This is familiar...

 ...but I honestly couldn't recall why or how it had previously manifested. I'm still not sure. It just crept in, and now I find myself on the other side of it, and didn't even put up a fight to avoid it. Generally, when I write, it's from a darker mindset. Rarely, if ever, do I find myself inspired to write when I feel like I am in a good place, or things are proceeding in pattern that isn't disruptive to my train of thought (which is usually a lack of critical thinking). With the events of the past year, and facing obstacles that I haven't faced in 10 years, I don't really see where much has changed, it seems I learned little from those experiences. If there was a salacious redhead to which I could devote all of my resources and attention to running around in my circle, I'd be right back in Orlando doing what I did before; tearing myself apart at the seams, destroying my body, and losing myself to selfish indulgences. I seem to have no natural instinct to write my way out of my self-pity, and no inclination to turn four days off from work into something creative, useful, or healing. I find myself on the final day of this respite now fully self-loathing my lack of initiative and desire to demonstrate something positive to myself. I'm a champion of awareness, but that's where it ends. 

Since the split, I have been wondering if/when I would fall into the darkness that consumed me after my divorce with May. Unlike that event, where May and I remained friendly, I find myself alienated and coping with the numerous other changes happening. Being essentially disconnected from someone I've spent 10 years with has left me filling in the blanks in trying to understand why this is happening. It's not a healthy endeavor. This Christmas break was 10x harder than the silence at Thanksgiving, and it was often difficult to escape feeling like this was a pointless endeavor. I'm somehow clinging to this belief that this will get easier with time. 

But I think the most disappointing realization through all of this is in myself... that I am forgoing any effort to at least approach being alone in a different way. Escaping self-harm; using knives instead of crutches to navigate to the next day. I am an intelligent person, and I am capable of rational thought - why am I so easily predisposed to collapse? Why am I so unprepared for being alone, when I so loathe the crowd? I cling so tightly to the romantic notions of finding that one person who shares in every moment until there are no more, while often finding the limitations of a relationship confounding and an obstacle course in trying to outrun resentment and hurt.

I want to write, it's the only thing I feel I do well enough to share. I've no awards on my walls; no pieces of paper that show I succeeded at something that any average person has; I am always trying to stay ahead of my failures and outpace a society that measures on every level. I only have my words, and they, in my opinion, do not stack up to my perceived failures. I am aware enough, I think, to understand I need to be alone for awhile; but I am scared that this is a slope without end; and it will somehow get increasingly dark until I'm dead. In writing that, I recognize the absurdity that I would bring someone else into my orbit to simply be a pedestal upon which to prop up my broken state. It's how I function - maybe it's autism, maybe it's immaturity, maybe it's how I was taught to cope, or not taught to cope. When there are no words, there is only failure, and it's so heavy and creative in ways that I never could be... manufacturing brilliant tools by which to hurt from absolute absurdity and a total absence of facts.

This I write... in the final hours of a 4-day weekend that produced nothing. 

Black Lodge, Closed For Business?

 I'm heavy hearted after learning that Angelo Badalamenti is gone. Of all the characters that have transitioned from Twin Peaks, it's the one that constructed it's mood; it's swagger; it's defining and inspiring score that leaves no room for a return. I, personally, cannot think about David lynch without hearing "Audrey's Dance" or the opening theme to every episode; it is as much a facet of David Lynch as is his cinematic style. The score is a beckoning force, giving another dimension to every character and every scene. Lynch's weather report said it succinctly, "today is silent". What he did for Twin Peaks, fed an army of artists, all hoping to tap into that eccentricity, and shimmy their way onto the caravan of weirdness. It feels as if the mystery will linger, but no one will be at the helm to share the narrative. The events at Twin Peaks will crossover, perhaps consumed by the emptiness of the black lodge, leaving only folklore in it's wake. 

I've spent so much of the past two months in this world, having just wrapped on my visit there. It's like coming home from vacation only to find the person you visited passed away somewhere in your journey back to normalcy. It barely makes sense, and you revisit every nuance of recollection from that trip seeking clues. 

I don't know how one who practices transcendental meditation approaches the death of a friend. For me, the builder of a world - call that what you will, but for some, it's akin to a god, is at rest. What can one say about the death of a god, it's not supposed to happen. There will be much less hypnotic undulation in the undercurrents of the American Northwest, less mystery for us travelers looking for a world to escape in. 

