Archives For Happy

I just can’t quit you

Madame Weebles —  September 11, 2012 — 169 Comments

Well, that ended up being a much shorter blogging break than I anticipated.  It’s your fault, you know.  That’s why I’m going all Brokeback Mountain on your asses.

I did!  I missed you all very much.  (Except maybe you.  And you there—get your hand out of your pants and zip up.)

Thank you all so much for your wonderful, touching comments, and big hugs to everyone who sent personal emails.  And an extra batch of big hugs to Cathy, for the stunningly revitalizing reiki session.  Also, a huge vat of buttered noodles to Brother Jon for the shoutout on Sunday.  I’ll say it again: You guys are awesome.  Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.  I’ve been deeply humbled by the outpouring of kindness from everyone.

It got me thinking . . . why should I deprive myself of the joy of your company?  As long as I make sure to take time for all the other things I want and need to do, there’s no reason I can’t blog too.  Everything in moderation, that’s all.

I’ve been ridiculously, almost comically productive over the past week.  The momentum is powering my mojo again.  A lot faster than I expected.  I feel great.

And I got a pedicure—the first one I’ve had in well over a year.  I chose a rich, dark red polish color called “Head Mistress.”

So I’m back.  Get ready for Madame Weebles 2.0.

Unlike many of you, I am a mere mortal.  I have many weaknesses.  You know how Superman was powerless against kryptonite?  There are many things that are kryptonite to me.  Some in a good way, some in a bad way.

For instance, certain accents are kryptonite to me.  Yesterday we were treated to The Reclining Gentleman’s English accent.  The English accent weakens my knees pretty quickly.  But the accent I’m most powerless against is the Irish brogue.  I can’t resist it.  Can’t.  Won’t.  It doesn’t even matter if the speaker is male or female.  I’d pay good money just to listen to an Irish person read aloud from the dictionary or the phone book.

There are several other things that are guaranteed to evoke a visceral reaction in me, such that I am unable to resist swooning, making an ass of myself, and/or indulging in to an unspeakable degree:

  • Cute animals—anyone who doesn’t turn into a mess of goo with cute animals is probably Hitler reincarnated.
  • French fries—this should require no further explanation.  They’re delicious, greasy, salty proof of God’s existence and benevolence.
  • Carvel ice cream—for those of you not fortunate enough to live in an area with purveyors of Carvel, Carvel is like Dairy Queen or Mr. Softee, except much, much, much better.  See “proof of God’s existence and benevolence” above.
  • This guy—at this point he should need no introduction.
  • Flea markets—where you can find all kinds of crap you never knew you absolutely must have.
  • Bookstores—at least, until Amazon destroys them all, anyway.
  • Las Vegas—over-the-top decadence and debauchery at its best.

Then there’s the bad sort of kryptonite. Things that are so heinous and awful that I can’t stand looking at them, hearing about them, or being in the same room with them:

  • Disgusting holeswe’ve discussed these.
  • Roaches—Satan’s emissaries on earth.
  • Any of those interminable ASPCA and Humane Society commercials—why don’t you just waterboard me, it would be less traumatic.
  • Cottage cheese—to some, a healthy snack.  To me, a vile poison.
  • Honey—to some, a delicious topping for toast and other things.  To me, a vile poison.
  • Kevin Costner’s voice—want to send me into a homicidal frenzy?  Force me to listen to the audio from Dances With Wolves.
  • Tom Cruise—my hatred of him is even more intense than my hatred of Alex Trebek.

So how about you?  What’s your kryptonite?

I was laid off last week.  And you know what?  I was thrilled.  THRILLED.  If I hadn’t been laid off I would have quit.  And while I would have enjoyed leaving on my own terms, it actually worked out better for me this way because now I get severance and unemployment benefits.

I was in the pharmaceutical industry (yes, Evil Big Pharma) for more than 10 years.  I was lucky enough to love my job for much of that time.  But from the very beginning it meant long, long hours.  I frequently didn’t get home until after 10pm.  Getting home at 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning wasn’t unusual.  In fact, on my last day in the office before I took time off to get married, I was at work until 3am.  I pulled many all-nighters.  I worked more weekends than I care to count.  I worked my ass off.  And if I say so myself, I was damned good at my job.

But the past few years really sucked, for a variety of reasons that aren’t worth discussing.  And my physical and mental health suffered as a result.  I had no time to myself.  I fielded work calls, emails, and texts when I was out of the office—it didn’t matter if I wasn’t feeling well or if I was on vacation.  They still came after me.  Hell, they called/emailed/texted even when I was at the hospital with Mr. Weebles when he was sick last year.

I was pretty sure this layoff was coming.  So last Monday, when I got The Call (“Hi, can you come into the conference room for a minute?”), it wasn’t a surprise.  In fact, I was truly hoping it would happen.

And now I’m free.  It feels fantastic.  My time is my own for the first time in many, many years.  I’m eating and sleeping properly, which I haven’t done in ages.  I’m having a good time just being.  Even chores like going to the supermarket and cleaning the house are fun activities right now.  (Note to self: Take advantage of this while it lasts.)

And after I feel sufficiently detoxed, I’m moving on to my new career.  I talked about this recently, and after mulling it over a bit more I’ve decided that yes, I will indeed become a Patient Advocate.  People need help, and I want to help them.  It feels right.

I realize how fortunate I am.  I’m not panicked about being out of work, I’m not worried about how I’ll pay my bills and mortgage, and I’m not anxious about finding a new job.  Mr. Weebles is the most wonderful and supportive husband a woman could ask for, and we’ll manage just fine.  I feel extremely grateful and blessed.  By losing my job, I’ve gained a lot more.

Thanks, Former Employer, for cutting me loose.  Thanks for helping me to understand what a dysfunctional place I was in.  If you hadn’t been so over-the-top insane, I might not have realized it.