Becalmed
I think I know what it feels like to be becalmed in a sailboat far offshore with no one to come to your rescue. I feel like yelling FUCK at the top of my lungs, but no one is listening or even close enough to hear.I'm still keeping up a cheerful outer appearance at work as I go through my lunches with selected friends. I explain to all of them how I'm going to play music, sleep late, do some volunteer work, and basically do whatever I want. They all sound envious and offer me their encouragement.
Today's group was 5 guys I have known for a long time. We talked a little bit about the real reason for my leaving, but I didn't dwell on it. The steam is gone and the charred remains of my anger are all that is left. It's just not worth trotting it out any longer.
Work is becoming somewhat surreal. People are politely informing me that they are going to my staff for things that I would ordinarily handle, just as it should be. It's sort of like life support being withdrawn gradually, so that by May 3 they can pull the plug entirely on me and I can float away on my own.
I found out today that I am on my own for the big party I plan to throw on May 5. I was counting on help from a good friend who would tend bar and also bring along someone to serve. I suppose I can convince Angelina, the young woman who cleans my house, to handle the serving and cleaning up as she did at our oldies concert. Despite her limited English she has a knack for knowing what needs to be done and will leave my house with not a dirty dish to be washed. As for a bartender, my friend Kris offered up her daughter Laura, who is an adorable girl just my son's age. She could probably think of many things she would rather do than hang out with a bunch of old fogies, but hopefully she will give up a Saturday night for the cause. I'm still mulling over the menu and thinking about cooking.
But today's mood is one of feeling totally deflated, as I sit in my boat slowly going nowhere. I need to figure out how to get some air in my sails so I can continue the journey I set out on. Otherwise I will just sit here with my limp sails looking at a glassy sea.
posted by Barbara at 1:43 PM
8 Comments:
Personally, I'd want everything to go to hell in a hand basket without me. I love my work and I would want my project to succeed - I would just like to indispensable. Irreplaceable. Missed.
You've given a lot of yourself to the job; it must be hard to see them letting go of you.
You'll pick up when you actually "meet" retirement on your own turf. It's just that now you're in "no man's land" and feeling a bit like a piece of flotsam. Totally understandable.
Transition times are always uncomfortable. You're leaving something familiar for the unknown, and feeling dispensable in the process. It's something to be got through. I like that you're writing it all down and sharing it...that seems a healthy way to deal with the emotions surrounding changel.
I mentioned, and honestly meant it, that I can help you find some people to work at your party. Let me know if you want me to make the phone calls. I am at your service!
Forgot to say, Dennis is still very happy to help.
i hope this will make you laugh... my Dad had a sign that said"they told me to cheer up because things could get worse, so i cheered up and sure as Hell, things got worse."
Maybe the uncertainty of what will happen in May is making you feel blue. Think of it as a clean slate, a fresh start. What happens at work will happen.
In the meantime pick up the oars while you're waiting for the wind. Start heading downstream and enjoy the ride.
All -- Thanks for the comforting words as I wallow around in self-pity for a little while.
Steve -- Your Dad's sign sums this up so well. Today I found out the contractors I was counting on had been "bought off" as well. Oh well, 10 more days, but then who's counting?
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