A double helping of random

First, here's my Saturday Random Ten:

1. Billy - James Blunt
2. I'd Die Without You - PM Dawn (is that a moldy oldie, or what??!)
3. Teenage Confidential - The Flamin' Groovies
4. Black Balloon (live) - The Goo Goo Dolls
5. I Shall Believe - Sheryl Crow (I may leave Sheryl out of the mix next time)
6. In Your Eyes - Peter Gabriel

Click Here to Read More..

Wallyology

I haven't blogged about my son in awhile. He finished his freshman year but may not get to be a sophomore anytime soon. If I thought a "smack upside the head" would make a difference, he'd have gotten one long ago from either his father or me. But he's locked into a pattern of making dumb, impulsive decisions and then lying when the decision starts to go wrong. As a result, he will soon lose his car and basically be disowned by his father, who says Wally has "worn out his welcome."

I think the only thing that will set him straight is being forced to be entirely on his own. No favors, no gifts, no safety net, no second chances, no benefit-of-the-doubt. He tells me a decent-paying job seems to be a sure thing, and I certainly hope he's right about that. He will need one. I'm a long way from giving up hope that he will start behaving in a mature manner. He has the foundation - he just needs a more immediate sense of the consequences when he hatches one of his hare-brained ideas. It can be said that both his father and I made decisions through the last 15 years that have contributed to Wally's mindset...but there is no way to turn back the clock. Even abject apologies from both of us would make little difference. I've used Carl (my husband, Wally's stepfather) as an example of things Wally shouldn't do -- quit school, start smoking, lock himself into a dead-end job and/or "up and move" when things get stressful. I think he understands the truth of this.

He has a girlfriend he seems to be fairly nuts over -- this is the first one he's really gone on about. But I'm uneasy that he may grab onto her as a life raft. I hope her parents are strict and protective, because if they're not, she could be vulnerable to the urge to rescue and take care of Wally as he bumbles his way along to stability. Click Here to Read More..

And a good time was had by all. 'specially me.

Okay, guys, I have just gotten through, truly, the suckiest week at work in a long time. I will not belabor the details; that's not the purpose of this post.

This is going to be a happy post, by gum.

At 5:00-ish yesterday evening, I almost literally limped to my car. I mean, we're talking down, ragged and defeated, despite the author of my pain taking a vacation day. My circadian rhythms make the hours between 5 and 7 pm the lowest point for me, energy-wise. I typically get up at 6 a.m. and for the next several hours am very ready, willing and able to do just about anything, especially when it comes to planning and organizing. But starting around 3:30 in the afternoon, the energy starts to wane seriously. Especially on Friday, and especially if it's been a tough week. A good example of this was yesterday -- made a detour to the restroom and stood in front of the wastebasket with a crumpled paper towel in one hand and my car keys in the other -- needing about three long seconds to sort out which one I was supposed to toss in. There are some evenings when I will walk in the door, say hi to Carl, kick off the shoes and most of the clothes, and just fall into bed and be deeply asleep within 2 minutes, waking up an hour or so later not having changed position. Then, of course, I stay up until the wee morning hours, but...

So, yesterday evening, I had to rush over to the church to catch the tail-end of an important meeting, and then a half hour later it was time to attend dinner at a friend's house. I had to slap together a time sheet, as I always do on Fridays, and would have gotten it started earlier, except for having to fill in on the company switchboard from 4-5. So it's rush-rush-rush, making up the time sheet, shutting down my computer, putting away all the paperwork and getting out of Dodge. In my quest to arrive promptly at the meeting, I took a shortcut along one of the most dismal, drug-ridden streets in the city. Such was my pessimistic frame of mind that I fully anticipated encountering a flat tire, fender-bender, carjacking, or improvised explosive device along one of those 4 blocks. Perhaps my emotional sun started to peek through the clouds as I turned onto the next street and left all that squalor behind.

The church meeting was not unpleasant, but it was a somewhat confused and talk-heavy affair, and having come in so late, there was little for me to contribute. I think everybody was fairly fatigued by the time we broke up at 6:00, but I didn't want to arrive too early at the dinner, which was located just blocks away. But there was no one to hang out and chat with, so I took the long route to my friend's. I'd never previously visited them before dark. Upon arriving, I discovered that they have ample parking space behind their house, making it unnecessary to scope out an appropriate spot at the curb. One of the other guests had arrived just before me; their smiling faces were a balm to the soul as we walked into the house together.

And so went the whole evening. My friend is a wonderful host, along with her husband, and a splendid cook. I've known her just over two years and feel enormously blessed by her friendship. She is a consummate night-owl. If you even try to make conversation with her before 11 a.m. or so, you'd be advised to record it, since she won't remember much of it later. So most of the time we spend together is on weekday evenings. She's walking on air, while my ass is dragging. I was genuinely worried about how I'd hold up for 3 hours' worth of leisurely dining and conversation with six other people.

But I needn't have worried. There was wine (oh, yesss!), salad, a roast, potatoes, squash, a marvelous dessert and coffee. A few auxiliary brain cells kicked in and I was able to converse intelligently about politics, religion and society in general. I indulged briefly in a recitation of the preceding week's miseries, but all of that suddenly, miraculously felt irrelevant.

After about three hours, the inevitable exhaustion reappeared and I was the first to get up and say goodnight. I'd seen one or two discreet glances at wristwatches before that and suspected that I'd provided an opportunity for the others. Six warm hugs and then it was a short, uneventful cruise back to my (thankfully) empty street and quiet abode.

An absolutely perfect end to a day that could have been worse, at the conclusion of a week that many of us thought would just drag on forever.

I'm hoping the momentum will carry me through this weekend and enable me to do something other than stare at the computer and take naps. And then Monday it's back to the battlefield ... freshly armored. Click Here to Read More..

"White Light" - Wishin' and Hopin'

I don't pray to a deity. Stopped doing that nearly 7 years ago. Happy to put it behind me. Never looked back.

I don't meditate. But I'd like to learn. I have a great deal of difficulty focusing on one thing, such as breathing, to the exclusion of other things. It's a work in progress.

But without prayer or meditation, there remains the question of what to do when there's a situation that's out of your control, but you've got something invested in the outcome.

Wish ... hope ... send white light, as a friend of mine likes to say.

I'm more than a bit skeptical about the "law of attraction." I've tried it a few times, seen it work, but the track record is almost exactly equivalent to the results gained through prayer. Inconsistent. Closer to coincidence than anything.

