Happy Mardi Gras
Today is the ultra-decadent holiday, Mardi Gras. I’ve managed to avoid all of the partying down here, but today is going to be the real test. My drive to work involves crossing a major ‘party’ street, which has been barricaded off for the last couple of days. I’ll be happy when tomorrow comes.
When tomorrow comes. Hmmm…..traditionally the Lenten season has been a rough time of year for me. I’m hoping this year I can handle it a bit better. We’ll see how it goes. Speaking of which, today I’ve got a bit of a gripe. I work for a major clusterfrak…I mean, a major corporation. I don’t begrudge companies making money, not by a longshot. I do get a little irritated when my money is held back, though. I don’t work for free, yet somehow it seems like that is what I’ve been doing lately.
Let me explain. Recently I’ve had to change my address and my bank accounts. I’ve had long-standing relationships with both, but it was just time to cut the cord. You’d think in today’s technologically savy world it wouldn’t even be an issue.
It is.
My paycheck, which, normally would be dumped in my bank account every other Thursday evening, is somewhere in the US postal system. I’m told that I missed the cut-off date by a couple of hours when I put the my new banking info in the computer. My new address I’ve had for several weeks, yet my company still can’t get it together enough to send my crap to it…my company correspondence (ie-PAYSTUBS) still go to Tom’s address. Which is another story in itself. So here it is Tuesday morning, Mardi Gras morning, and I’m sitting here with $5.84 in my checking account. I’ve become the running joke on my team. Am I worried? Not really. I’ve got back-up resources. Am I ticked? Starting to get there. I have had to go through enough crap in changing my banking info. I’m an online person when it comes to a lot of my business. If I can’t deal with it online, pay it online, or ask about it online, it’s unlikely I’m going to deal with it at all. So changing all of my bill info has been…a joy…but tolerable. Going on the fifth day of not getting paid is getting…tedious. Frak, the hard check was supposedly mailed out of Dallas Wednesday, which, will be a week tomorrow. Dallas, for all intents and purposes, is just about next door to me. How much fraking longer is this going to take?
Thank God for Mr. Visa and Mrs. Mastercard.
Happy Mardi Gras, everyone.
Control
A/N-pure fiction on my part. I’m working something out with this. If there is an interest, I will post the rest. In pieces.
The location of Graham Central Station made it a popular nightspot for the local college kids as well as business travelers. Most of the business people down here are affiliated with the oil field. Every now and then we get visitors from other industries. I chose it because it wasn’t exactly in my backyard. A nugget of wisdom my father shared with me long ago in one of his drunken states: If you’re going to play, never do it in your backyard. Of course, I was quite young at the time and had no idea what he was talking about. My young mind pictured a swing-set and a sandbox. Why would the neighbors care if I were playing outside on such equipment?
It’s funny the things that stick with you, and this one surely did. The older I got the more I understood what he was talking about. And the sicker it made me. Because at one time he was one of those traveling businessmen for the oil industry. What he did in other people’s backyards, I’ll never know. Nor do I want to.
So I walk in to Graham’s on a Saturday night. It’s a huge place, broken up into several different areas. There’s the dance area for the kids dripping with hormones and alcohol; a lethal combination. I paused and watched the courting and mating rituals for a few moments. Some things never change. Then there’s the gay area. Out of curiosity I wandered over for a few moments, just to see what was going on. Not my scene at all. Next we have the country and western area. It’s filled with overweight drugstore cowboys complete with the hat. I scanned the area quickly to see if anyone I knew happened to be there. Not tonight. Okay. So I make my way to my target area. It’s more relaxed, the music is a bit softer, and people my age hang out there. I’m not sure what area to label it…maybe the ‘aging and leftover rockers’ area. I pull myself up to the bar and order straight up 7 up. I really feel like drinking, but, since I’m out of designated drivers tonight, I decide to keep it clean.
When sleep eludes me
Ann, sweetie, I am thinking of you tonight and your recent post about sleepless nights. You’re right. Some of the best stuff comes to me while I’m trying my darnest to fall asleep. Tonight I gave up on getting to sleep and decided to pop open the laptop to get these thoughts down before I forget everything when the morning sun takes a peek over the horizon.
