Bikini Wax At The Office

"Hard work never killed anybody but why take the chance?"~ Edgar Bergen (1903-1978)

Last night I started thinking about the fact that this weblog is the only place I've ever felt I could be completely honest. No one I know is aware that I even have a weblog (many of them don't even know what a weblog is) and anyone who stumbles across it won't ever know who I am. I don't have to protect anyone's feelings or refer to events in code. Wow...how liberating!

In celebration of total honesty, I have to share one of my office stories with you. A couple of months ago, one of my coworkers decided to get her first Brazillian bikini wax. I've never had a bikini wax of any kind, so I told her to let me know how painful it was...just in case I lose my mind at some point and decide to get one for myself. The day after the waxing, she came over to my office, locked the door behind her and started telling me about the procedure. Then, she pulls her dress up and her underwear down and SHOWS me the bikini wax. I glanced down and looked up immediately, commenting that it did look a little odd. She stood there and continued the conversation without any wardrobe adjustment. Finally, to my great relief, she pulled her underwear up and left. You can not imagine how relieved I was. I mean, I'm pretty comfortable with my own body and I certainly have seen friends in various stages of undress, but never, never, never has anyone wanted to show me their genitals. Luckily for me, she hasn't felt the need to expose herself again. The company I work for is the weirdest place I've ever worked.

Here's a brief glimpse into the madness. The owner of company never participates in any office activity, including work. He sits in his office all day, playing cards online. If you have a work-related question, you'd better make it snappy because he's not going to be happy that you're intruding on his game. It's just as well, really, because generally speaking, he won't know the answer and won't care about whatever it is you're there for.

Then there's The Information Superhighway, who got the bikini wax. I don't really think she needs any more introduction. Next to her is Mr. Moneybags, who's a right wing, bigoted, hypocritical, Bible-thumping asshole who's pretty sure he's got all the answers. Just ask him. He's mean spirited, doesn't like anyone particularly (probably not even himself) and spends most of his time complaining about the company.

Crazy Employee is our newest addition, whose husband lost his job and was unemployed for about six months. Crazy Employee is famous for her win/win situation arguments. She needed to get her car fixed and wanted the company to buy a new engine for it and to have one of our employees (a mechanic) to install it. Win/win. When no one saw the benefit for the company in doing that, she just took it to a mechanic's shop where we have a corporate account, got them to fix it and charged it to the company. No, she did not ask for permission to do that. Oooo, win/win again. We also have a corporate account at Sam's Club, where we get office supplies like paper towels, toilet tissue, etc. again, without asking, she charged a lot of food (and I'm talking wine and t-bone steaks) and some clothing to the account. No, she didn't get fired. As a matter of fact, no one even talked to her about it. She was sent a memo, telling her that her charging privileges had been revoked. That's telling her.

Then there's Loathsome, who is working at our office out of state...much against his will. he's a blue-collar guy who compensates by being unbearably pompous, vain and pretentious. He wears the best clothes money can buy. Loathsome was at a company party one year and, when someone commented about his decision to wear a tee-shirt with dress slacks, he responded with "This shirt cost $200. this is class." Too bad the same could not be said of the person wearing it.

Computer Coot is supposed to be our computer specialist. He's like 95 or something and doesn't know anything about computers. I don't think anyone here has a fully functioning computer. If he doesn't know what's wrong with your computer (which is, oh, about 99.9% of the time), he tells you he doesn't know, but wants you to let him know if it happens again. I guess we should give him credit for honesty, but we're too annoyed that our computers won't work. He spends most of his time downstairs in his office, looking at porn or playing cards.

There are three more people who work here, but I don't have time to tell you about them. I guess I'll just have to get to them tomorrow.

The Past Falls Away

"Prosperity comes from the Latin root which literally translates: 'according to hope' or 'to go forward hopefully.' Thus it is not so much a condition in life as it is an attitude toward life. The truly prosperous person is what psychologist Rollo May calls 'the fully functioning person.'"~ Eric Butterworth, 20th Century Spiritual Teacher

I started out thinking I'd write to you about the issue of enlightenment, but something more pressing has interjected itself into my consciousness. Actually, I've been thinking of this topic all day, but I'm not sure it's going to take me anywhere. I'm sure the thought has lodged itself in my brain for a good reason, so here goes.

