Monday, March 4, 2013
Karma, you're a stanky skank
Today proves that karma is a biatch. Why, you ask Well... A few months ago, I left a soul-sucking job primarily due to my boss, who was fired shortly after for somewhat related reasons, but mostly because he was a liability and a half. He applied to be on my team at my new job. He didn't make it (thank goodness), but he did get hired by a different team. On the same floor. In the same wing. As me. Damn you, karma.
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Exposure
I was thinking the other day of how much personal information I post online. Not personal as in identity theft; personal as in what's going on, family issues, etc. You know, things you probably wouldn't say in person because they're too embarrassing or because talking about them "just isn't done."
I've written posts countless times only to delete them, thinking, "Crap! This isn't something I'd have a hard time sharing with a friend." I expose a lot of myself online for some reason. It's easy. It's anonymous (more or less - if you know me it's not). Even if someone judges me to be a horrible person, I can delete their comments and not think about them. Something that's harder to do if someone dislikes you enough they'll tell you how much they hate you to your face.
In fact, I might well delete this post, whether I publish it or not. The issue is that we're slowly (or not so slowly anymore) losing my mom to alcoholism. A few weeks ago, while I was out of town on business, veins burst in her esophagus because her liver was so hardened blood couldn't circulate properly, making her vomit blood. She went to the hospital and had banding surgery to support the veins and stop the bleeding. She didn't tell us because she was too embarrassed. My sister and I finally got her to agree to let us talk to her doctor after her follow up appointment.
She has end-stage liver disease and needs a liver transplant. If she doesn't have one, she dies. To get one, she has to go to AA and be under the care of a psychiatrist to who will order random urine tests to ensure she's clean for at least six months. The problem is that she doesn't want to go to AA. It's in a part of town she doesn't like, she says. Besides, she's busy! Don't you know she has to get ready for bridge on Tuesday?
Both my sister and I call every day to make sure she answers. Because her doctor said her liver can fail at any time and she'll be gone. She doesn't sound sick, but it doesn't fool us - we've known that this was coming for years. My grandmother died of the same thing.
So how is it that you can grieve for someone as though they're gone even when they're alive and seemingly normal? How can I get my kids ready for this? And how can I force someone to take care of themselves when they deny, deny, deny?
I thought about asking her if she wants to die. She sometimes has moments when she's truthful. But they always say that you shouldn't ask a question if you're not certain you want to know the answer.
I've written posts countless times only to delete them, thinking, "Crap! This isn't something I'd have a hard time sharing with a friend." I expose a lot of myself online for some reason. It's easy. It's anonymous (more or less - if you know me it's not). Even if someone judges me to be a horrible person, I can delete their comments and not think about them. Something that's harder to do if someone dislikes you enough they'll tell you how much they hate you to your face.
In fact, I might well delete this post, whether I publish it or not. The issue is that we're slowly (or not so slowly anymore) losing my mom to alcoholism. A few weeks ago, while I was out of town on business, veins burst in her esophagus because her liver was so hardened blood couldn't circulate properly, making her vomit blood. She went to the hospital and had banding surgery to support the veins and stop the bleeding. She didn't tell us because she was too embarrassed. My sister and I finally got her to agree to let us talk to her doctor after her follow up appointment.
She has end-stage liver disease and needs a liver transplant. If she doesn't have one, she dies. To get one, she has to go to AA and be under the care of a psychiatrist to who will order random urine tests to ensure she's clean for at least six months. The problem is that she doesn't want to go to AA. It's in a part of town she doesn't like, she says. Besides, she's busy! Don't you know she has to get ready for bridge on Tuesday?
Both my sister and I call every day to make sure she answers. Because her doctor said her liver can fail at any time and she'll be gone. She doesn't sound sick, but it doesn't fool us - we've known that this was coming for years. My grandmother died of the same thing.
So how is it that you can grieve for someone as though they're gone even when they're alive and seemingly normal? How can I get my kids ready for this? And how can I force someone to take care of themselves when they deny, deny, deny?
I thought about asking her if she wants to die. She sometimes has moments when she's truthful. But they always say that you shouldn't ask a question if you're not certain you want to know the answer.
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