Untitled

 my lips are bleeding

restraining the violence

that my mouth is keeping

choking on silence

until my heart is breaking

swollen with contempt

of my own making

I could repent

liturgies I'm faking

to play pretend

the love I'm forsaking

of my own end

somnifacient and ply

vandalized until rotten

gathering lilac and lye

silent until forgotten

Break the Heart to Spite the Tradition

 Thanksgiving has never been my thing... I've always been a person that prefers independence from expectations vs. the family that all gets together and eats too much, sleeps, and watches sports on TV. It simply was not an annual tradition that spoke to me in any meaningful way... I instead constructed a ritual that involved being with someone I loved, and sharing a rare Thursday off from work in each other's company... getting excited for the forthcoming Christmas and watching Rick Steve's European Christmas. This has been my ritual, and it made me feel whole. When Hannah and I came together, I shared that with her, and I realized that being within a family unit (her family unit); did not mean the same things it had for me for so long. It was similar, but it also felt compassionate, warm, and full of love for one another. Our journey off to New Orleans brought her traditions and mine into a new mold. My first real tree at Christmas, and her remarkable ability to transform our home into a spirited but muted celebration of old and rustic. With Hannah and Ethan, our Christmasses have been realizations of something I had come to believe were romantic notions perfect for the Hallmark Channel but ungraspable in, not only The South, but in reality in general. 

It was from this perspective; this very narrow imagining, that leaving New Orleans for Asheville was an executable leap of faith. Painting thoughts of a possibly white Christmas; at least a cold Christmas, added an aspect to our holidays that Hannah wasn't able to previously replicate. It was enough of a fantasy that I towed a car behind a U-Haul for the first time in my life on Thanksgiving Day 2021 and moved all but our son to another state for a new chapter. And that one and only Christmas together in Asheville was as amazing, and beautiful as I had hoped. 

Now... it perniciously hangs over me in a taunting, hateful sort of way. It feels like a betrayal... not by Hannah; but by my own path to this fantasy Christmas in the mountains, in the cold, in the crisp-air laden with the aroma of burning wood from surrounding family homes. This arrived in my life, and it happened only once, and now it's a memory that rakes at my composure and nurses at the pain that now fills my heart. I knew holidays would be hard, that's inescapable, and I'm certainly not alone in being alone. I have so much to be thankful for, and so many have so little. I've not forgotten that today.

Halloween has been measured by the years since Shawn passed. Thanksgiving will be forever be a mile marker of when everything in my life changed. My traditions feel like they belong in the box with the syringes, the absinthe spoons, and love letters... the tools by which I can destroy myself to a point of finality. 

Today, with nothing to do but what I want to do, which is an absolute blank slate after 50 years of it being patterned out for me; I choose to embrace my quirks. In a few minutes, I will drive an hour to sit atop a mountain and look for the Brown Mountain Lights. The unexplained, the paranormal - these have been my comfortable places to hide since childhood, and this seems like a good opportunity to be alone staring off into the darkness in search of a light that fills me with something, anything other than sadness and pain.

You didn't text; didn't call... it feels like you didn't care. Today was hard enough, and maybe I am being forced into some symbolic representation of this new experience. 

Michael Gerson

 I know very little of this man's story, but the snippets I do know, suggests a person who spent their life committed to deeply held beliefs that were unflappable at their lowest moments. Any snapshot from Gerson's life speaks volumes about any moment in his life and career. My introduction to Gerson was during the George W. Bush regei-ahem presidency...yeah W - the dumb one that waged war on America. So, yeah - I disliked him. I assumed he was either an idiot following an idiot, or part of the Ashcrost/Rove/Cheney was machine. He was none of those... much like Pence, he found himself a Christian in a morale-bankrupt-cash grab on America Party. Unlike Pence, Gerson did not speak to the veil - he spoke to his beliefs as a Christian. Okay - I know, all GOP "are Christian" - but Gerson indeed was. Though maybe I can't agree with his party of choice, and I can't share his beliefs - I admired his transparency and honesty. He pleaded with Evangelicals to NOT back the Cheeto-King due to his incitement, bigotry, and malice. He wrote the most passionate words W. ever said following Sept. 11attacks. This line in particular punches:

"Grief and tragedy and hatred are only for a time. Goodness, remembrance, and love have no end. And the Lord of life holds all who die, and all who mourn."