Since Becky died, I've felt the past fall away from me. It's as if the events and people in my past had wrapped themselves around me and held on tightly. From this vantage point, it feels like the swaddling has been too tight and I've been unable to move because of it. Of course, so much of my past will probably never let me go. The terrible experiences of my early life aren't holding on from the outside. They're burrowed deep into my existence and still color everything I do, everything I perceive. Trauma doesn't let go. Though I may seem very well adjusted to everyone (even those who know me best), it's only because those waking nightmares I experience are only visible to me. Even in the midst of internal turmoil, I maintain my calm exterior. Sometimes I can only manage to maintain my composure by dissociating. Though I'm not sure I told her everything (I'm almost certain that I haven't), She always understood how deeply I've suffered and what a great victory it's been for me to hide that suffering from others. The past that wraps itself around me is related to the people I knew and loved in my youth. In the months leading up to Becky's death, I felt this incredible need to reconnect with people I haven't seen in over 30 years. I even attempted to contact Michael...just to make sure that he found his way in the world and found people who could appreciate his intelligence. I managed to speak with his mom, who gave me a little update. He's been married for 17 years and he has a daughter who graduated from high school last May. He has a Ph.D. in finance (what a waste of a perfectly good mind) and works as the director of research for a finance company. Apparently he has moved about quite a bit in his career. I wonder if that's because he never fully developed adequate social skills. Unfortunately, too much brain power can be very isolating, especially if it seems that you place too high a value on it.

After I spoke with his mom, I was suicidal for the first time since my father killed himself. He has clearly accomplished his achievement goals, while I languish here being almost useless. I spent a fair amount of time in my youth working to make the world a better place. Somewhere along the way, I decided that there really wasn't much I could do to make any appreciable impact in the world. Then I dedicated myself to making money, but I never really made enough money to actually count myself as being successful. Now, of course, I spend my days as an employee emeritus, not making much of a contribution at all unless you count the emotional impact I seem to still have here. In short, I felt like a failure. Maybe I still do...I'm not certain.

My therapist hastened to point out to me that, having started out my life with so much trauma and so little nurturing that I am, in fact, quite successful. I don't know. I always wanted to transcend my upbringing to such an extent that I could achieve as much as anyone else. She keeps reminding me about the futility of those hopes. That, I suppose, is a part of the suicidal impulse I felt. I recognize intellectually that she's correct. Lately I also think that to fail to recognize my achievements (personal and professional) really reveals a lack of reverence for the abilities I was given, in spite of everything.

No doubt about it, I'm deeply flawed and those flaws have sometimes resulted in people being hurt. I'm so very sorry about that. On the other hand, I was born with the ability to recognize the madness surrounding me and with the determination to free myself from it. People who know something about me always seem to believe that I had something to do with this outcome. It's my contention that I basically hit the genetic jackpot. I arrived in the world with abilities that so many other people (who have not fared as well as I) don't have. That is the reason I am able to reach out to others with compassion, the reason I hold myself to the highest standards, the reason I'm able to find positive aspects of terrible circumstances.

I like to think that I'm finding a new definition of success. That definition embraces the great struggles of my life. The people I once knew are, without a doubt, more professionally successful that I, and maybe they're more successful in their personal lives, too. That's impossible to discern. For me, in spite of everything, I have managed to love people. In spite of everything, I can still laugh...even at myself. In spite of everything, I am able to comfort others who are suffering. That's the beginning of a new vision.

Sexual Abuse, Again

"I am circling around God, the ancient tower,
and I have been circling for a thousand years,
and I still don't know if I am a falcon, or a storm,
or a great song."

-Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Robert Bly

Well it's a very scattered day today. I'm helping to answer the phone here because Karen left this morning. Hmmm....seems to be a recurring pattern here, but no one wants to actually confront the issue. I could, of course, but I won't. When Karen started using the corporate credit card to buy food, gifts, get her car fixed. etc., no one ever said anything to her about it.
She was sent an email revoking her credit card privileges, but that was it. Can you believe that? She would have been in my office the moment I found out about it and we would have had a very serious discussion. This company is like a riderless horse.

I saw my psychiatrist today...just the usual check the meds kind of visit. I've been feeling like a slacker lately since I cut back on my (previously) rigorous workout schedule. It's a little ironic that the reason I finally started limiting my workouts was because she told me a couple of visits ago that I could wind up with congestive heart failure. Then Becky died about six months later of heart failure. Her death has kept me vigilant about giving in to my need for overwork. I told her that I hadn't gone back to my old schedule of an hour a day, five days a week, but I decided to eliminate some more food items from my diet.

She suggested that I might be obsessing about body issues in order to distract myself from some more difficult issue. Wonder what that might be. I'm willing to accept that explanation, but there are so many ways in which I don't meet my own expectations that I don't really even know where to begin. Maybe it's related to the sexual abuse I started to talk about, but then didn't because of Becky's death. Who the hell knows.

I'm certainly willing to acknowledge that I'm still angry about it and I haven't forgiven the perpetrator. (Well, there was a lot of sexual abuse in my life and certainly more than one perpetrator.) My therapist says that my emotions around those events are frozen in time, so when I start to think about it, I react the same way I did when I was five. I either dissociate or I'm overcome with anxiety. I think rage is one of those emotions I'm not all that comfortable feeling. This issue is certainly rage-inducing. I've been watching a trial on Court tv about a little girl who was sexually abused when she was three. I don't actually know when my own abuse started, but I know I was under the age of five because the time I remember when I attempted to escape from him occurred when I was five. I tried to persuade my father to not leave me with him, but got nowhere. Then, when everyone was gone, I tried to hide in the bathroom so he couldn't find me. Clearly, abuse had already happened prior to that time.

I do know that eating disorders are frequently caused (in part) by sexual abuse. I don't have an eating disorder, just strong tendencies. So maybe that's the issue. Fuck. I don't know. I won't see my therapist until Friday, so I guess I have till then to figure it out. Of course, now I've upset myself. I guess I'll just go back to work now and try to calm myself down.

Sexual Abuse

I have an opportunity tonight to attend a dharma talk by a Chan master from Houston. I'm not sure whether I'm going to go, mainly because I'm a little worn out today. The larger issue is one of discomfort with the idea of going someplace by myself. since my mother moved here, I haven't really gone many places alone--I'm usually with her or Hubby. It's funny in light of my long-standing preference for being alone. I think the talk will be attended mainly by Korean and Chinese students, so I wouldn't even have to interact with anyone...just show up and sit down. It's been a while since I've focused any attention on my spiritual studies.

Most recently, I've been reading a lengthy article about Ah-nold Schwarzenegger. Now there's a pretty scary guy. He apparently runs California almost exclusively by fiat. I also started a novel by Steven Wright called "Going Native." Very Pynchon-esque, but not quite as dense.

Last weekend I saw the documentary, "Capturing the Friedmans". I had tried to mentally prepare myself before watching it because I was afraid it would trigger sexual abuse flashbacks. I haven't had any problems, but I was surprised to find that many people who saw it didn't believe there had been any abuse committed...or that, if there was abuse going on, it was perpetrated only by the father. I'm almost certain that children were abused and that both father and son participated in it. I think the thing that makes it easy to believe the charges were false was the fact that some of the children had some pretty wild stories to tell. Perhaps all of the activities they related didn't in fact occur, but that doesn't mean that there was no abuse. The father was a pedophile--there's absolutely no doubt about that. People who aren't pedophiles do not own kiddie porn. It's highly unlikely that a pedophile would create many opportunities to be with little boys (in this case) and have the self-control to not abuse.

