable age (like said friend's own daughter) does not mean that when I act my age I am a disappointment. It means I was a fucking kid.
Back to the topic of ... yes, criticism. I have the tendency to want to explain my actions, because I hate for people to be disappointed in me (thanks Catherine!) almost as much as I hate to be disappointed. But then I tend to get flustered when I feel the urge to explain myself which is, I can imagine, not a pretty sight. So between the mumbling and stutters (as least I have the sweaty pits under control...go me!), and I tend to speak how I write which is not exactly linear, though very logical if I can get it out, I think I not only freak people out, I also seem very defensive.
And I'm not, really. I just want you to know I'm not a dumbass. Though I may look like one trying to explain that I'm not, really, I promise, am quite intelligent. At least on paper. And I don't want people to think I'm making excuses for things that I could have handled but didn't, like if a client drops in with a contagious disease that is eating away his vision and his livelihood, since he's a cab-driver and he's supposed to take 5 pills per day and ran out and needs to get a re-fill like, now? And then when I let you know he dropped in and is downstairs waiting for his card because his GA worker told him that I had already granted benfits when I hadn't really, and then you tell me to leave the case on you desk next time, instead of your "grant pile" so you can get to it right away? See in that situation, I want to explain it all, and I end up looking like the freak. Which I'm okay with mostly, but this time? Not so much. I wasn't being irresponsible, it isn't my fault you have to do this RIGHT NOW, and it's vitally important to me that you know that. For no particular reason, really, just that I want to pretend that in at least one realm of my life, I have my shit together. And I was hoping it was this one, and on the inside I do, but maybe it doesn't look like that on the outside, ya dig?
And another thing. Crticism, no matter what kind it is, constructive or not, the shit hurts. And I've got a tough facade, but really, I'm a very tender person. So between the Hurt and the Fluster, the Explaining probably comes out a little hysterical. Which is not good for business.
That's all. Thanks for reading.
April 24, 2007
Higher Ups
I have issues with authority.
Not in the traditional sense of the phrase. I am perectly content to take orders from a superior, as long as I am being justly compensated for my compliance. Which rules out Subway, Mervyns and MHN. And school.
In social settings though, I have issues with interacting with people I feel are superior to me in one way or another. Maybe superior isn't the right word, but people who are in an age, class, or employment position higher than myself make me uneasy. And it's not that I don't see them as people, it's more that I get super self-conscious of how I am being perceived by them.
I know I'm young, and black, and a woman. But I'm also a wife and a mother, a college-educated adult who can really hold my own against other people, but for some reason when I'm with those "other people" I get ashamed of who I am. I should have more education, or own a bigger house, or make a larger salary. And it pisses me off that I can't blame this on someone else, that I have to take responsibility for my own lack of self-esteem. Or really the way I hide my self esteem when I'm around other people so that I'm not challenged or put on the spot. It's easier to blend into the background than to have to constantly defend myself.
I had to tell a supervisor today that a client was pissed at me. It wasn't my fault, and I knew this client was just being the squaky wheel, hoping for some oil but the fact that this client had already called my supervisor to get me to process her case faster made me really anxious about talking to her. And my supervisor was already irritated by this client, and I know it wasn't about me, and I can look back and see she was dealing with other things, but the energy I felt from her when I went to interrupt her in a "meeting" made me want to shrivel up and die. And later I could see the humor of the situation, and I think I played it off well enough to mask my dread at that moment, but fuck man.
I don't know why I get like that. I don't know why my mouth goes dry and I start sweating when I have to approach a "superior." I do know that it's mental. Because when I feel like an equal, all this shit is gone. When I feel equal and comfortable, I'm myself. But I turn into this meek, nervous part of me when I have to deal with the higher-ups.
So fuck. No point here. Just to get it out..
Not in the traditional sense of the phrase. I am perectly content to take orders from a superior, as long as I am being justly compensated for my compliance. Which rules out Subway, Mervyns and MHN. And school.
In social settings though, I have issues with interacting with people I feel are superior to me in one way or another. Maybe superior isn't the right word, but people who are in an age, class, or employment position higher than myself make me uneasy. And it's not that I don't see them as people, it's more that I get super self-conscious of how I am being perceived by them.
