Today was one of those days that I got so pissed (for any British folks reading, that means angry, not drunk) that my whole face was hurting. I used to be a rather intense young woman (yes, I was worse when I was younger—scary, I know) and would often find my teeth and jaw hurting from clenching during times of extreme stress. I still had that problem when I taught computer lab at the elementary school just a few years ago, mostly because of the frenetic pace of that job, as well as the energy it took to teach so many students (275 over four non-contiguous days) so much in so little time.
And that was probably the last time I felt like that—almost four years ago. Now I work at home, keep my own pace, do get angry on occasion, but mostly keep it pretty low key. I have an occasional flare-up of annoyance at stupid things people do (never you, Miss P), but I rant a little to my kids, call that person an idiot a few times (who am I kidding—I call them a fucking idiot), and blow past it.
But today I got so riled up that first my face started to hurt all around my mouth—my chin is still practically twitching from the strain of tightening my lips in anger—my heart was doing weird things, and finally my teeth started to hurt. My chest tenses up when I’m stressed and today my breathing became so affected that I literally became dizzy when I stood up. Really, I can’t remember the last time I had so much anger buzzing around inside me. And as opposed to the good old days, when I could smoke a cigarette and bitch about it to my office mate, all I could do today was IM furiously (in every sense) with my co-worker. It is hard to rant with your fingertips, even when you type as fast as I do, which approaches the speed of thought.
I think I’m calmed down now, although my gums are throbbing and I expect my teeth and face to hurt until at least tomorrow. I’m not going to get into the story, because it’s not all that interesting, but it comes down to being ignored and overridden, and then being informed by an underling that that is the way it will be.
The details are not important (and by the way, I’m ignoring the mandate), but what it comes down to is being treated with disrespect. Whether that was intended or not, someone making carte-blanche decisions about your work without having the courtesy or, well, it’s the respect to discuss it with you…I have been working a long time, and I have never been treated like that.
Actually, that’s not 100% true. I had one boss, early in my career, who basically scrapped everything I wrote, wrote it himself, then left it to me to photocopy and distribute and then said, “Good job.” At least in that case, he had much more experience than I did, but his approach to “editing” annoyed me so much, I quit, though not in a huff. I was young enough and had a skill that paid well enough that I could quit even when I didn’t have another job lined up.
Unfortunately, I’m not in that situation now, because if ever there was a day I would have stormed out of an office, today was it. I do have a skill that pays well; I just can’t count on getting enough gigs to pay the bills if I quit this one today, and I have mouths to feed and a mortgage to pay. So I’ll just suffer with my aching mouth and face, and hope tomorrow is a better day.
My post on Wednesday, Is Milk Money, not surprisingly didn’t get a whole lot of readership. Maybe it was just coincidence, because people were more interested in reading about Obama’s inauguration than a research paper about a movie and a movement. I am not very well behaved when it comes to sticking to my format, other than my Monday posts, so forgive me.
I really owe it to you to at least do a mea culpa by saying a few (and just a few) words about The Wrestler. Apparently the Oscar people didn’t like the whole film well enough to nominate it for a Best Picture (wha…?), but they did apparently understand that Mickey Roarke gave the performance of a lifetime. He was an actor as perfectly matched to part as Peter Sellers was to Chance the Gardener in Being There. I doubt you will ever see another performance like it, to see an actor simply be and be that compelling.
I warn you, though, that the movie is gruesome. I experienced something unique, which is that I became so nauseated (by scenes I wasn’t even watching, because I couldn’t look at the screen) I had to leave the theater for fear I would actually vomit. And out of the theater, I was in a cold sweat, ready to freakin’ pass out. I had a few sips of water from the fountain, rested on a bench for a few minutes, and felt well enough to return to watch the rest of the movie, which I guess you could call intense.
So we start with intense and end with intense. On an unrelated note, my son is going back to school on Sunday, and I believe I will miss him more this time than when he left in September, because I can really notice how much nicer life is when he is here than when he is at school.
I am actually so exhausted from getting worked up earlier that I can’t even think, and it’s only 8:30 p.m. I’m done for the day…totally fried…
Sorry for the ungraceful ending, and thanks for reading. Gifts Part II on Monday, I promise.