As for the son, I do believe he was abused by his father. As a matter of fact, I'd be surprised if all the sons weren't abused. Again, that's a very unlikely scenario. There was an extraordinarily high level of denial going on with all of the family members. It could be that the other sons could only cope with it by blocking out the memory. That's certainly what seems to have happened with the perpetrator's brother, who was sexually asssaulted when he was a little boy. We know this is true because Friedman the elder confessed to it. I also think the fact that David, the eldest, made a career of being a clown for children's birthday parties speaks to the likelihood that he was abused, too. As for the third son, there was not enough information to guess one way or the other.

watching Jesse (the son who participated in the abuse) talk about the entire situation convinced me of his guilt. As you know, I see child abusers around every corner and I recognize my propensity to think the worst of people when sexual abuse allegations are levelled. Nonetheless, that doesn't mean that my judgment in these cases is incorrect.

As for my own sexual abuse issues, i haven't spoken with my therapist about it in a month or so. The week before Becky died we had begun to discuss the issue because I was having flashbacks then. I can't always tell what triggers them and I don't recall right now whether I knew then. I've spoken of the abuse to so many people, both therapists and "counselors," that I pretty much believed there was nothing left to say. Therapist pointed out to me that much of that talking was useless at best and very harmful at worst.

The first person I ever really talked to about it was my high school guidance counsellor. just thinking about that makes me angry to this day. as I would talk about it (and the other more bizarre elements of my childhood) to her, I could see a voyeuristic pleasure she got out of hearing it. To make matters worse, her only advice to me was to lay my problems at Jesus' feet. You can not imagine how contemptuous of her I was. It still makes me angry.

The second time I talked about it at length was with a psychologist when I was in college. I ended up seeing a male psychologist, which was definitely not in my best interests. As a matter of fact, I have refused to see any male mental health providers ever since. The guy in college wanted me to give him the particulars and I believe I did so to whatever extent I was capable. So much of it is unavailable to me because when it happened, I dissociated so effectively that I really wasn't present for much of it. At the end of every session, he wanted to hug me. I didn't really feel that I had much of a choice, even though in retrospect it's clear that was, in itself, abusive. I think I've reached the limit of my tolerance for thinking about it.

The Jamie Saga, Part 2

Jamie told me that his most recent girlfriend had been living in California, which is where he lived when they met. Details were a little sketchy about that relationship, but he told me he decided to end the affair because she was unable to have children. He said she'd phoned a couple of weeks prior to our lunch and informed him she'd be coming to the city that weekend (the weekend of the lunch date). He said she might well be there when he got home. Jamie seemed to bitterly resent the fact that she sold her house in California and made a profit. Once again, I was amazed and baffled.

I told him Kenyon called me to let me know you died and how much I appreciated the fact that calling me with that news was very brave and very kind. Jamie asked if Kenyon knew Bill wasn't his father. Bill knew he wasn't the father, I told him, but I'd never asked about Kenyon. I just naturally assumed he knew because I can't imagine you withholding that information. The fact that Jamie was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis must have reminded you of the necessity for telling Kenyon. Anyway, I said I decided a long time ago that if you wished for me to know, you'd tell me. Jamie said he has no interest in taking a role in Kenyon's life. He acknowledged that Bill raised Kenyon and, therefore, he really has no right to intrude into that relationship. He also asked me to contact him should Kenyon ever ask me about his birth father. I agreed to his request, knowing that scenario is highly unlikely.

At that point, lunch was over and, since Jamie didn't express any interest in how things are going for me, it was definitely time to leave. I said I'd get in touch with him if i was able to find a job that seemed right for him. (I'm still interested in doing that, but I'll be damned if I can figure out what he's qualified for.) He glumly requested that i call him sometime. Another disconnect. What the hell is that about? Furthermore, I can't imagine why I'd wish to spend another couple of hours listening to him complain.

On a more positive note, I looked fabulous. I know this is shallow, but I work very hard to maintain myself. In fact, I sometimes wish I could just send some photos of my butt around to all of my former boyfriends. It looks much better than it did when I was 20. I hope he passed that info on to E.U. Jamie is about as close to him as I care to get. I don't think I'm really ready to get together with any of the men I slept with 30 years ago. Don't you think that would be just too weird?