So I hesitate, good humanist/skeptic/UU that I am, to delude myself into thinking I can send out "waves" or "vibes" or anything like that to the universe and somehow influence it to alter the course of events to suit me. Pure logic says it's in my head and nowhere else.

But the thoughts persist. The helplessness that has kept religion going for millennia.

Two of my good friends have been vacationing at Ground Zero for the current flu outbreak. They are healthy, vigorous people who always keep a positive attitude and don't generally slouch around talking about their latest ailment. And fortunately, in the event that some microbe may overtake them, they have access to good healthcare. There really is no reason to worry about my friends. They've kept in touch via e-mail and made no mention of any worries other than government offices being closed and the possibility of travel delays. I do sense, though, that they're more than ready to get back home.

I feel tense, restless, and yes, helpless. I have a personal stake in this situation simply because I care about them and think they're undeserving of sickness, bureaucratic inconvenience, or even the worries of friends, who may want them to quarantine themselves for a week or so after they come back, just to play it safe.

I'm as clueless about "white light" as I ever was about prayer. The Law of Attraction folks say I should only visualize the best outcome -- picture them bouncing off the plane with carefree grins and luggage full of whimsical, sanitary souvenirs. A month's worth of amusing stories about the food and scenery. That is, actually, how I see them in my mind's eye.

If that's "white light," I'm hitting the SEND button now. Click Here to Read More..

Workstuff

Having depleted a lot of creative and emotional reserves with the previous post, it's taken me this long to come up with any sort of new topic. And so, I resort to a rather old one: The office.

Several months ago I described my co-worker Fredi. I know that she and her teammate Louise have been very bogged down with a combination of a bug-ridden new software system, new policies and procedures, year-end cleanup, and sheer volume of work. The woman who works with me was even pulled away from her job to help Fredi and Louise a couple of days a week. She came away from it feeling she'd accomplished nothing but fall behind with her own responsibilities. "They are SO disorganized!" she said, with more than a little disgust. Fredi's desk had become the one no one wanted to go near. If someone needed a document that Louise couldn't find, they would simply wait for Fredi to return, rather than take the risk of trying to wade through tottering stacks on the desk, the floor, and the overhead compartments.

In addition to a crushing workload, Fredi is also contending now with her mother, who fell recently and appears to be straying far off the road to recovery. As the elderly often will, she has decided she's "too old" to make the effort at rehab. Fredi had hoped she'd rally, but this seems not to be in the cards.

Last Friday I stayed late and heard Fredi & Louise's manager direct each of them to speak to him in his office -- Fredi first and then Louise. There was a tone to it that put me on the alert, whereas usually I'm so wrapped up in my own work, I'm oblivious to conversations around me unless they become unusually loud. I listened for Fredi, believing that if she got bad news from Taylor (i.e. a layoff), there would be a significant emotional reaction. But, she came out of Taylor's office and said to Louise "Your turn." All well and good, I thought, and went back to my own little world. Fredi left in her usual fashion: At top speed, with nary a word to anyone.

So Monday, I arrived at the office and saw out the corner of my eye that Fredi's cube was empty. This did not alarm me unduly -- with her mother's situation, she's already had to take time here and there for caregiver conferences and meetings to determine future placements. She tries to schedule them first thing in the morning, rather than cut a large chunk out of the day. It's been very stressful for her. She would often tell me how sleep was eluding her, due to worry and the feeling that there was no relief in sight.

A few minutes later, though, after I'd clocked in, hung up my jacket and started focusing on the day ahead, I took a second look at Fredi's cube and saw that all her many, many personal items were gone. Her workspace was stripped ... and her nameplate was blank.

Holy shit, I thought. I had few illusions about Fredi's stellar work habits and doubted very much that anyone else did ... but to pull the plug on someone who's maybe 6 years from retirement, someone with a disabled spouse, a house that won't sell, and now a mother headed into a decline, was truly heart-rending. I hoped they had at least offered her some sort of halfway decent severance -- she'd been with the company about ten years, I thought. And was Louise going to have to pull the entire load now? What was Fredi's husband, who still worked here, going to do? Would he quit in protest, or deliberately slack off at his job?

What a way to start a week.

And I spent the next half hour or so wondering how they'd managed to do this. Did they call her later Friday, or Saturday, perhaps? Or did she arrive first thing Monday morning and receive instructions to clean out her desk? It was, needless to say, difficult to concentrate on much else. I wanted badly to ask someone, but my manager and the others were walking back and forth, making casual conversation a bad option.

Interestingly, it was my manager who explained it. "We've had layoffs over the weekend," she said. I jerked my thumb toward Fredi's cube and said "So I've noticed."

My boss waved her hand in dismissal. "Oh, Fredi's fine. They sent her over to the local branch." The local branch is where all Fredi's closest friends are -- she left their group to come to our office about 3 years ago and has frequently talked about how much she missed them and their informal camaraderie. They are not a "corporate" bunch. They're a half-hour breakfast-at-your-desk and take-an-hour-to-peruse-the-new-Avon-catalog bunch.

It was by far the happiest moment I've had at work in a long time. I'm very glad for Fredi -- she still has her job and has escaped from this pressure cooker the rest of us are in. We exchanged a couple of brief e-mails and she confirmed what I'd surmised -- she's in the best of all possible worlds. She still gets to see her husband, since his work takes him here, there and everywhere.

It's been so busy since Monday, I haven't had a chance to ask Louise how she's holding up. I suppose I'll soon get a taste of whatever she's got going. The other person who does what I do is going in for some surgery tomorrow. It's a repeat of something she had before and that time, it kept her home for a few months. She claims she's determined to be out no more than a week, but I'll believe it when it happens. The timing's bad, though. My boss later went on to tell me that 2 other people DID get laid off Friday, and we're already seeing a lot of doubling-up of work loads.

The frantic pace does make the days and weeks go by faster. There is that. Click Here to Read More..

Any brilliant folks here?

I figured it couldn't hurt to ask:

My son Wally the college freshman is having a hell of a time with math. Specifically, advanced algebra / linear equations and such. When it comes to practical math, he's fine -- inherited that from his father. But his befuddlement at the more abstract concepts comes, alas, straight down the maternal line. He is taking the course for the second time, having bowed out with an incomplete last semester. He's even considered changing majors to avoid it, but every field he's looked into seems to have math lurking in the wings.

