Eight-and-Thirty: A lonely stretch of road

So it's almost 1 AM and I'm not asleep. Which in and of itself is not that uncommon of an occurrence or as big of a deal as it used to be. I came down and figured I'd play on my phone a while but I realized I was getting a little low on battery, so I thought I'd plug in for a while and come on here to write even though my brain is fried. Then just as I'm getting settled in, I knock my phone off my desk and the damn charger gets bent. Blugh. I'll see about getting a new one tomorrow, although this one is working for the time being, so... whatever.

I'm pretty prone to sugar and caffeine these days. You know Starbucks is going hard with their holiday promoting and Mel is feeling it. We were pretty good for a while but it was just a matter of time. Hence -- partly -- the lack of sleep. Although I actually am sleeping, nearly enough per night, it's just a lack of tiredness at the end of the day. Hey, I'm not falling asleep on the couch watching TV right now. This is my preference.

So, here's the thing. I owe you a post, but I can't say much. There's a whole immense thing and it's just not something that I can discuss. Which is weird. Theoretically, this is where I come to talk about everything, but I've known for a while that there's a topic I wouldn't broach until the time was right and now the time will never be right. All I can talk about is how I can't talk about it. All I can do is talk around it and try to get you to feel what I'm feeling without letting you know why I'm feeling it. Does that make sense? Do you relate? Am I alone?

Haven't I always been? Does it matter?

So here's what I can say, I think. Something bad happened, something serious and shall we say unexpected. But it's over now. It's not hurting us anymore. But during the last few weeks, it was... a big, scary, strange blur. We tried to carry on as normal but it was not normal and things needed to be settled, and once we made that determination, we settled them. Which was not as easy as all that, but it wasn't... logistically difficult. It meant some hard, long days and nights, which we are still coming out of. There's some sadness and some shame and frustration and disappointment that it all came out this way. That's putting it mildly. It's... stunning, and not the sort of thing I thought I would ever have to deal with in this life, but it was what it was and we... it happened. I guess that even though I've tried to sit down and process it, I haven't really tried to put it into words from my perspective outside of the context of my relationship and those of us who are affected.

I would like to move forward. Honestly, there's not choice but to move forward. I would not like to feel chained to this moment in time, I would not like its effects to linger with me, but they probably will and I'm not doing myself any favors by memorializing them in this post but if I skipped over it, that would be weird too. I would notice the absence in the ongoing narrative of this blog and I think that would give it power. But at the same time I can't open it up and name it. It's just this secret wound that will be in me, in us, going forward. There's before and there's after, but thankfully this is after.

Yeah, it's after. We're dealing with a change, to ourselves, as people and as a couple, a sort of redefinition. An adjustment of mind. Neither of us knows what the future holds, what the path forward is but I feel assured there is one. The way things happened was not what was wanted but was for the best. Of that I feel assured.

So all of this has been sort of the theme of the last few weeks, and it's been rough. It has not been easy dealing with this in the shadow of the holidays, when we are very much not feeling festive. I think that played into it as much as anything, the weird and uncomfortable juxtaposition of tinsel and glittering lights and this feeling, this thing, this choice. Pain... suffering... anxiety. Tough conversations. Tears. Appointments. Frustration. Exhaustion.

Being after doesn't mean that's the end of it, but it means we are on the other side of something.

In all of this, I have somehow massively compartmentalized. I have measured holding my wife's hand and being there for her with the requirements of work to, frankly, award-worthy aplomb. I didn't want to have to do this, but the distraction was helpful. At the same time that all of this was going down, I became aware of a job opportunity that felt increasingly right for me -- again in Category Management -- and I thought if I'm ever going to have an opportunity it's this one. So on Friday (after delaying from Wednesday -- which was, incidentally, Mel's and my anniversary, at least on the calendar... we'll be celebrating in January) I turned on the charm for an interview. And guess what, I got a second one. And that was today and it went pretty well too. Now, they've said they probably won't have next steps laid out until the new year, so I'm going to try not to spend the next three weeks biting my nails. If my name is called, great. If not, I will try -- I will try very hard -- not to be bitter about it. Part of me wants this, to keep moving forward and better yet feel validated about my place in the company. Part of me is very fine with the idea of not getting it -- although I find that part shrinks whenever I get bad news (or worse, someone else's good news.) I'm worried there is a not insignificant part of me that is starting to identify as bitter and directionless and angry at other peoples' successes while doing nothing to cultivate his own. He wants to feel better about sucking by everyone else continuing to suck as well. Or rather, he wants to put in the minimum effort, and cry foul when he isn't the one chosen, because he wants the reason to cry.

Everyone keeps telling me how hard the job actually is, how busy it is. Well that doesn't sound fun. I like my job because it affords me time and headspace to pursue things that are not my job, even if those are not the things that earn me a paycheck. So if the status quo remains, I will not cry, but at the same time I would probably look at whomever does get the position and sneer, why them, why not me? Even though I outwardly -- and honestly, I do mean it -- have thrown my support behind three other people who also usually apply for these roles who I would be happy to see succeed. And if I do get this hard, busy job I suppose I will have to be content with that. I still have weekends, you know.

I sort of made this deal with myself that I liked, that I wouldn't be doing this job anymore by the end of April 2024. That would be the beginning of the next-next fiscal year. It would simply be too many years doing this same job. Whether that means getting one of these mythical new jobs, or quitting to pursue my passion, I do not know. I don't even know if I can hold myself to it. For many years in retail I told myself -- 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015 -- this would be my last Christmas behind a cash register. Probably my actual last one was one where I didn't even bother saying that, although I was extremely down and out during Christmas 2016 so I probably felt very fatalist about my prospects. Anyway, it's sort of a manifestation thing. If I get this job, it likely means that the idea of me being an IA again as of April 2024 is virtually off the table and I don't have to worry about it. If I don't, it means I have a year and change to figure it out. The urges to get back to Real Writing have been rising lately, in the strangest ways -- I've been reading to Mel from a romcom book she bought.

I've been writing. I put some new stuff out into the world, and that felt good. I've got many other things on the go, some of which may see the light of day, some maybe not, but it keeps me occupied, keeps my mind busy. I was re-reading an old post from summer 2019 (because of course I was) and I was talking about what a dream it was to just get something out there and maybe make a buck or two, and guess what, I have now officially made a buck or two -- including with the thing I was working on in Summer 2019 -- and I want more.

I'm working on getting my blog -- that is, the X-Men blog, not this one -- converted into a book. You would think the smart play would simply be to convert my old posts into a form that could be considered "bookish" somehow but frankly I'm not even looking at them, I'm doing it all from scratch, because the blog is written in the moment and I need to use the book to take a long view. It's hard, it's rambling, it's a lot to grind through but doing it makes me happy so I make time, the same as I make time for the blog in the first place, and other things. Which means it will actually get done, in the long run, even if it isn't overly lucrative. I mean gosh, I created the first draft document on Oct 27 and I now have about 20,000 words (this is how easy it is to get writing done when you're relying on someone else's previously-created material, not generating your own wholecloth... although I shouldn't balk, because I created the first draft doc of my latest story on Dec 4 and that was 20,000 words in under a month too. I feel very accomplished... what a feat of compartmentalization under the circumstances.)

Anyway. All of that is basically what's up with me. I'm more tired than when I started but not fully tired out yet so maybe I'll indulge in some 2 AM Frasier before I go back up to bed.

Keep on rockin' -- it's all we've got

Scotto