Enough already. Please know that I tried to do what I thought you'd wish. Jamie wondered how I might find out whether you had a chance to tell Kenyon about him. I have absolutely no intention of pursuing that information. I can't imagine anything more destructive.

Quote of the day:
“One can have no smaller or greater mastery than mastery of oneself.” Leonardo daVinci

The Jamie Saga for Becky

"You desire to know the art of living, my friend? It is contained in one phrase: make use of suffering." Henri-Frederic Amiel Henri-Frédéric Amiel

A couple of weeks after you died, I contacted Jamie since you told me he called you some months back. I wanted to try to forestall any additional contact, knowing that Bill would probably be enraged. I tried to track Jamie down via the web, but his name was too common and I thought he was probably still living in California. that gave me the idea (and the opportunity) to contact E.U. I found his email address on the web...I knew he was living here, because I periodically do searches for a couple of my old lovers to see what they're up to these days. No, as a matter of fact, that does not constitute stalking.

I digress...more on that later. anyway, I finally got in touch with Jamie and we agreed to get together for lunch one Saturday not long ago. He greeted me with the statement that he hadn't seen you in 15 years. I thought that was odd an odd way to start the conversation. I wanted to do some general catching up before we started the serious conversation about you and Ken. I asked what he's been up to for the past 30 years or so. He told me that he got his master's degee after a lot of screwing around, had a job in California that lasted nine years, quit that job and he hasn't found a comparable job since then. It turns out he's been here for the past five years, working as a handyman. He pointed out to me that he hasn't "accomplished" anything.

I have to admit, the handyman thing really threw me for a loop. You know I don't care if he's accomplished anything or that he's a handyman. I guess I just expected someone with his talent and intelligence would find a less difficult and more financially rewarding way to spend his time.
He said that he was married once, for a year. Jamie said that his wife was younger (i don't doubt that--I'm sure it's hard to find women his age who are interested in getting into a long term relationship with a man with such low expectations in life) and was in her senior year in college when they wed . He said she told him she wanted to continue to live on campus for that year so she could be active in campus activities. Well, okay, that's pretty weird. What kind of lame ass person wants to voluntarily live on campus when she's a senior? And married. He said that at the end of her senior year, she just came over one day and told him she wanted a divorce. Out of the blue. I'm sorry, but that makes me laugh every time I think about it.

Generally speaking, I think it's a good idea to be a little bit concerned when your spouse would rather live in a dorm than live with you, if only because sex is so much more inconvenient that way. He said she was a film major and she made him go to see movies constantly. He complained that she made him sit through all of the credits at the end of all the movies they ever saw. Doesn't sound like much of a love connection there, does it? I wish I'd asked more, because now that I think back, there are a number of questions I'd like to ask. You know, just for fun.

So then he worked for some company doing what sounded like technical writing. I thought maybe I could help him get a contractor job, but he was so vague about what he wanted to do that I still haven't quite figured out what he's looking for. I called him about one job, but he told me he didn't think he had the technical skills for it. My therapist (and my mom) thought it was exceedingly rude that he didn't say thank you for the call. It actually hadn't occured to me until they pointed it out to me. then I got really concerned that Jamie really just likes being a handyman and just doesn't wish to tell me. I didn't want to call him up if it made him feel bad.

When i told my husband about lunching with Jamie, i commented that we always had some difficulty communicating. He thought i meant that i didn't like him. Frankly, i couldn't exactly remember what the exact issue. After our lunch date, though, the problem became abundantly clear. Jamie just likes to complain. He complained about his ex-wife (well, okay, I guess everyone does that), the job he used to have, the jobs he had in between this job, his current job, the fact that old friends are making more money than he does.

I'm sure I spent a lot of the conversation looking at him in complete bewilderment. As you know, I'm a big proponent of getting your shit together and doing something productive to solve your unhappiness. I think when we were younger, I believed my inability to understand his general unhappiness was due to some lack of insight or attention on my part. It wasn't me, after all. I wonder if he complained to you all the time. Surely not. I wish I could ask you.