He was a remarkable artist with words, his stories often bit with force; familiar enough with the history of America's politics, that even an air of hypocrisy was fresh bait. His craft fed his pride, a party-member that holds the same convictions throughout their life is god-like in reverence. In a political environment that favors hurting the other party over policy, there are few who are the moral-equivalent of Gerson. His death seems like one fewer soldier protecting truth from narrative; illustrating what a Christian-faith dictates, and it's not a hyperbolic journey through made up Biblical morality...

Would I elect someone like Gerson? No... sadly, an infallible Christian life also means that you do not believe a woman has the RIGHT to make decisions over her own body. Sacrificing those rights for someone that would lead with morality and be an honest American President is still no contest for me. Women and their bodies and their ability to have dominion over those bodies is a very REAL thing, and you, however moral and just you are, have chosen to devote your belief system based on a book of fables written hundreds and thousands of years after Christ died as the word of an omnipotent creator. So... again, we don't have to agree to respect. 

I don't know why I wrote this last paragraph. It sounds like I am defending myself against an audience that doesn't exist. I'm yelling "NOT REPUBLICAN" in a post about a GWBush Staffer. 

After 90 Minutes Time

 Often, I emerge from an unraveling narrative in my head, and find myself some miles down the road, with no recollection of the journey. NPR goes in an out in the mountains; sometimes mixing itself into fiery scripture, or modern country, so it's frequent that I just don't turn the radio on and drive in silence... (well, other than the conversations my brain is producing and the din of the road beneath my car). compact discs are packed away, and I don't even know what I'd pull out... nothing seems too worthy of the search right now. Spotify is a handy standby, but its not integrated with the car stereo, so not very manageable while driving. Generally, the drive to the office is an hour, most days, its an hour home. Two hours is a long time to spend with my self-esteem, my self-deprecation, and my depression. They engage me as conspirators, playing a game where they make worst case scenarios plausible; and with remarkable artistry, scenes are constructed in which I have a starring role. Every effort is made to tear away the veil of normalcy and stab at my heart in a detached and disinterested finality. By the time I arrive at said office, or said home - my demeanor has crawled well and truly through the darkest depth of my psyche and left me with little to construct into a façade of functional adulthood. 

I think that's all the words I have tonight. Far fewer than I constructed on my ride home. Tomorrow, I'd like to talk a little about Michael Gerson that passed away today. He's someone that adulted very well...

Listening to: PBS News Hour from another room.

I looked for a clever quote...

 ...one about mistakes, and repeating one's self, or how fools and history are partners in criminal acts against one's self. I am indeed a fool; a muted fool that cannot find words enough to pronounce that this house is on fire. Yes, I made mistakes, and I have failings (obvious as they are, I am jaded to them) - but the whole sum of the past decade was not in vain, and I am a much different and better person emerging from it. I am also, however, fully broken. I allowed empathy, (my most prized possession), swallow every thought, every worry, and slay every fear... and here I am; once again, alone.

New city, another new city (town, actually), new job, another new job, and soon to be single. In debt to whatever that ceiling is, and starting over in absolutely every regard. I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about giving up. It feels like the kind of mountain I will spend the rest of my life climbing. I'm afraid to read those old posts, where I found myself newly alone and single last time... how long was it before I broke? Did I break instantly, or did the darkness take it's time filling in the cracks until there was only blackness and self-destruction?

There are differences this time. I have a son who I love with all my heart. I still have a family with the Braden's, ... it's just ill-defined at this time. But there's nowhere to go... I do not have foundations anywhere. Connections I had, soured with selfishness, or jealousy, or a scorched-earth approach brought on by my endless chasm of needing to feel needed. My friendships, relationships, and in-betweens read like trashy dime novels dripping with clichés and unfulfilled plot points. It's only allure is a flashy cover, but even that no longer holds much value... bent cover, missing pages, and it's filled with receipts detached from substance. 

What haven't I done? Filmed fuck all for a year. I was working on an album cover, but that's turned into months of silence. I was editing a podcast, that went sideways and awkward because I used words again. I know what happens if I don't do something... and I don't think I will survive another round with that. 