He's doing well enough with homework because it's all online and the program encourages students to keep looking for the answer until they get it right. But when a test is on paper, in front of him, and he has no other resources, he's lost. I don't think this is a "test anxiety" thing, since he's doing fine in all his other classes.

Anybody out there know any good secrets for fooling your brain into playing along with the course material and avoid the "oh, this is that stupid math that makes no sense and will never be used ever again after this" mindset? I'd love to hear from people who consider themselves major math-phobes but who found a way to chop through it and pass.

Any and all suggestions will be cut/pasted and e-mailed.

Thanks,

Wally's Mom Click Here to Read More..

$mall Victorie$

Anyone who's perused my tags will see "money" far up toward the top, along with "worries," "religion," "Wally [my son]" and "Carl [my husband]".

Do quotes go on the inside or outside of brackets??

Anyway...

Got my stupid-ass car fixed today, again, and yes, it cost me a barrel of money. But I had enough at the ready not to have to worry about (or apply for) credit.

I need to give substantial credit where it is due -- to a very random act of great kindness from a stranger at the repair shop. As I stood at the counter, being told that if all the shop's wildest dreams came true and I said yeah, go ahead and fix everything, it would cost about $1600 ... to which I replied that I needed to focus on passing my emissions inspection so I wouldn't have to take time off from work to go to court and pay a fine ... to which they said that bit of work would cost me about $500, to which I said, silently to myself, "Shit," the woman at the next register nudged my elbow and handed me a coupon for 10% off any service. Just like that. I said thank you, still thinking all my thoughts of fiscal doom, but when he recalculated, it turned out that with the coupon I would have exactly enough (split between two bank accounts) to afford the job. Once I agreed to the work, I went back to the waiting room, but it occurred to me I ought to say thank you to the woman a second time, which I did. She saved me from having to cry in front of Manny, Moe and Jack.

And the "check engine" light is off, finally. Once back home, I had to go into Microsoft Money and rework all my bills, pushing back anything that allowed late payments for a surcharge, such as the mortgage. I still have to borrow ten bucks from Carl and get the car re-inspected during lunch on Monday, and once again I can forget about new clothes, jewelry or makeup probably until at least next September, but as it stands today, I will most likely not feel the urge to get roaring drunk. Which is good, because there's no alcohol in the budget. Click Here to Read More..

Tough Love. Very tough.

Wally's father has decided as of today to cut him off completely. That includes college. The status of the loan I reluctantly applied for is still uncertain, and even if it comes through, it wouldn't be enough to cover all the costs. Though Doug is way down on the list of my favorite people, I do understand why he has arrived at this juncture. Wally seems not to learn from experience, if there's the merest chance of a bailout from anyone. So he will essentially be homeless. When he arrived in Doug's neck of the woods for winter break, Doug and his wife wouldn't even let him stay with them -- they found a friend whose basement was available for Wally to sleep in. If he came south and wanted to stay with Carl and me, I'd have to think very carefully about this. Wally can be an absolute pig; he and Carl seem incapable of being civil to each other, and Wally would surely find a way to put me on the hook for some outrageous expense, most likely under the heading of "automotive." And Carl and I are barely keeping our heads above water as it is.

I have derided Doug in the past for being stingy -- of having more than enough money and not in danger of being poor -- but the issue is something entirely different. It's about the value of an investment. When someone invests money, time, thought and emotion in someone, and that person shows no interest in using it properly, the investor begins to feel that those things have been wasted. Material things, in particular, seem to just fall down a bottomless hole. Cell phones get destroyed inside of 6 months; furniture is confiscated by angry landlords; clothes are "just not right" after 2 wearings, and crippling overdraft fees (paid by one parent or the other) are shrugged off time and again. Wally has truly squandered years of goodwill and care on both Doug's part and mine. Certainly, he resents us both for the divorce and the remarriage, but sooner or later he has to realize that the only person he's hurting by "getting back at us" is himself. Perhaps he thinks it would kill us to see him fail in life and that's why he's doing it. He's going to discover he's wrong. I think that time has come. Click Here to Read More..

Let's Go Sailing Down Denial River

So, I'm using a social-networking site to keep track of Wally. He obliges me by posting these cryptic little snippets, which I'm sure are intentionally designed to push every possible button. Things like "I don't like my new probation slip," and "I'm ready for an evening of underage drinking and intravenous drug use."

Now, I don't believe he does any intravenous drugs -- that really isn't his style. I believe that comment was sarcasm. The drinking, however, is another story. While he abstained after moving back into my home, mainly because he had no friends to hang with, he certainly did quite a bit while living with Doug between ages 13 and 16 -- his circle of friends was affluent and certain of their invincibility. Once he moved out to live on his own, the pattern reasserted itself.

Wally should not drink. No kid his age should drink, but especially someone whose maternal grandparents were both alcoholics, and whose paternal grandmother and uncle have shown a propensity toward substance abuse.

The most recent alarming post was that he had been kicked out of his dorm. This is finals week and he will soon be traveling back to Doug's neck of the woods for his winter break. I texted him with a brief question as to his circumstances; he called back and told me the whole sad story: Unruly behavior indoors, more unruly behavior out of doors, a window broken, police called, alcohol found on him, etc. There were a few "I messed up" comments, but most of what I heard from him was along the lines of:

• "It's finals week -- can't they give us a break?"
• "How can they throw us out into the street? Don't they realize we're thousands of miles from home?"
• "This is just another way they rip us off -- I'll have to pay to get my dorm room back and probably have to take some stupid sobriety course."
• "They were so NASTY to us!"
• "So we were making a lot of noise -- couldn't someone just tell us that without calling the cops?"
  
• "I hate having to tell Dad -- he'll freak out; he's known to be irrational."
• "I don't drink anywhere near as much as some other dudes on campus."
• "Dad says I need to quit drinking -- oh, like he doesn't? He's the world's biggest hypocrite."

After expressing a reasonable amount of sympathy for his immediate predicament, I took the liberty of reminding him (via text message) that it isn't THAT hard to make good decisions. His response? "K."

