I'm nerve-raw: I have a huge meeting and I am sooo out of my league. I am a trailer-park girl and there's this huge meeting of executive types coming up and I'll be drowning in an ocean of pantsuits and Macy's perfume selections.
They made -me- Director of Sales, and I have so little to wear. I'm intimidated by executive class assholes.
I'm wear a smock jersey grey cowl neck dress with a black triple buckle shell belt.... and some rip-off Chanel silver and black heels.... And then the -next- day of the conference, I guess I'll go with the sheer black and white cherry blossom kimono top...
And sitting and listening to marketing lectures and social networking schemes for 20 hours...
It's so not me. I'd rather be back at work, happy in my business-y Wal-Mart wear, selling the meeting rooms to happy couples, probably third cousins here in the Midwest, --for their wedding receptions. Or with Sire, or Dan, or cooking, or washing dishes, or with Jessica or even my ex-husband. I would rather do something that doesn't involve.... pretending to be something I'm not. And I'm not class, and that's fine, because I never wanted to be.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Sunday, September 9, 2012
...The Storm Tossed Waves
You don't have to go looking for trouble for it to find you. Trouble and I get along together, generally speaking, we both try to stay the fuck away from each other but, joy of joys, it just...antagonizes me.
I do way too much for other people, and people I consider my friends. I come off as stoic and rude, but I'm not, generally, when people get to know me. Unfortunately, in my line of work, people only get one first impression, and that's generally the fat mean bitch behind the counter.
I have tried many times to overcome and be the "correct" person, for the various facets I'm required to perform for, throughout my day. I have to be ignorant, in order to go along with the underhanded schemes of my employers; I must be voiceless for the man I currently entertain, and I must be warm, kind, and welcoming to all the people who stand in front of me, throughout the day, regardless of their intentions. I must be obsequious in all regards; I must obey without reluctance, and never question the orders, I must be shrewd as well, and find money where it doesn't exist, and do quite a lot with very little. I must not have desires, --for they will neither be fulfilled, nor will fall on welcoming ears or eyes.
I must not beg for change, and I must have no pride, and I must never expect respect, though I must always show it in return for none whatsoever.
I must be happy with nothing, for it is all I will receive.
I may not smoke, or drink, --I may not swear, or allow myself to indulge in pain, for there will be no comfort. The awkwardness of those around me, the incompetence, must be ignored, and encouragement must always be given, never criticism. I may not speak unless spoken to, --I will never say the right things, so it is best to be led and directed like a doll.
I must not offend anyone with my appearance, and therefore must dress according to guidelines issued by the employer, I must always be painted, and if I am not, I am guilty for leaving my makeup off.
My fat is offensive, my voice, my actions, my face, my eyes.
I must apologize for these things. I must never forget to apologize, all day, and wish everyone the best in life.
I must never be a victim, or allow myself to feel victimized, because I am not. I have brought all events to me through decisions I have made, and I deserve this pain that I cannot reveal. I must not cry; I must be thankful because this is not suffering; I must never allow myself to indulge in suffering. I am lucky. I must always feel lucky, and be lucky.
...Every night, on my way home from work, I drive down a hill; there are railroad tracks at the bottom. Every night I get this urge to speed up, jerk the wheel to the left, and flip my car. I don't know if it would kill me or not, but it would be different... It would be different, ne'est-ce pas?
I do way too much for other people, and people I consider my friends. I come off as stoic and rude, but I'm not, generally, when people get to know me. Unfortunately, in my line of work, people only get one first impression, and that's generally the fat mean bitch behind the counter.
I have tried many times to overcome and be the "correct" person, for the various facets I'm required to perform for, throughout my day. I have to be ignorant, in order to go along with the underhanded schemes of my employers; I must be voiceless for the man I currently entertain, and I must be warm, kind, and welcoming to all the people who stand in front of me, throughout the day, regardless of their intentions. I must be obsequious in all regards; I must obey without reluctance, and never question the orders, I must be shrewd as well, and find money where it doesn't exist, and do quite a lot with very little. I must not have desires, --for they will neither be fulfilled, nor will fall on welcoming ears or eyes.
I must not beg for change, and I must have no pride, and I must never expect respect, though I must always show it in return for none whatsoever.
I must be happy with nothing, for it is all I will receive.
I may not smoke, or drink, --I may not swear, or allow myself to indulge in pain, for there will be no comfort. The awkwardness of those around me, the incompetence, must be ignored, and encouragement must always be given, never criticism. I may not speak unless spoken to, --I will never say the right things, so it is best to be led and directed like a doll.
I must not offend anyone with my appearance, and therefore must dress according to guidelines issued by the employer, I must always be painted, and if I am not, I am guilty for leaving my makeup off.
My fat is offensive, my voice, my actions, my face, my eyes.
I must apologize for these things. I must never forget to apologize, all day, and wish everyone the best in life.
I must never be a victim, or allow myself to feel victimized, because I am not. I have brought all events to me through decisions I have made, and I deserve this pain that I cannot reveal. I must not cry; I must be thankful because this is not suffering; I must never allow myself to indulge in suffering. I am lucky. I must always feel lucky, and be lucky.
...Every night, on my way home from work, I drive down a hill; there are railroad tracks at the bottom. Every night I get this urge to speed up, jerk the wheel to the left, and flip my car. I don't know if it would kill me or not, but it would be different... It would be different, ne'est-ce pas?
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