raise me up

October 23, 2011

(whoever titled it is stupid and the visual quality sucks. i'm sorry for that ... but the sound is good.)

so, on the rare occasion that i felt compelled to turn on the radio this past week, i have heard josh groban's you raise me up three times. now i don't listen to the the radio all that often, so maybe this isn't such a freak thing, but ... it's not a new song. it's been around for years. years. like, i was living in san antonio. and that's been at least six. so for the radio (and i'm pretty sure it was the same station) to play that same song three times in seven days, that's not a typical thing, i'm thinking. a coincidence, sure. and i shouldn't think too much of it. but, for some reason, every time i hear this song, i think you should maybe talk to god. or something. or remember that he's there at least. one of those times had been just before i'd gone to see a friend who is constantly talking to me about prayer and how strong a woman's relationship with god could be, and about how good he is, and that she gets everything she asks for ...

seriously. the woman runs a furniture store. one of her delivery guys quit. that day, she prayed to st. anthony to send her someone to help. and the next day (or maybe it was that afternoon ... it was crazy quick), this handsome, strong, nice young man walks in the door in need of work. his name? anthony.

i'm just saying.

so i, i'm either not asking for the right things, or i am getting them and am obtuse.

but i tell ya, i think it'd be kind of hard to miss godsends like the ones she gets.


so three times in one week.

and every time i hear this song, i stop what i'm doing (unless i'm driving ... and if i'm driving, my attention is more focused on this man's voice and the lyrics) and some small bit of peace enters my soul ... briefly.

i wish it would stick around for a bit longer, but sadly, by the end of the thing, my cynical self has reclaimed the brain power.

so i put it up here on my blog, in hopes that maybe if i listen to it more regularly, it might help. or something.

the opposite of success

October 22, 2011

yesterday was not a good day.

a coworker and i had a disagreement about who got to work the rack versus who got to work the boxes. but really what it was about was her treatment of me. the fact that she'd been angry with me for weeks, but unable to address the issue that had caused her upset. she'd barely spoken to me in that period, and if she had something to say, the manner with which she said it was unfriendly at best. i'd tried a number of times to discern the cause for her demeanor toward me, but she was reluctant to discuss it. so i'd assumed that it was that she was unhappy with her work or not feeling well, and that i was being, typically, paranoid. that it hadn't been about me at all.

until yesterday.

this is one of those times when my instincts were right, and i should've trusted them and gone to my superior to seek a remedy of some sort. but no. it escalated.

so much so that we had a miniature team huddle with our direct supervisor, in which everyone was given the opportunity to express their concerns.

apparently, the whole team has a problem with me. my moving on to the next task because the current one was nearly completed and i didn't see an advantage for eight women to tackle putting up five hanging garments when one or two could get it done and there were other, fuller racks to tackle ... apparently that was perceived by them as my disinterest in working with a team. and my choosing to put up product that was more manageable for my hands, as opposed to shelving things that i could not put up as quickly as other team members could ... this was perceived by them as my always choosing the easy tasks.

and when my direct supervisor and the soflines flow team trainer (the woman who'd harbored ill-will toward me for a month or so) had a discussion after this huddle, it wasn't to resolve conflict, it was to heap on more blame on my shoulders.

both of these meetings took place on the sales floor while the store was open. and customers were staring and talking amongst themselves.

so again. i am the problem.

i am the weakest link.

i am the least valuable player.

i left work crying. i went to pottery barn kids because i needed to be reminded that not everybody hates working with me.

i. i. i. i sound so selfish right now.

then i went home and tried to take a nap, but there was so much angst in me that when i closed my eyes, it felt like the room was spinning. i couldn't relax. couldn't rest. couldn't put it down.

i showered. dressed. went to p.b.k. for my afternoon shift. almost sprained my ankle. spent five minutes on the floor in the bathroom crying.

then, when i got off work, i went to the memorial service for the mother of one of my oldest friends.

then i went to pappadeaux's to try to write. because usually when i'm this unhappy, i write some truly awesome shit. but i only wrote half a page.

and drank two glasses of vodka mixed with peach schnapps and cranberry juice.

this paired with the cup of ice cream i had on my lunch break yesterday ... that was probably not a good idea. because now my throat hurts. and i'm still anxious and unhappy. and i don't want to go to work and pretend to be happy when i'm not.

i want to write this stupid, stupid novel, so i can quit my stupid, stupid jobs and pay off my stupid, stupid debt so i don't feel quite so much like the stupid, stupid failure i've become.