Within the last month or so, he's expressed the desire to leave the rather large university he's attending and return to the environment he's called "home" on and off since 2002. I asked him if "up and moving" is going to be his default response to any difficulty. True, he's been "up and moving" along with one parent figure or the other since he was five and a half, but his father lived in his childhood home until age 27 or so, and ditto for me until about age 22 -- for us, the frequent moves are a relatively recent phenomenon. No, this activity is much more typical of the stepfather he so loathes. When I pointed it out to him, it seemed to get through. But now I'm not sure. I fear that instability is the norm for him -- one mini-drama after another. He was in trouble with the law for petty vandalism at age 13; refused to settle down and abide by the rules when living with Doug and Judith, thereby getting himself kicked out and sent back to live with Carl and me; continually restless, oppositional and uncommunicative for the entire year and a half he was with us; one can only guess what sorts of scrapes he encountered once he moved out and was on his own before heading off to the university. I know about 3 traffic tickets, one of which I paid. He seems to have fallen into that pattern of continually craving "excitement" and risk, especially if it involves other people. I'm amazed at his level of extroversion -- this is someone who seems incapable of just relaxing by himself. Doug is like that to a degree, although for him it's more of a strong need for one partner. Wally doesn't seem satisfied without a throng.

It's sad; I have no idea what to do about him. This is not to say that the divorce and parent remarriages on both sides aren't at the root of it, because I'm sure they are ... but what to do? Divorce Carl? Have Doug divorce Judith and get back with me? Apologize for ruining Wally's childhood? I've done that already, to a limited extent. Wally's been in counseling with Doug, Judith and more than one practitioner. He is not a stupid person; he has the ability to look himself in the eye and decide to grow up.

Question is, will he? And when?

Edited to add: Reading over his remarks leads me to the conclusion that he's way out of control and headed in a far more grim direction. Time to tie up the raft... Click Here to Read More..

Turning a Corner? Stepping Off a Cliff?

I had a long conversation with Doug regarding Wally's education.

Doug, Wally and I have gone back and forth and all around for many months regarding how Wally's college is to be paid for. To be sure, I've barely a penny to spare right now. I have Wally on my health insurance, which is quite good, and send him small checks when I can. But if I were the sole source of funding, Wally could kiss college goodbye. Fortunately, Doug put money aside some time ago for Wally. The downside of this is that in applying for financial aid, Doug's finances can't be considered or Wally will get none. The application used Carl and me as parent sources because we show up as poor (which we are). Beyond the small grant that Wally got, the rest has to come from direct payments or loans. Doug decided to go the loan route, since it slows down the rate at which he has to shell out money. This I understand. However, the loan application also has to be in my name. If it goes under Doug's name, he has to forfeit the small grant.

The plan is for Doug to write the loan payment checks. However, it's my name on this loan. So that if Doug becomes unable or unwilling to continue writing checks, guess who gets hit with a loan default?

There was this concern, and also Wally's odd behavior. I'd almost be willing to bet that he's been up to something. He's asked me for my social security number a couple of times; he's gone on the school's website with me on the phone. Every time I go onto the website, I end up with a dead end. So he goes on the website, using my information, and somehow gets through. Then he tells me, OK, a 'promissory note' is going to come to you in the mail or via e-mail; just sign it and we'll be good to go. After several days he tells me "I'm not sure what I did, but I got a note from the school saying you had to sign it, not me, so you're gonna have to go on the website and do this." Sounds to me like he's been trying to make an end-run around me, get this thing signed under my name and get it going without my direct participation. This would be because of the questions and objections I've raised, making it clear that I don't trust Doug any farther than I could fling a Steinway. Wally, of course, feels like he's stuck in the middle, and I think this is how he's attempted to resolve it. However, it didn't work for him. So now it's back to me.

Coincidentally (not), Doug calls me, ostensibly to wish me a happy birthday and invites me to call him if I "want to talk about anything." So I called him; we talked; I expressed my very valid concerns about this loan thing.

Here's where we ended up: Yes, it's true that Doug could screw me over royally if he decided to stop writing checks. However, here's the nugget I got from this. Wally getting a college degree is a very high priority for Doug. Perhaps the highest. So, he says, he's willing to do whatever it takes to achieve that.

If he stops writing checks, yeah, it would put me in default of the loan. But it could also put an end to Wally's education. I think he's sincere about this, and I think I'm probably not completely helpless in this thing. If he tried to back out of paying this, I believe I would have some recourse. I may not be able to go after him directly, but I could put some interested parties on his trail.

More than anything, I sense that Wally is under a huge amount of strain regarding the hostility between Doug and me.

Doug said "Wally needs to get a degree." I answered "He needs to get a job." A moment later, I played the tape back to myself and decided I was voicing a lower-class mentality, and it echoed some of what I internalized -- the idea that being employed is more important than being educated. It was this mindset that led to me dropping out of college to enter the workforce because it made me feel more like an adult. During the years since our divorce, I've become aware of a class gulf of sorts between Doug and me. He's done much better money-wise and class-wise than I have. I had been fairly upwardly mobile during the time we were married, but at some point, I retreated back to my blue-collar roots (becoming an evangelical Christian was part of that). Meanwhile, I've filed Chapter 7, maxed out credit cards, and basically descended several rungs down the social ladder.

I hate to admit it more than anything, but Doug is right about that, at least. Getting the college degree is more important for Wally in the long term than being a schlub chasing a paycheck. I have been so hostile toward Doug for so long (probably going back to the days before we even moved in together), that I've adopted a "whatever Doug is in favor of, I'm completely against!" type of stance. I've long known that my relationship with Doug was like a 15-year extension on my childhood -- I moved out of my parents' house and into his, and simply continued my stubborn, short-sighted patterns. In fact, I even replicated what my parents had: Dad was into order and success. Mom was into chaos and self-sabotage.

It's one thing for me to opt for a life that's just a few millimeters above trailer-trash, but I shouldn't drag Wally down into that as well.

Long & short of it: I'll sign the goddamn promissory note and hope Doug doesn't decide to get greedy or ugly and leave me holding the bag.
---
Nothing beyond this point... Click Here to Read More..

Food and Money

Carl's hours have been cut -- now it's something like 3-4 days a week, 4 hours a day. A couple of days ago we went food shopping and I ended up having to bail him out with a dollar - he underestimated the $26 total.

We've been together 11 years now; our food philosophies are so very different, but it really only becomes apparent when the money gets tight like this.

-He's extremely underweight; has virtually no body fat. Since getting dentures last year and discovering that they don't fit properly, he's eating even less. He also smokes about a pack a day, maybe more. And yet, he's as strong as an ox. When we moved to NYC for a year, he moved most of our furniture up 3 flights of stairs to our ancient apartment, most of the time with a Marlboro clenched in his teeth.

And, he eats Little Debbies like they're going out of style.

-I, on the other hand, continue to pack on the pounds, mainly due to lack of exercise, since I'm not a big eater. I think I have a condition called myoadenylate deaminase deficiency, but have never taken the time to have it diagnosed or to invest in a supplement. That's for another day. Honest!