I know I'm young, and black, and a woman. But I'm also a wife and a mother, a college-educated adult who can really hold my own against other people, but for some reason when I'm with those "other people" I get ashamed of who I am. I should have more education, or own a bigger house, or make a larger salary. And it pisses me off that I can't blame this on someone else, that I have to take responsibility for my own lack of self-esteem. Or really the way I hide my self esteem when I'm around other people so that I'm not challenged or put on the spot. It's easier to blend into the background than to have to constantly defend myself.
I had to tell a supervisor today that a client was pissed at me. It wasn't my fault, and I knew this client was just being the squaky wheel, hoping for some oil but the fact that this client had already called my supervisor to get me to process her case faster made me really anxious about talking to her. And my supervisor was already irritated by this client, and I know it wasn't about me, and I can look back and see she was dealing with other things, but the energy I felt from her when I went to interrupt her in a "meeting" made me want to shrivel up and die. And later I could see the humor of the situation, and I think I played it off well enough to mask my dread at that moment, but fuck man.
I don't know why I get like that. I don't know why my mouth goes dry and I start sweating when I have to approach a "superior." I do know that it's mental. Because when I feel like an equal, all this shit is gone. When I feel equal and comfortable, I'm myself. But I turn into this meek, nervous part of me when I have to deal with the higher-ups.
So fuck. No point here. Just to get it out..
April 3, 2007
Entitlement
Where on God's green earth does this evil little booger come from?
Why can I see a client that is dead-broke and appreciative of getting $100 in food stamps, and in the same day have someone making $1500/month curse me out for not getting any food stamps?
How do people develop the mindset that because they have been paying taxes all their lives, they deserve the assistance more than people who have always been poor?
I get so frustrated seeing clients who expect me to bend the rules for them, just because they fell on hard times but promise to get off aid as soon as they find another job. I hate these people who talk down to the mentally ill, and the single mothers, and all the other folks who come in here needing help, genuinely needing help, and all they see are beggars. They don't realize that half the people in here are no different than them, and they treat them like dirt, and me like some cruel vengeful wench, when they don't get what they expected.
I heard once that Fairness is getting what you need, not giving everyone the same thing. SO when people come in and complain that so-and-so gets Food Stamps and owns a house and three cars while they don't qualify for CMSP when owning the same, it frustrates the hell out of me.
How do you explain to someone that there are regulations we have to follow, and these programs are made to supplement someone's life, not pay for their needs entirely? How do I explain to someone that the people who get full benefits have nothing. No job. No home. No work experience. No family to support them. nd they are here with a roof over their head, and money being given to them until they get back on their feet.
Aaaaaarrrgh.
Why can I see a client that is dead-broke and appreciative of getting $100 in food stamps, and in the same day have someone making $1500/month curse me out for not getting any food stamps?
How do people develop the mindset that because they have been paying taxes all their lives, they deserve the assistance more than people who have always been poor?
I get so frustrated seeing clients who expect me to bend the rules for them, just because they fell on hard times but promise to get off aid as soon as they find another job. I hate these people who talk down to the mentally ill, and the single mothers, and all the other folks who come in here needing help, genuinely needing help, and all they see are beggars. They don't realize that half the people in here are no different than them, and they treat them like dirt, and me like some cruel vengeful wench, when they don't get what they expected.
I heard once that Fairness is getting what you need, not giving everyone the same thing. SO when people come in and complain that so-and-so gets Food Stamps and owns a house and three cars while they don't qualify for CMSP when owning the same, it frustrates the hell out of me.
How do you explain to someone that there are regulations we have to follow, and these programs are made to supplement someone's life, not pay for their needs entirely? How do I explain to someone that the people who get full benefits have nothing. No job. No home. No work experience. No family to support them. nd they are here with a roof over their head, and money being given to them until they get back on their feet.
Aaaaaarrrgh.
January 31, 2007
Full Day, Time for a Blog Break
I wasn't really early for work today at all, but I had to pump right when I got here because Ms. Perky was about to erupt like a milk-filled volcanoe, and that would be messy during an intake. Not to mention a touch embarassing, but, problem averted.