What’s going through my mind are ‘last times’. The last conversation you have with a really dear friend or family member before they pass away. The last time my baby nursed at my breast. The last time I was able to carry my baby before she insisted on getting by on her own two feet. The last truly passionate kiss I shared with Tom. The last time we made meaningful, passionate love in the middle of the night. The last few words I shared with my mother before losing touch. The last time I drove my teal green Escort with the spoiler. The last time I attended a Catholic mass as a full participating Catholic. The last time I had to get up at 2 in the morning to soothe away a nasty dream for one of my children.
For too long now I’ve been living half a life. By that I mean my professional life is coming up roses while my personal life stinks to high heaven. I’m tired of ‘putting up’ with this nonsense. I am a passionate, decent, caring, open-minded person. No, I’m not trying to blow my own horn here, I’ve got plenty of faults and am my own harshest critic. At the same time, I would surely be dismayed to find out that I have already experienced the ‘last time’ for joy within my personal life. I’ve still got plenty of work to do on myself, but…I will always have plenty of work to do there. By the time my Good Lord is done with me, I will get to meet Him.
Part of me looks back at these ‘last times’ with great sadness, although, truly I do not remember any of them and certainly would have taken my sweet time should I have had a clue that this would indeed be the last time for any of the above experiences. When was the last time I really got to talk to Nannie and what did we talk about? When did Mandy decide she wanted a bottle and not to be cuddled and nursed any longer? Where was I the last time I carried her anywhere? Under what circumstances did Tom and I share that intense, passionate kiss with each other? When was it that we reached out to each other deep in the night as husband and wife, sharing ourselves and our bodies completely, the only thoughts on my mind were of him, making him completely happy, loving him with everything I had? What would I have done differently had I known these times would be the very last time?
Truthfully? I would have done nothing different. Because I gave myself entirely. Because that’s how it is supposed to be. Will I be able to give completely of myself again?
Well. Not right now. Still hurting a bit. But the desire is there. I recognized that today.
Making peace with myself is always so difficult. Will this be the last time I have to do that?
Maybe not. But the more experience I get doing it, the easier it becomes. In order for things to start going right in my personal life, I’ve got to forgive myself first. I’ve neglected to do that. Because I neglected to remember that I cannot control everything, much as I like to think I do. Letting go and forgiving myself. Riccie, you are forgiven.
Funny thing. As usual, what I planned to write about and what actually came out are not exactly the same. Well, this time, they’re not even close. While I was trying to get to sleep a bit ago and failing miserably, my thoughts were going round and round about the last time I did certain things. What I actually needed to get up and write about was forgiving myself.
Dennis gave me a tremendous gift this morning at church. No doubt he’d be the first one to say I gave it to myself. But he made me see something differently today. He’s made me see a lot of things more clearly, only he doesn’t realize it. But he will get my testimony. I signed up for another class this morning, and I can’t wait until it starts.
I had no idea that I would end services by literally crying on Dennis. I suppose, in a way, this morning was another ‘last time’ for me. There was the Riccie that showed up five minutes late for Sunday service with her middle daughter in tow and all of her personal garbage overflowing in her thoughts, and then, there was the Riccie that walked out of that church this morning, having cried on Dennis’s shoulder, feeling like a new person.
Riccie: Just in case you didn’t get the memo-read this slowly and carefully: I FORGIVE YOU.
Love,
Riccie
Not my will, but Thy will be done.
Eve Of Destruction Video
This is not a political statement. It is a personal statement of my feelings at the moment.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Akoukq5DvAE
This is not a political statement on my part. It’s a personal statement of my feelings as of late.
Women drivers?
Driving to the office this morning on the M25 motorway, I looked over to my right and there was a woman in a brand new BMW doing 90 miles per hour with her face up close to her rear view mirror putting on her eyeliner!
I looked away for a couple of seconds and when I looked back she was halfway over in my lane still working on that makeup!
It scared me so much that I dropped my electric shaver which, in turn, knocked the breakfast roll out of my other hand in all the confusion of trying to straighten up the car using my knees against the steering wheel, my mobile fell from my ear directly into the coffee between my legs which created a big splash that burnt big Jim and the twins.
Naturally, at this point, I let out a small manly scream, which made me drop the cigarette out of my mouth and ruining my shirt. On top of all this, when I retrieved my mobile from within the coffee, I discovered that it had disconnected an important call!!
Fraking Women Drivers!!!!!!!
Thanks, RA 