-Carl was raised in a household with six siblings and one working mom. They often went to school with their shoes duct-taped together. I don't think any of the kids finished high school. So we're not talking about a worldly bunch. Very salt-of-the-earth, very meat and potatoes. The type of mentality that says "Well, we're not officially poor because we can still afford to put meat on the table."

Carl is completely entrenched in that mindset. Any time I sit down to a meal that does not include meat (such as a spinach omelet or a cheese sandwich, or baked squash...) he'll look at my plate and say "No meat?" In our 11 years together, the one and ONLY area in which I've had the tiniest influence on him is in the area of flavorings. I can't count the number of times I will reach for the sage, or rosemary, or vinegar, only to have him say "Momma never put that stuff on anything...she worked 10 hours a day and raised six kids; she didn't have the time or the money for anything more than salt and pepper." But he doesn't complain about it anymore, even when I reach for the garlic. He still finds it odd that I use more than one pan and one spoon when making anything; he complains that I "mess up" his kitchen when I experiment, so most of the time I stay out of the kitchen (and on the computer) and he takes care of meals.

I was raised differently. My parents weren't rich or worldly by any stretch, and Dad was also a high school dropout, but they had lived together in NYC for a number of years before I came along, and made it their business to learn about various types of cuisine. Back in the 1960s, I stood out among my classmates because I knew the difference between Moo Goo Gai Pan and Baked Clams Oreganato. We went out to eat fairly often. Once my parents got into a loud argument with an obnoxious waitress in a diner we liked, who insisted that a seven-year-old (meaning me) would not eat brook trout and should order from the kids' menu. I not only got my fish, I ate it right down to the bone. She grudgingly gave me a lollipop (a green, broken one) and grumbled something about me being "spoiled." In my teens I subscribed to Gourmet magazine and liked to peruse cookbooks. I didn't cook much; just found food to be an interesting subject.

I like a steak as much as anyone, but could be a vegetarian if I needed to. I am not the least bit fussy about any food. Store brands, for the most part, are just as good as national -- another area where Carl and I differ. He thinks most vegetables are alien invaders from another planet, mushrooms in particular, and the ones he likes, he prefers southern style: boiled to oblivion with some sort of pork flavoring. One of the few instances where I will say "yuk." In fact, I've learned that when Carl mentions "vegetables," he exclusively means the kind you need a can opener to get to. If I'm talking about fresh veggies (the healthier type), I always have to say "produce."

Carl believes in a full, sit-down meal, with a beginning, a middle and an end. I will randomly graze -- heat up a can of green beans, throw a pat of butter on it, and call it a meal...then an hour or so later decide I'd like an egg. To me, food is food. I eat because I have to; try to make semi-healthy decisions, and then get back to the computer. That's why, when he says "There's nothing to eat in the house," I'm silently thinking, Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis? There's pasta [which he hates, more on that later], rice, canned soup, plenty of canned veggies, frozen stuff that's open [another taboo with Carl: once it's been opened, he won't touch it a second time. It falls to me to make all-gone with it].

So, when we got to the grocery store the other night, his first stop was the frozen food aisle. Stouffer's, Marie Callenders, Swanson Hungry Man. And here we are with $25 to spare. I made a snap decision: I told him to get whatever he wanted and not to worry about me, then picked out one large potato, a few cans of store-brand soup, and my one indulgence: a can of Underwood turkey spread, which is apparently a new product. Carl ended up having a bowl of cereal for dinner and the turkey spread the night after that.

It irks me that veggies are now so damn expensive. My mom used to give me a bowl of green peppers, carrots & celery to eat while I read in bed at night. She cut and peeled the carrots herself, by the way -- they didn't have the pre-packaged stuff back then.

In the two years between divorcing Doug and meeting Carl, I fell into the classic single-mom eating pattern: Pasta, ramen noodles and processed stuff. I didn't even think about what I was feeding Wally. As long as he had something to eat, I figured everything was fine. We both liked pasta. So a couple of weeks after Carl and I started keeping steady company he came over for dinner and asked what we were having. As soon as I said "pasta," his eyes rolled, and I suddenly realized that yes, I was serving pasta in some form or another nearly every night. I didn't mind him pointing this out to me. But now, it seems the shoe is on the other foot, because if we're not having meat loaf, it's hamburger helper, or quarter pounders from Mickey-D's, or his favorite rice & hamburger concoction...he says he doesn't like chicken very much; he no longer cares much for pork. It all seems to have narrowed down to hamburger at least 3x a week. Seafood occasionally -- not fish, God forbid, unless it's beer-battered, and shrimp almost anytime.

Side note: To Carl, "pasta" does not include spaghetti. Spaghetti is fine; he just doesn't like ziti, rigatoni, spirals, bowties or other shapes. Go figure. If I ever suggested "couscous," he'd probably either burst out laughing or call 911.

So I guess the point of this rambling monologue is, I'm trying to figure out a workable strategy to eat healthy and save money. With the huge differences between Carl's eating habits and mine, it isn't going to be easy.

~I've edited this thing at least a dozen times since starting it Friday morning. New thoughts keep popping in. Click Here to Read More..

Restless and Dissatisfied

Not a bad weekend overall; just not feeling content.

As always, stressed about my work with the community. I've got the minutes from two recent meetings in front of me; they need to be transcribed before they get too stale to remember what the scribbles represent. Also need to organize the big binder to hold minutes and other documents, months by month. So all the paperwork I've accumulated so far is spread out on the floor.

I'm going to be leading a church service next month. No doubt I can put it together -- actually, it's one of those sink-or-swim, do-or-die situations where I can worry about it all I want but bottom line, I have to make it work.

I'm also worried about the role I play at church, for which I have always felt unqualified, and now I have an entire year to find out if that's true or not.

I worry about my job. Just a couple of months ago (and I should have known better than to ever do this) I was blogging about how it's such a great gig, best ever, etc etc. Earlier this month the entire job description was changed, and I don't know where it leaves me. And my annual review is coming up next month. My boss has a long memory. You make one mistake and she pins the whole review on that. Of course, I'm not that naive. Companies do this all the time in an effort to minimize the amount of money they have to pay you. And so I'm updating my resume on the major job search sites.

And then, of course, there's everything else. Like, the economy. The upcoming election. Which ties in with my job. If I lose this job, I'm probably going to be in some serious trouble.