But I didn't get my first intake until 8:45, and it was empty. No app, nothing. Just a Fact Sheet. So I literally did every single step of the intake myself that reception ususally takes care of, which isn't hard, just time consuming.
Yeah, so then I kind of, but-not-really broke the damn copy machine, which in and of itself is nothing unusual, but it just happened to be when the other one was occupied and my supervisor was standing next to me waiting to use it, and another GMO worker was waiting as well. And I heard later I turned a touch pink, maybe not beet-red like in the past, but noticeably ... embarrassed? Distressed? Who knows. I ended up just turning the fricking thing off and back on to get it working again. Joy.
But what was with the comment about "Oh, people besides intake workers need to use the copy machine too." Yeah, okay. First off, I was the only intake worker there. Second, I know fuck-all about copy machines, so I'm doing my best to get done, you know. And third, shut the hell up, because you're not even next in line anyway!
So then I had a client applying for food stamps, and me, in my haste this morning forgot to eat breakfast, and I felt like a jerk-off when my stomche started grumbling like an old man after eating a can of beans. I was hoping to hell she thought I had the BG's and not that I was hungry, considering her present situation.
Then when I finally got back to my office(about 45 minutes later than normal) I had an email from P saying I needed to give him $790 today for Johana to get her plane ticket, and her visa, and health insurance, so that she could be on a plan on 2/18 to come watch Taryn.
I was just a touch out of sorts, so I wasn't able to pump much. I mean, it was enough, just no leftovers, ya dig?
And of course, when I get home at lunch and try to relax, eat a nice home-cooked (well, microwaved leftovers, but I can dream right?) meal, snuggle with my baby, I get a call that La Tia has a doctor's appointment, and can my mom drop off the baby late today? To which I have to say no, because Nonny works early today, and that's why she drops the baby off a little early every Wednesday, and then there's a language-barrier-miscommunication which eventually gets worked out but which in the meantime has zapped my time, and I'm off to work again to figure out a self-employment case (which is not hard, just very detailed, and again, quite time-consuming) and...
*whew*
It's only 2:45, and it's just been a full day so far. Thank Goddess I don't have to drive to Petaluma tonight.
And thank the other Goddess of beer I've got a San Miguel waiting at home for me.
But I didn't get my first intake until 8:45, and it was empty. No app, nothing. Just a Fact Sheet. So I literally did every single step of the intake myself that reception ususally takes care of, which isn't hard, just time consuming.
Yeah, so then I kind of, but-not-really broke the damn copy machine, which in and of itself is nothing unusual, but it just happened to be when the other one was occupied and my supervisor was standing next to me waiting to use it, and another GMO worker was waiting as well. And I heard later I turned a touch pink, maybe not beet-red like in the past, but noticeably ... embarrassed? Distressed? Who knows. I ended up just turning the fricking thing off and back on to get it working again. Joy.
But what was with the comment about "Oh, people besides intake workers need to use the copy machine too." Yeah, okay. First off, I was the only intake worker there. Second, I know fuck-all about copy machines, so I'm doing my best to get done, you know. And third, shut the hell up, because you're not even next in line anyway!
So then I had a client applying for food stamps, and me, in my haste this morning forgot to eat breakfast, and I felt like a jerk-off when my stomche started grumbling like an old man after eating a can of beans. I was hoping to hell she thought I had the BG's and not that I was hungry, considering her present situation.
Then when I finally got back to my office(about 45 minutes later than normal) I had an email from P saying I needed to give him $790 today for Johana to get her plane ticket, and her visa, and health insurance, so that she could be on a plan on 2/18 to come watch Taryn.
I was just a touch out of sorts, so I wasn't able to pump much. I mean, it was enough, just no leftovers, ya dig?
And of course, when I get home at lunch and try to relax, eat a nice home-cooked (well, microwaved leftovers, but I can dream right?) meal, snuggle with my baby, I get a call that La Tia has a doctor's appointment, and can my mom drop off the baby late today? To which I have to say no, because Nonny works early today, and that's why she drops the baby off a little early every Wednesday, and then there's a language-barrier-miscommunication which eventually gets worked out but which in the meantime has zapped my time, and I'm off to work again to figure out a self-employment case (which is not hard, just very detailed, and again, quite time-consuming) and...