There have been little seasonings that give me hope. A conversation with the VP of my job put my fears to bed about my salary. My friends (though all remote) - have stepped up the checking on me game, which has helped tremendously on my worst days. I'm trying to sew up some frayed relationships. And I also have an awesome landlord! I'm not going to entertain that it was "time" or "this was meant to be" - this sucks, and I wasn't prepared for any of it. It has many times been all bad, and it's very easy to slip into feeling it's all pointless going forward. I will say this... when I see the perseverance of others, what they go through and endure (whatever that is) and they move forward... my pity party is inconsequential and I am fully able to get past this and be a human being. Maybe I won't ever find love again, and that's depressing to think about, but I am capable of love. And I need to prove to myself that I am capable of healing and being alone without feeling like a failure or broken. 

That's really all I have to say right now... I have to be up early for work, and it's an hour's drive to get there. So... buttons.

Everything Happens For A Reason...?

 In lieu of understanding, the post-event, or post-chaos perspective that many offer is that... "Everything happens for a reason." So and so was here; so and so asked the right question; or such and such aligned with such and such. This mire of fate has reached fever pitches in my recent weeks... uttered in ad nauseam. In 90% of life's moments where we exert free-will and things go according to expectation, we relegate fate to the junk drawer, and balk at the idea that some unseen force guides every nuance of every moment, or everyone and everything on Earth. This seemingly omnipotent force, destroying with will; snuffing life from those who've barely experienced life; incinerating complacency with such ferocity that those in its wake can barely remember normalcy - we give it dominion over the moments that strike from shadows and alter our course of life forever, without much rhyme or reason. Fate plucks a few people from their infallible routine, and gives them some task; or some moment; or some loss that is greater than the sum of their entire life to rationalize and silo. 

I cannot accept this anymore. Our lives collide with one another in random patterns, and maybe there is infinite universes where every decision we make results in two paths (two universes); scientifically, maybe that's practical, but my brain tells me that it's too much power for one brain to be given. And if I am churning out universes by making the decision to blog today, then what value does this alternate universe have other than one has a blog post about fate, and one doesn't? What is the greater purpose of that? "It's too complex to understand... God and stuff." If my brain is tossing out ten thousand universes a day, some with a peanut butter sandwich for lunch, and some without, should we start evaluating if there's a soul, and what is it... surely if I can manifest alternate realities with every decision, I can manifest a soul, and maybe manifest fate, and put words out into a universe and expect something to be reciprocated. No. It's God's will, it's fate, everything happens for a reason...

If someone has a break with reality and enters into a mental health crisis, and I was the one who paid attention to this person as it happened only means that someone I care about is mentally unwell, and I love them enough to listen to them when they speak and can evaluate when it's outside their normal scope. Another loved one being here on vacation is fortunate, not fortune. I'm not able to accept that fate or the universe put all of us here, and moved others away at the exact moment that someone who's been on a path (that we didn't pick up on for months), finally broke. No. Reality tells me that the circumstance of her spouse being out of town, and the rest of us having dinner together gave her enough breadth to feel safe to release bottled up emotions that resulted in a catastrophic collapse of reality.

These are the types of events that devastate families everyday. A Christian would tell me that these are tests of faith; and I can't think of anything more cruel. Someone else would tell me this is the universe or fate, or life's predestination... and to which I'd ask, why should any of us intervene in our own lives if we are carried by a linear wave from birth to death? If life is just some fucked-up funhouse ride full of surprises, thanks, but no thanks. Did our family member in crisis endure 18 years of abuse, so that we could meet her brother in the fallout of this event; or learn something about mental health; or learn something about ourselves? No. Our family member endured 18 years of abuse because people are capable of immense cruelty, and she did not have the resources or tools to escape the abuse. It has nothing to do with me, or us, or fate, or time, or God... it has everything to do with each of us trying to navigate a life that is full of random events; we build upon those experiences; and we respond to those instances and then we're dead. The omnipotence that descends upon us; ripping and tearing at our firm grasp on complacency; is random, unbalanced, and unfair... it does not care how old, how young, how easy or how hard your life has been; does not care how rich or poor you are... call it what you will. If it gives you peace to believe that heaven awaits those who accept this chaos as the will of a chess master, or you find placement in the structure of a universe that is dependent upon each and everyone one of us building upon it with mere thoughts; or resolve that the mysterious force of fate is constantly pulling threads to intersect moments into a cohesive narrative... then so be it. 

