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I’ve been a little remiss in my thoughts lately. It’s not that I’m not having any, its more attempting to get them out on paper. Someone I know has had major surgery and possibly has the C word. They found a tumor so large that it was just easier to remove a kidney than do anything else.
I’ve been a bit bemused from people’s reactions to the dreaded C-word. Cancer isn’t something you catch. Its something that happens and if gotten to early is something you can recover from. It’s the lump in the breast, the ache in the back, the headaches that wont go away. But when it sneaks up on you, its the most dreaded. Go into the hospital because you’re short of breath and shazaam lung cancer.
When people hear about it, they immediately personalize it. What if it was me? What did the person notice? Did they feel ill? What are their symptoms? How did they discover it? Is it treatable? What if it was me?
Some people can’t even say the word Cancer without freaking. One of my friend’s husband actually asked me not to discuss it with his wife. He said every time she hears about someone with Cancer, he has a very bad night. She seems to have a morbid fascination with Cancer and those who get it. She pulls each story out of the victim and ghoulishly glories in the details.
The older I get the more I realize that every single person is profoundly different in their heads. Mine included.
In a week, we will know.
Ciao
A baby dropped by work yesterday accompanied by Big Brother, Mom, and Dad. Women came from all directions as if there was some scent in the air. What is it with all the squeaking and cooing and can I hold him? Men fled and women stood in line to hold the baby. He was passed around like a hot potato. He’s not even a month old yet. So it was a very small sack of potatoes, more like a very large roast. Big Brother got bored and started racing around the cube-farm at top speed, bouncing off walls, and stealing candy. I didn’t blame him. At his age, what fun is it if you can’t play with it. All those adults inquisitioning him about his new Little Brother. Give him a break, he’s really not sure how he feels yet.
All this fuss, and it was legion, was going on right outside my cube. I had a front row seat for all the squeaking, cooing, and pregnancy stories. As I sat there, it struck me as bizarre. You get pregnant. You swing between moments of sheer terror and incredible joy. You can’t stop nature and shazaam, you suddenly have another life that you are responsible for. At this stage, its sleep deprivation for you and constant sleep, poop, and eat cycle for him. Men flinch and women exchange war stories.
His mom confessed she’s bored stiff and has already been sneaking peaks at email, keeping tabs on work, and just plain craving adult conversation. She gladly passed him off to all the cooing females just to have a few minutes off.
Eventually, all the more aggressive moms wandered away and the shy people popped out. Those people who aren’t quite sure what to do with a baby, want to look, or feel socially obligated to go see the baby. They stand back a few feet, right on the edge, hesitant. You can see things flitting through their minds: “It’s a baby.” “Am I ever going to have one of those?” “Does it bite?” “Let me get a little closer..” “Eww, ohh, wow.” “It’s a baby.” “There, did it. Social obligation fulfilled. Run.” “Do I want to hold it?” “It’s a baby.” “It looks like every other one I’ve seen.” “Cool.” “Eww, are they supposed to do that?” And then they too drift away.
Then it was my turn. She turned to me and said, “I have to pee. Do you mind holding him for a bit?” I must have looked wrong because after a frustrated sigh, one of the women plopped him in my arms, told me how to hold him, and next thing I knew, I was feeding a three week old infant. I must have been doing it right, because everyone settled down. Then he farted, burped, and went to sleep. I was told I had truly been accepted. But I must confess. No twinges of maternal instinct. No ticks from the old clock. Nada. Zilch. Zippo.
Long time ago I realized that on the subject of having children, I really was apathetic. I’m sure if I was with someone who really had the joneses for them, I would have them. But who I’m with now, likes them a lot but also likes to give them back. We’ve talked about it and agree, if something happened to our friends, we would gladly step in and raise em. But having our own just isn’t in the stars.
Ciao
Looking back over the years, I realize I’ve reached the months of the year where I absolutely loath my job. My company is one of those huge ocean liners that never turn on a dime and think they are just on the cutting edge of things.
We constantly are bombarded by emails, posters, and cheery phone messages saying how wonderful our company is to work for and how much money they are raking in. But if you work for a large corporation, you know where this rant is going to end up.
It’s justify-your-job-time yet once again. It’s that lovely time of year where you have to come up with ways for them to prove to you and their managers that they have good little workers and they deserve all the credit for making them that way!
I do like working for Large Company. It’s nice, friendly, and pays me okay. It gives me health benies and lovely lots of paid vacation. But 2 months out of the year I hate Large Company for making me think about how little of a raise I’m going to get and just how darn grateful I should feel.
“You want more gruel?” “Yes please.” “Here it is and that will be a pound of flesh if you dont mind”..
Meanwhile, smothering me under emails, cheery posters, and frickin’ phone calls……
Argh!
“I coulda’ killed you. You’d be dead right now if I hadn’t of hit my brakes.” Words no one should hear after flashing lights and siren pull you over in the dark. I’m still a little shocked after the incident.
I always wondered what it would be like to have the authority to pull over someone who “failed to yield the right-away”. Us mere mortals, only get to yell, flip, and drive on muttering. But as a Police Officer, you get to do an illegal U-turn, almost cause an accident, and terrorize helpless civilians.
I guess I should be grateful that after I made a stupid call in judgement, after a distracted moment, I got off with a warning. The little snot declared that if he had given me a ticket, I would have lost my license and just “what the hell was I doing in his state anyways”.
I’ve been thinking about this for several days now and can come up with no reason why he was so angry, hostile, and down-right scary rude. He had the gun. I didn’t say anything. I told him what I was doing as he shined his flashlight in my eyes. I made no sudden movements. I just don’t get it. He scared the bejeezus out of me and that makes me angry.
After he drove off, I made it to a well-lit place, pulled over, and indulged in a small nervous breakdown. I still had several hours of night-driving yet to get home.
Was he having a bad day? Was he annoyed? I didn’t know it was any of his business what I was doing in ‘his state’. Maybe he was pissed I scared him? I just don’t get it.
Did you survive? Friday the 13th seems to bring out the hind brain in people. Goose bumps? The little hairs on your arms a-tingle? Going around ladders instead of under them? Did you drive a little more carefully?
Thoughts of an Old Fart 