*whew*
It's only 2:45, and it's just been a full day so far. Thank Goddess I don't have to drive to Petaluma tonight.
And thank the other Goddess of beer I've got a San Miguel waiting at home for me.
January 29, 2007
Who Noshed my String Cheese?
I don't know what's up with communal refridgerators at work. I suppose if I worked with adults it wouldn't be an issue, but for some reason when it comes to the 'fridge, people turn into completely egotistical children.
I mean, there's those people who bring in a whole bag or groceries for the week. They claim a drawer, or a whole shelf to themselves, and fill it with whole heads of lettuce, a bag of raw potatoes, and half a rotisserie chicken, plus all the fixin's. The problem with these folks, aside from being ignorant of the fact there are twenty-five other people on this floor who need to put their single-day's-meal into the exact same fridge, is that at the end of the week, their limp-ass lettuce, and moldy cheese and disgusting fucking concoctions get left there to stink up the room, and someone else has to clean up after them. Can we wipe your ass while we clean up the rest of your shit?
We've also got the freaks who insist on throwing everything out when they clean, including my hard-to-come-by titty milk. Do you have any idea how long it can take to pump that? And even after I tell you not to toss it, somehow, nobody quite knows how, but somehow, it gets thrown away. But thanks for cleaning out the container.
To you people who insist on eating nasty smelling food, or leaving your popcorn and bagels to burn while you use the crapper: You suck. That's all I have to say to you.
Last, but certainly not least, whoever the hell ate my string cheese, I'm looking for you. Seriously, do you have any idea how much I love my string cheese? Aside from the fact that it's so fun to peel off the strips, because we all know I savor everything, and it tastes so yummy, I need a certain amount of calories per day to produce that aforementioned titty milk, and a certain amount of milk products to burn those extra damn calories. And you want to steal not only my past-due strawberry yogurt with my initials on it, but also my string cheese with my name on a post-it? Are you stupid? Don't you know what a hungry mother who doesn't have enough food for her child will do when stressed? Do you have any idea what crazy looks like? Watch yourself, I'm on a mission. For real.
I mean, there's those people who bring in a whole bag or groceries for the week. They claim a drawer, or a whole shelf to themselves, and fill it with whole heads of lettuce, a bag of raw potatoes, and half a rotisserie chicken, plus all the fixin's. The problem with these folks, aside from being ignorant of the fact there are twenty-five other people on this floor who need to put their single-day's-meal into the exact same fridge, is that at the end of the week, their limp-ass lettuce, and moldy cheese and disgusting fucking concoctions get left there to stink up the room, and someone else has to clean up after them. Can we wipe your ass while we clean up the rest of your shit?
We've also got the freaks who insist on throwing everything out when they clean, including my hard-to-come-by titty milk. Do you have any idea how long it can take to pump that? And even after I tell you not to toss it, somehow, nobody quite knows how, but somehow, it gets thrown away. But thanks for cleaning out the container.
To you people who insist on eating nasty smelling food, or leaving your popcorn and bagels to burn while you use the crapper: You suck. That's all I have to say to you.
Last, but certainly not least, whoever the hell ate my string cheese, I'm looking for you. Seriously, do you have any idea how much I love my string cheese? Aside from the fact that it's so fun to peel off the strips, because we all know I savor everything, and it tastes so yummy, I need a certain amount of calories per day to produce that aforementioned titty milk, and a certain amount of milk products to burn those extra damn calories. And you want to steal not only my past-due strawberry yogurt with my initials on it, but also my string cheese with my name on a post-it? Are you stupid? Don't you know what a hungry mother who doesn't have enough food for her child will do when stressed? Do you have any idea what crazy looks like? Watch yourself, I'm on a mission. For real.
January 9, 2007
Working Mother
Well, yesterday was my first day as a working mother. Interesting. I'm not sure if I can continue on a schedule like this, I mean ... wow.
5:15am - Woke up to Taryn crying. Went to feed her, which took about 20 minutes since she was still half asleep. After that, I put her in the bed with P, because I figured she'd fall right back to sleep, and really, there was no point in me lying in bed for 45 minutes when I had so much to do.