My point being... its not profound how we got here. What answer do you hope to receive from forces unseen? We answer on behalf of these magnificent forces... filling in blanks to explain why the pain and confusion we feel has some deeper meaning. What value is there in patterning some design to such a painful time in our lives? I guess for some, it excuses us from thinking that tragedy can befall us all; and nothing is of permanence. If I am wrong, I guess Hell or purgatory awaits me, and its an eternity, and I wonder if accepting unseen puppeteers is how I wish to spend whatever life I have left?  As days go by, loss after loss, good and bad - I feel less inclined to quiet logic, and I feel many others move closer to their omnipotent overlords in their later days. I've grown tired of hearing about fate; and how it's fastened into a tool to break hearts and to justify the most painful of events; boxing chaos into segmented events interspersed with normalcy along our line of life. That test fails our responsibility to one another and to ourselves.

When the Universe Locks You in an Office and You Overdose on Perspective

 Perhaps this is irony? The two days that should have been challenging; were for comparative sake; normal, average, just fine. The boss' return to the office, ushered in a train, moving at maximum velocity, and off its rails. There was so much that had collapsed by end of business day, Friday, that my ability to focus on any one event was a futile task. Each return to my desk presented another event that arrived with x-amount of steps to move it into the past tense. My entire week, even the "normal" days, were punctuated by one employee's internal struggles bleeding over into his external expectations. It's one of our Friday interactions that has attached itself to me like an early aughts, Japanese-movie ghost.

Recognizing that my own personal trek into the cascading waves of grief that emanate out into family and friends following a suicide; maybe is too soon or too close to home, or maybe exactly at the right time. I spent nearly an hour, locked in an office that isn't even mine, with an employee that is struggling emotionally. A struggle so palpable, that clarity of thought, decision-making skills, and a willingness to put one foot ahead of the other; has collapsed inward into a void of despair, confusion; buoyed only by a beckoning light to end.... everything. The recounting of an 8-yr-old, witnessing the aftermath of a suicide attempt by that child's mother. The terror, the shock, the pain and anger is as present right now, as it likely was that day. This, now 19-yr-old, has as much understanding and ability to process those events as that 8-yr-old. Disappearing into his hands, he shared with me a story that punctured my heart like an assassin's bullet. As I jigsaw-searched for a hopeful path: medications, therapy, counseling, loved ones; every word I uttered landed like snowfall on a burning roof. I navigated the ship into calmer waters; pride in performance, lauded for surviving despite the weight so few could themselves wear, and familial-like care that will be my open door going forward. This where we disembarked, a "contract" among foes to meet again no later than Monday. My own fractured tapestry of carrying on versus the omniscience of escape. I  am not equipped to give anyone a tomorrow; let's completely abandon, for now, the likelihood that I am on the autism spectrum, and simply weigh the grandiose fucktastrophe that has been my past two years. Perspective is: trapped in my own head, every second I breathe is a far better world to live in than any second in the life of this 19-yr-old; trudging about with a life that hit pause 11 years ago. Upon his shoulders, he carries far more than I will likely ever know in my life, he is so much stronger than I ever have been or will ever hope to be. Is it tragic that I find inspiration in him; how wrong would it be for me to utter that? What level of conceit is that?

I joked on Thursday, after being asked how I feel about the job, "I'm still too new that the weight of the chaos that is this place hasn't ground my bones to ash..." Universe, on Friday, responded.

Crisis Text Line	Text HOME to 741741
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline	1-800-273-8255
Trans Lifeline	1-877-565-8860 (for the transgender community)
TrevorLifeline	1-866-488-7386 (for LGBTQ youth)
Veterans Crisis Line	1-800-273-8255, Press 1

From the Land of Misfit Workers

 What am I doing with this blog, I never update it, then post about never posting whilst bitching myself out for being so lackluster with my words. I seriously have not written in the four effing months we've been here, and it's not like I was working! Nope, that didn't happen until this week, and here I am, about to whine about that.