Missing my cell phone and sunglasses, both of which were lost on the trip. Tomorrow I have to get over to the cell store and see how much this deal is going to cost me. Can't do anything about the glasses right now because my insurance is only good at eye doctors that have bankers' hours. First available day I can get an appointment will be Tuesday the 15th.

My health. I'm probably about 40 lbs overweight and it's really starting to have an effect. I have heartburn and acid reflux nearly all the time now -- it went a long way toward ruining this weekend for me. I lose sleep at night and find myself making it up at odd times during the day. This afternoon I sacked out on the couch and had a really vivid dream about my mother. Carl called to be picked up from work and after I hung up I just sat there blinking, trying to figure out what day it was and what planet I was on.

I started using St. John's Wort earlier in the month, recognizing that the depression was starting to creep back. It seems to have made a difference; I have more energy. But with the trip last week I got out of the habit of using it, and I think this gloomy little post is evidence. Better get back on track or my worries are going to turn into self-fulfilling prophecies. Click Here to Read More..

The Continung Saga of Wally's Car

After several months of paralysis, I decided on a course of action regarding Wally's car.

I mentioned this in my long posts about Wally in Feb and March, but there's this car sitting in the parking lot of a gas station many hundreds of miles away from where I live - I think it has a tarp over it but can't recall. All 4 tires are flat, and one of the windows doesn't work.

It's the car I bought for him about a year ago, which has been sitting at that gas station for about 6 or 7 months now. When I say "bought," I mean I signed the agreement to pay for it in installments.

The warranty coverage ends at the close of this month and I don't have the funds to renew it, even for 3 months. I've sent the gas station guy a certified letter informing him that I will pay only the repair charges that I previously agreed to, which come to $250 ($150 of which I've already paid). All he had to do was call the warranty company -- an (800) number, for Pete's sake. But he never did. Why, I have no idea. Perhaps he was holding out for the other $100. The guy who sold me the car thinks he's holding out so he can slap somebody with a mechanic's lien. Frankly my dear, I don't give a shite. The only thing I can afford to do right now is keep making those little bitty weekly payments until I get it done, and that should take less than 4 months. Then I'll get the title, and I don't know what will come next. But at least I'm doing something. If the moron wants to take me to small claims court somewhere down the line, I sez, Bring it On!!!

In other car news, Carl got a mailing from AARP, describing their auto club coverage, which is a lot cheaper than Triple-A. My AAA expires at the end of this month also and I think I'll make the switch. My warehouse club membership expires also. I really have to renew that.
Click Here to Read More..

The No-Mooch Zone

Took the evening off from church meetings because I would have felt awkward. There were 2 meetings scheduled back to back, starting immediately after work. This has been a problem for me, since it leaves little or no time for any kind of dinner. However, recently people have been bringing food. One person works in a hospitality capacity so he usually brings something good. Another person often brings decent wine.

I started worrying about this as soon as people started talking about it. I know what my finances are, and they didn't allow for much culinary creativity. Me, I can subsist on Spam with no difficulty, but this ain't a Spam crowd. I didn't even think I'd have time to stop somewhere ... all in all, I just felt completely unequipped to join in with the food-bringing and it just bothered the hell out of me to think I'd be taking advantage of someone else's hospitality without contributing.

So this morning I just decided to absent myself from the proceedings altogether. I don't think I've missed a single monthly meeting since last July, and I don't play any vital role. I just enjoy the people and the chance to see the inner workings of things.

I'd be getting home just about now, normally, and I could certainly use the extra sleep. So all in all, no regrets. There's always next month. Click Here to Read More..

I am a liar

In yesterday's post I said I had "no idea" what the problem is, and of course that's a dirty lie. I know perfectly well what the problem is.

Every time Carl or Wally gets some emotional twitch they go and make some drastic change in their lives that ends up COSTING ME MONEY!!!

• 1999: Carl and I visit NYC. Carl's never been there; he is in awe and sees muchos opportunidades for employment in his field. Conclusion: We have to move to NY ASAP. Sure, sez me. I always wanted to live there anyway. So I quit a nice, secure, good-paying job and sell the condo that I could actually afford, and pack up like a Gypsy and move to NYC. Get an apartment that costs me a ridiculous amount per month, take a job I hate, and meanwhile, Carl never gets off the ground with this dream job he thinks he'll get. He can never see past the short-term. The extremely short-term. As in, somebody pisses him off today, and he's outa there. At least that's what he did in NY. I suppose that would have been a good time to break off the marriage altogether, but having just been through a divorce a few years before, I couldn't get my head around doing that again.
  
• Similar impulse a year later. Carl is miserable at work, as am I. The only one of us who was happy was Wally. But Carl gets upset because someone makes a disparaging remark about the place we moved from. He misses his family - the one that makes him miserable. At any rate, we buy a house "back home" and move there a year after moving to NYC. I didn't have a job; I didn't even have the reasonably nice car I'd sold before moving to NY. I finally found a used one I could barely afford and it lasted three and a half years before finally dying. I was so despondent during the first month or two, I began to think about killing myself.
  
• On 9/11 I was at least working. It was a temp job but permanent hire was a certainty. But I was very preoccupied. Wonder why? So I applied myself very little to my job, even after getting the permanent gig. My performance was truly crappy and I got fired. It was the first time in my life that had ever happened. Not the first time I'd left a job with less than favorable reviews, but certainly the first time I'd been flat-out fired. That led to more than a year of temp work, and it wasn't always steady. Perhaps coincidentally, perhaps not, later in the year I ditched religion and things started looking up the tiniest bit. I got a long-term temp job that did me pretty well. But it wasn't the answer to everything. The depression started to lift just enough to get me out there on the job hunt again. Finally - a good break, and that led to the job I had from '03 to '06. Great benefits (even though I had to ultimately take Carl off my coverage because the minute I got insurance coverage he started having his phantom stomach and chest pains that no doctor could ever find a diagnosis for).
  
• Since I've known Carl, he's worked for: OHH, S&S, TB, RHG, TMG, CPRV, PH, a couple of other places in NYC, back to RHG, GC, BSP, CCD and now CB. That's at least 14 different jobs, and we've only been together for 10 years. My track record isn't great either: JRA when we met, then BHRV, BHRNP, CPUN, temp jobs, PST, PH and the place where I am now.
  
