contact-ish

I am tired today.  I worked at a different store today- across the river from me.  Was up at 3 am.  I’m thinking that for the positives of this job, the schedule might not be the best for my recovery.  But the cards are dealt, and who knows how long I’ll have it?  I may be fired tomorrow. 

Not many folks I know there, except for the guy who used to be at Cedar Hills- the guy I’m working with.  It’s a smaller store, different energy.  I liked it, although I was on the floor a lot, and trying to answer questions even though I had only been there a day.

Then I bumped into someone.  The wife of the quite wonderful guy with cancer I talked about in an earlier entry.  She, by the way, is quite incredible as well, and I admire them both greatly.

The question came out:  “How are you doing?”

And she meant it.  And she was listening.  Really listening.

I just wish I wasn’t at work.  Whenever I’m at work, I put on that hyperhappypuppydog thing.  Jump through the hoops.  Jump.

Should I tell her how I really am?

It was worse, because I had on the damned apron- the one with ‘friendliest store in town” stitched in bright yellow.  It’s such a fucking literal reminder as to what is appropriate and what isn’t.  So, I was already hyperaware and anxious about not being me.

My work persona is a thin veneer of happy and balanced that easily can shift into aloof steel wall if something upsets me.  Should have seen me yesterday.  Quite remote.  So, if you catch me at work, chances are I am not being how I really am.  And this is where she caught me.

I did tell her what was going on- the short version, but it was disjointed.   Even if the words were real, I wasn’t, so it came off as “things are bad, but they’re bound to get better!  You know, that affectation that rounds everything into the positive in the end.  Or changes the subject.

She left, and I just felt like an idiot.  There wasn’t a thing she did wrong, or for that matter, the store either.  It was my anxiety getting the best of me.  I still think that being real at work is, well, not what they’re paying me for.  But when I stick that mask on, I’m anxious that folks will look at me and say to themselves, “He’s fine.  He must be faking it.”

If I had my choice, I would be somewhere isolated for about a month, by myself, enjoying and then probably being driven crazy by the solitude.  Its just so many people constantly right now, and I am tipping any sort of mental balance by trying too hard to be cheerful, positive, hell, even neutral.

True that not every day is doom and gloom.  Some days are up.  Well, sort of…

I’m like a kid who has a helium balloon, and hasn’t learned the trick to tie it to my wrist.  So I play, then almost lose it, then am more cautious, and go between the fun and the fear until finally the balloon drifts away and I can’t get it back.

All of this feels like me apologizing.  It is more about just getting a grip on my fear about how folks see me.  I know I don’t look sick, many people have told me that, even argued with me about it.  So, I feel like I have to give people a primer for what is going on with me.

Why not?  It’s pretty simple.

·         Don’t ask me how I am at work. 

·         Don’t be offended at my glacial pace of responding to you.  If you e-mail, facebook message, whatever, know that the only real conversation I’m having is on this blog. 

·         If you really want to talk to me, pester me for a time to meet.  Or, if you’re really ambitious, a call.  Be warned, though.  I may be tired, or just not in the mood to talk.

·         And finally, if I seem like I’m in a good mood, don’t call attention to it.  Just ride the wave.  It’s what I’m doing.