There's so much more to tell, but my attention is drifting a bit, so I'll have to finish the tale tomorrow.

IQ Tests. What the Hell.

I've wasted most of my day today attempting to verify my IQ scores. My SAT scores placed me in the top 1% and I scored 136 onthe last IQ test I took. Big deal. I periodically get really obsessed with my IQ, as if it matters one tiny little bit to anything. I suppose I'm feeling insecure or needing some pats on the head. It's kind of pathetic, Really. Oops. I'm trying really hard these days to cut myself some slack and calling myself pathetic probably doesn't qualify as slack. I was surfing around, looking at high IQ societies to figure out if I could get in one. I could get into several, but I don't even want to be in one. My impression of those groups is that they involve a lot of solving those stupid murder mystery things where everyone plays a part...sort of like participatory theatre except nowhere near as interesting as real art. Boring. If they're so smart, why are they wasting their time with that bullshit? I've been laying low in my office these days. My stress level rises exponentially whenever i have to interact with j. You know, I've given him too much credit. I always thought that he must surely have insight into his own behavior. Other people, including my therapist, have convinced me that I'm incorrect. The unfortunate facts are that he is self-righteous, bigoted, narcissitic and a hypocrite. Of course, while I'm typing this, I'm thinking "He's just a very wounded person who's deserving of my compassion." I think there are always at least two ways to interpret people's behavior and I always select the nobler interpretation. Though it may be correct that most people don't act out of their highest self, I have a great resistance to changing my approach. It doesn't hurt me in any way to believe that people are kinder, smarter, etc. I don't let them get close no matter what their motivations or inclinations. The problem is that people (including me) tend to behave in hurtful ways out of their own blindness or weakness or pain. Mainly pain, I think. So you just naturally want to keep them at arm's length until one can discern each person's level of self-awareness. My therapist thinks that my standards may be a little stringent. She keeps telling me that if I would venture out of my safety zone, I might find people who could appreciate me. I'm not going to be finding that appreciation at work, that's for sure. It's a little late in the day to start talking about why that's so, but believe me, it's very true.I'm supposed to be proofreading someone else's work and, of course, I've been avoiding it by writing this post. They request so little of me. I guess I'm going to try to complete that task before I go. Still missing you, Becky.

You Will Never Imagine Anything Again

This is the first time I've written since you've been gone. I thought it might be good to continue our discussion. Your death has opened some new place inside of me. I find that I have a sense of the interconnection of all things. If my physical body was split open, there would be the whole of the universe swirling inside of me. I sense the movement of all beings everywhere, like feathers rustling as we all nestle inside this soft machine. The funny thing about it is that, shortly before you died, I spent a fair amount of time actually thinking about the pieces of my heart which are scattered across the world. My old friends and lovers have good days and bad days, like what they had for lunch or hate the traffic while they drive to work in the morning. They are out of my reach. I suspect dying is something like that...you leave, knowing that your loved ones will fill millions of mundane minutes, but you will never know how they passed those ticking seconds. I wonder if you ever thought about this and imagined what some old lover was doing at 4:18 in the afternoon on a Wednesday. Doesn't matter, though, of course. It only matters that you will never imagine anything again.

The most important point is to accept yourself
and stand on your two feet.

SHUNRYU SUZUKI

Having written many letters in my life that were never mailed, I've decided to send any new communiques out into the universe. For the record, I'm a 48 year old woman with a husband, a stepson (and step daughter in law) and two huskies (Mr. Ruskie L. Tuskie and Miss Sheba Woo). I live in Texas, where summer temperatures are over a hundred degrees on a regular basis and we execute an average of one death row inmate a week. I endured all types of child abuse known to psychotherapy. My father committed suicide five years ago. I'm still recovering, but I suspect recovery never really ends.

These facts do not define me.

My separateness and identity are only an illusion. In truth, I am every person who reads these words. I am, in fact, the Mystery. As is every person who reads these words. Two years ago, I opened the door to a new understanding. My journey is just beginning.