• Together, we've lived in 4 different places. If it weren't for Carl, most likely I'd have stayed in the condo and might even still be there, who knows? The BHRV job might or might not have lasted. I can't blame Carl - entirely - for my less than stellar work ethic over the years. But without some of the strife between him & Wally, and the money worries, I might possibly have been less preoccupied and scattered, and may have done a better job. Thank the ordered universe I've finally gotten it together to the point where I'm not late for work all the time and have the ability to assess the consequences of an action before I commit to it.
  
• But it's still difficult to buckle down and move ahead because of all these constant changes that cost me money.
  
• As for Wally, I can't blame him directly for a lot of that. Much of the situation we're in right now is because of Doug. Doug, who kicked Wally out when he could have hung in for another year or two until Wally finished high school. But no, he sent Wally back to Carl and me, just as things were going pretty well. Then he cuts off the child support, which I don't have the time or energy to go after. And at about the same time, Carl gets another of his "let's move to a better place" impulses, and as usual, I go along. I don't regret moving to this town. It's much better suited to me; I feel like I've flourished, at least socially. I like the job I do and the company I work for. But bottom line, we should be doing better, rather than struggling. We wouldn't be struggling so much if Carl had just behaved like a grownup. He was making good money and all he had to do was ignore the owner and the manager of the company. He knows he had a good thing going and was better off there, but doesn't want to admit it yet. True, the place could go under; they were in trouble with regard to taxes and other issues, but other than a late paycheck once in awhile, that didn't affect Carl directly. Week to week, he made GOOD money. True, the place he's at now has benefits. But here's the thing: Carl NEVER stays in one place long enough to make insurance a reality. He's had insurance twice and either dropped the coverage or quit the job shortly after getting it. If he dies, I'll have to go to his family to afford the funeral. If something happens to me, Carl and Wally will be substantially enriched. Of course, Wally would blow the money immediately; Carl would save it but not find any way to invest or supplement it.
  

Enough bitching (for now, anyway...). I have decided, while writing this, that I am going to do one thing. I'm going to hand Carl the bill for the carpeting at the old house, the carpeting we bought to make the house sellable, and tell him I want him to take care of it, and I don't care how he does it. I just want it done. Maybe it will spur him to do something about his income. Click Here to Read More..

Burnout? Fatigue? Depression? Whaaaaat?

I have no idea what the problem is, so don't even ask. All I know is, I feel less buoyant than I did a year ago. Last year was such a GOOD year, and almost as soon as this one started, I felt things going downhill.

Mainly it's the money (or lack thereof). I have been so drained, so sapped, mainly by Wally, since last Memorial Day. It's been one thing after another.

Now Carl has this new job, and OF COURSE he's making much less money. I haven't yet heard him say he regrets changing jobs. I know the last place was awful. He's faced with a choice: Endure interpersonal strife and a feeling of being beaten about the head daily while still making more money than ever in his life, vs. working in a place where co-workers help each other out, treat each other with respect, and the corporation has a structure ... all the while making much less money (and getting fewer breaks, which leaves him feeling very exhausted at day's end). At least he understands the dilemma. He always asks me, "Would you be mad at me if I got a different job?" I always say no. It's his life. Just as I wouldn't want him to be overbearing with me about my life choices. And he isn't -- he puts up with my never-ending whirwind of social activities. I know he wishes I'd go back to the way things used to be, where I'd get off work at 3:30, get home by 4, change into pajamas and just sit around until it was time for bed.

I still get such a kick out of this small city we live in. I love how you can walk into a restaurant or store and see people you actually know. I love how you can turn on the TV and see people you know on the news. I can't say why exactly, but it's so different from other places I've lived.

But -- this year, I find myself getting little flurries in my stomach whenever a new situation comes up. I'm seeing the negative in things a lot more. Last year I bought 3 new pairs of shoes all at the same time, something I'd never done before. I bought capris, tops, jewelry and makeup. Now I look forward with dread to going shopping. I guess because the money is so tight. And I owe so many people!

And I do worry about this neighborhood. There's been an increase in crime. We've been hit something like 4 separate times, just property crime but still. Too many druggies with guns around here.

Church is great, but I'm starting to see what one of the guys was saying about burnout. A year ago, no way.

I'm needing to buy myself a weekly-format calendar instead of the little monthly one I have now.

Underneath it all is money - that sense of doom, like the whole house of cards is going to come tumbling down.

I know there's a remedy for it, and it's ENTIRELY about attitude. Yes, my claim to fame on this blog is having a bad one, and I play it up for laughs, really. However, in the last couple of years, I've learned ways to really banish negativity and force through a positive affirming mindset. And it really does work. Even when I work on it for a minute at a time, I see instant results.

This too shall pass. Things will be good again, and meanwhile, I can build on what I know. Click Here to Read More..

Home again. Home. AGAIN.

I got up at 6am to drive Carl to work. The buses don't start running until noonish and why call a cab when I'm here. Dropped him off and went home. I had no intention of going back to bed -- it was an hour and a half or so before it was time to get ready for church, and I had some things to catch up on from last week. Got settled, started my work, and then the phone rang.

It was Carl.

"They had too many people in, so they asked me if I wanted the day off. Come get me?"

OH, I was mad, on so many levels. This is the second Sunday in a row he's taken off, both times for stupid reasons. Why couldn't he have said no when they asked him if he wanted the day off? And of course, nothing I have to do at home is important, all I have to do all day is run my ass back and forth for him. Just so he can come home, take out his dentures, throw on his robe & pj's and lounge in front of the tv, taking occasional breaks for coffee and smokes? And naps, of course. Mustn't forget the naps. And of course, if I should happen to vary MY schedule and be off during the day, oh, that's different. I'm invading his fucking precious space and disrupting his routine. But somehow it's supposed to be a great treat for him to be hanging around the house cramping my style when all I want is a day to myself when I'm not feeling like shit. And then his "normal" weekend is tomorrow and Tuesday anyway. He offered to switch with anyone who wanted the day off on Tuesday, but no one will take him up on it. Nobody ever does. I now get paid for days off, provided I don't take more than 5 and provided I announce them in advance. But he doesn't get paid unless he works. I'm so sick of being poor. But every time I talk about getting a second job, he protests. "I don't see enough of you," he says.

I don't share the sentiment.

So, how do I show my wrath? Well, first I almost wrecked the car going way too fast on the interstate when it had started to pour rain. I slowed down ... When I picked His Highness up I demanded that he put gas in the car, since it had already started getting low with all these trips I've been making for him. Then he asked me what I wanted for Mother's Day and instead of giving him the usual "Oh, I don't care..." crap, I said "I need money. Put some in my account." He agreed readily. Good. But I still ought to kick his ass out once and for all. One day I believe I will.