5:35am - Went downstairs to make some coffee, emptied the dishwasher, fed the dogs and the cat, and cleaned up the house a bit. I also filled up a couple bottles for Taryn, re-stocked her diaper bag, and got all my goodies ready for work.
6:00am - Hopped on the internet and caught up on all the blogs I haven't read in forever.
6:45am - Washed my face, brushed the pearly whites, put my paint on and got dressed.
7:00am - Got Taryn up and fed her again, then played until my mom showed up at 7:40 and I left for work.
8:00-12:00 - Worked a little bit, gossiped a bit more, pumped once...
12:00-12:45pm - Went home to nurse Taryn, made a BLT for lunch. Packed her up to go to her aunt's in Petaluma, then back to work.
1:00-4:30pm - Worked a lottle more, gossiped a lot more, pumped again.
4:50pm - Arrived in Petaluma to pick her up, nursed, talked with La Tia a while to give her a few tricks with Taryn, arranged a few things, you know, mommy stuff.
5:35pm - Back home. Did the dishes, then gave Taryn a bath, lotioned her up, put her in some pjs.
6:10pm - Right when I finished, P got home with dinner (In-N-Out ... Shut up. It's a treat for me since I eat at home every day for lunch and dinner). Tag-teamed the eating and holding Taryn bit. Nursed again, snuggled a bit more.
7:15pm - Taryn to sleep. Put on a movie "The Departed." I really wasn't impressed.
9:00pm - Will showed up. Flippe dout on P for a second when the dogs started barking. Did dishes, and straightened up a bit.
9:35pm - Finished the movie. Had to take a break to nurse in the middle, I don't think it was 2 hours long.
9:45pm - Hopped in the shower.
10:00pm - Lotioned up. Went downstairs for water, got my stuff ready for work the next day.
10:25pm - Nighty Night.
And then I was up again at 6:00 this morning.
*whew*
This will last maybe a week before I start with the after-work naps.
5:15am - Woke up to Taryn crying. Went to feed her, which took about 20 minutes since she was still half asleep. After that, I put her in the bed with P, because I figured she'd fall right back to sleep, and really, there was no point in me lying in bed for 45 minutes when I had so much to do.
5:35am - Went downstairs to make some coffee, emptied the dishwasher, fed the dogs and the cat, and cleaned up the house a bit. I also filled up a couple bottles for Taryn, re-stocked her diaper bag, and got all my goodies ready for work.
6:00am - Hopped on the internet and caught up on all the blogs I haven't read in forever.
6:45am - Washed my face, brushed the pearly whites, put my paint on and got dressed.
7:00am - Got Taryn up and fed her again, then played until my mom showed up at 7:40 and I left for work.
8:00-12:00 - Worked a little bit, gossiped a bit more, pumped once...
12:00-12:45pm - Went home to nurse Taryn, made a BLT for lunch. Packed her up to go to her aunt's in Petaluma, then back to work.
1:00-4:30pm - Worked a lottle more, gossiped a lot more, pumped again.
4:50pm - Arrived in Petaluma to pick her up, nursed, talked with La Tia a while to give her a few tricks with Taryn, arranged a few things, you know, mommy stuff.
5:35pm - Back home. Did the dishes, then gave Taryn a bath, lotioned her up, put her in some pjs.
6:10pm - Right when I finished, P got home with dinner (In-N-Out ... Shut up. It's a treat for me since I eat at home every day for lunch and dinner). Tag-teamed the eating and holding Taryn bit. Nursed again, snuggled a bit more.
7:15pm - Taryn to sleep. Put on a movie "The Departed." I really wasn't impressed.
9:00pm - Will showed up. Flippe dout on P for a second when the dogs started barking. Did dishes, and straightened up a bit.
9:35pm - Finished the movie. Had to take a break to nurse in the middle, I don't think it was 2 hours long.
9:45pm - Hopped in the shower.
10:00pm - Lotioned up. Went downstairs for water, got my stuff ready for work the next day.
10:25pm - Nighty Night.
And then I was up again at 6:00 this morning.
*whew*
This will last maybe a week before I start with the after-work naps.
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