Mother FUCKING slacker.

My father NEVER missed a day of work in 25 years. Not even when he'd spent the entire weekend getting shitfaced. Click Here to Read More..

Na Ga Da.

Translation:

Not gonna do it.

Wouldn't be prudent.

The immortal words of Dana Carvey in his role as George H.W. Bush (circa 1991).



___

No rage cake.

Na ga da.

Regardless of how tempted and provoked I feel. Doug asked me to submit payment of Wally's college dorm application fee. It's $125. Doesn't sound like much to a normal person, or even a normal me, but at the moment, I am flat-busted-wiped-out-broke.

I will be down to about $7 projecting to May 22.
I have $6 available credit on one credit card -- that's the one I've been keeping up the payments on.
I have $0 available credit on the other card, because, as I just discovered, I inadvertently missed a payment. I now have to come up with a MINIMUM payment on that card of $161 by May 10th.

Na Ga Da.

I simply won't have it on May 10th,. So I've scheduled weekly payments of $16, just to show good faith, and hoping that I'll be a little more affluent the following month and can get caught up.

I cut the card up, though. Figured, what the hell. It made me feel good to destroy something with a pair of scissors, and this way, once the motherfucker is paid off, it will be gone for real.

I finally checked my investment account, knowing there isn't much left of what was in there at the beginning of the year. I liquidated some holdings just to tide me over, and it

...wouldn't be prudent ...

to do that any more this year.

There is enough to cover the $125, so I went ahead and wrote a check. I know doing it with the card online would be quicker and preferable, but I checked the website and there are all sorts of hoops to jump through, so they (Wally, Doug and the college) are just going to have to accept my submission of a paper check via snail mail.

And Doug had better reimburse me as he said he would. And not make me wait forever for it as "revenge" for my having been slow sending him the money for Wally's car insurance, which I also could barely scrape together.

And that condescending, lecturing tone he gets! Oh. My. God.

"The money in Wally's 529 account must be regarded as sacred..."

Like he actually thinks I'm going to raid it to buy Stephen King novels or commemorative plates from the Franklin Mint??

I had free access to Wally's CD over a period of 10 years, but stayed far away from it, despite urgings from Carl and Wally himself to use it. Wally got the proceeds last spring, nearly $700, and of course it was gone in 60 seconds. Doug has a hell of a nerve.

But na ga da.

I'm embarking on a spiritual weekend starting tomorrow afternoon, and am in a position to co-teach a workshop in transcending the everyday to make our lives more spiritual and meaningful.

Rage cake is junk food.

And na ga da. Click Here to Read More..

No more Darvocet for you, Missy!

I have this really bad tendency to stay up too late when work beckons the next morning -- Carl is forever scolding me about that -- so when I've abused the clock for 3-4 nights in a row, I will semi-often take a Tylenol PM around 7:30 to ensure that my eyes droop, I get off the computer and get myself to bed. Well, last night I tried a variation. I noticed a bottle of Darvocets in the cabinet, left over from when I had a root canal. I hate to see good prescription meds go to waste, and various parts of my body have been aching and sometimes just one good strong analgesic will keep that at bay for a remarkably long time. Darvocets don't make me itch and feel sick the way Lortabs did, so I took one. It worked very slowly in my system -- I didn't feel sleepy until nearly 11pm, which kind of defeats the purpose of taking it in the first place...

It did make me feel very peaceful and cozy -- I lay half awake listening to the sounds of total silence in the house and beyond. That's rare. We don't live next to a freeway, but our street is busy enough and the road behind us even more so. But for the longest time I didn't even hear normal traffic sounds. The bed was not too cold, not too warm, just right. The cat behaved himself for a change and didn't make any sounds to leave me wondering what he had decided to destroy this time.

It certainly rested my body, inducing a sort of mild numbness. But my mind turned, twirled and whirled all night. Mostly what went through it were thoughts of the crappy car I bought Wally last year, and how the dealer is sooner or later going to put the hammer down on me to either pay for it to be towed back to him or to pay off the remainder of the loan. It comes to about $600. And when this happens, it is sure to be at the worst possible time. Even worse than the present time!

Over the weekend I calculated our taxes and we're going to end up paying because I took a distribution out of my retirement acct to pay Wally's med bills and it jacked our adjusted gross way up. I don't see any way around this, other than just agreeing to pay the IRS in installments. So once again, the squeeze is on. I dreamed about Wally hanging the phone up on me, which is probably because Doug called last night and we talked about Wally. Doug said he tries to tell himself that Wally's occasional weirdness "has to do with the fact that he's still a kid." Well, fucking DUH! It would have been nice to have such sensible, generous thoughts BEFORE you put Wally on anti-psychotic meds and then kicked him out of the house, you son of a bitch.

Oh, and I itched a little too and woke up with a headache over my left eye. Bye-bye generic substitute for Vicodin. I guess I'll just dump it in the trash, since you're not supposed to flush meds.

Today feels like one of those days when going to work is an escape from here. It wasn't a bad weekend overall, but work is just easier to cope with sometimes. At least there I have a supervisor and team-mates. Here, I'm on my own when it comes to making decisions. I don't mind being in control, but it sure would be nice to have backup. Carl has little understanding of personal macroeconomics -- he leaves it all to me. It's only when everything gets to be too much and I have an emotional meltdown that he comes to my aid. Click Here to Read More..

So much for the night shift

Well, to no great surprise, Carl is already home and in bed, when he was supposed to be working until the wee morning hours. He usually works 1st or 2nd shift but the schedule was changed. He's been complaining about it for days but I drove him in this afternoon so I'd have the car. He made it to almost half the shift, but then bent down to pick up something and when he straightened up he was dizzy and shaky and his pulse was sky-high. They called an ambulance right away but because it wasn't an injury, which would be covered by worker's comp, he refused it and instead let them call me. He told them he just needed to sit down for a few minutes, but they apparently wanted him out of their hair to avoid liability or whatever. I don't know what his problem is. He had a headache and didn't eat much before going in; I imagine some extra fortification might keep him on a more even keel. He just hates being there; I understand that. He's got another interview later in the week, on what would normally be his day off, but he was scheduled for that day. Again, he thinks his boss is doing it deliberately, either to provoke him into quitting or to block him from going on interviews. If he loses his job we are going to be in serious trouble. Click Here to Read More..