I didn't exactly have stellar optimism, I know full well that being booted from college before I even finished a semester of my freshmen year and walking around as a 50 yr old with my high school diploma is a tragic way to impress anyone. I deluded myself long ago, the self-sacrifice and maniacal devotion to a job was going to win me favor in career life. My last job demonstrated in succinct precision what eighteen years of over-achieving, holiday-sacrificing, and over-arching perfection was worth.  Oh, and that H.S. Diploma. So, of course, I didn't expect employers to beat down my door, and I didn't expect that sweet salary that had me living like an extinct middle class dinosaur. The job search in New Orleans was about as productive and responsive as the Sewage and Water Board; layers of silence and confusion. Coming to Asheville, I did not expect finding employment to be as much as a vacuum, but I also wasn't fully sure how things were going to pan out.

So, how has it gone? Weirdly... is that a thing? It feels like a sliding scale of success, sacrificing a little more with each collapsing opportunity. I've focused primarily on Human Resources/Benefits, recognizing that all my years in a print/production environment is as much an antiquated dinosaur as my band tees and H.S. Diploma. I want(ed) and HR Role that also was integrated with community or advocacy... money is important, but I also want to feel I am contributing my remaining years to something that's worthwhile. 

So, my journey started at the almighty Y. Literally, less than a mile from my front door. Yes! I am embracing this with full fervor... it was the first place I applied to, and within a week, I had a second interview. That went fairly well, and after a few days of no response, I reached out... they had gone with another candidate. Oof. Okay. Move on. 

My wife had been encouraging me to go to a staffing agency, so I did that at the same time I started pursuing no. 2. That came pretty quickly, and can you believe that this place had a pension plan? My dad didn't even have any jobs that still had those, so that's like a pink unicorn in the wild. I got myself super excited for this job, and I had excellent interviews, even Birthday was a part of our discussions. I felt locked in. They warned me, "we move slow". I allowed weeks to burn before I started inquiring, and when I did, the answer I received was, "we have another candidate". But a silver lining - "we have another position you might be a good fit for...". Yes - sign me up to start all over with roller coaster number 3. 

Initial interview happened, it went very well... my thought process was along the lines, "well, I was a top candidate for the other role, surely I must have the upper hand here..." - I'm still waiting for them to let me know that I did not get the position.

Ah... stumbling into fourth position was a very unique job as an internal HR Coordinator for a local company that produces varieties of yeast. Phone interview - check. Virtual interview - check. In-Person interview - check? I was told it was me and one other person, and they had almost selected this person until I applied. I previously worked for the payroll and benefits service provider they use. I was so fucking convinced I had this job, I went and ate at the restaurant that's connected to the plant. Yeah. How could I possibly not get this job? Well, I didn't. They'll let me know if things don't work out with the person they hired. 

Let's pause and talk about the mental fuckery I have put myself through now. Is it my age, my weight, my teeth - I started questioning every single thing about the in-person interview. This might be worse than dating? It's at least as bad I think. Your self-worth starts plummeting, and any insecurities you may have had when you started, are now full blown, heavy-ass shadows clinging to you like Marley's chains.

Five. Job with a pension (sacrificed). Helping the community (sacrificed). Unique atmosphere, maybe a historic building, my own office? (sacrificed). Can I please help register voters for Buncombe County, NC for $15/Hr... through that aforementioned staffing agency that made a point of telling me how important it was to communicate and I never hear from them. Crickets. Nothing. No response from anyone. I applied twice just to convince myself it was me, not them. Nope, it's them.

Onto Six ."Can I please just do the job I did the last time I earned income? Maybe give me a desk or a phone?" 

"No. You work from home."

"Oh? Well, I guess that's something. Let's do it... please."

"Great! We love you, we are very excited to bring you onboard."

I wait a few days. This is definitely happening, so I'm not worried. I hear from them, they want to speak to my references. "That's a good sign!" - everyone says so. I wait a couple more days.

"Sorry, the executive team has decided to hold off on hiring anyone right now. When it opens back up, you are our top candidate."

You tricked me, you sneaky devils. I had given up hope, and you found a way to give me some, and then yank it away. Good on you. I deserve that for smiling that one time. Fool me once...

Seven. This is where the man with a crushed ego throws himself in front of a moving train because it's moving. And I have found myself reporting to work there for the past three days. A twenty minute phone call (more on this momentarily), and a twenty minute virtual interview was all that was needed to sign my name on a dotted line... as a temp with another staffing agency. Fuck. No guarantees this will be permanent, and from the looks of it, it's not going to be.

The person that hired me is extremely over-worked and constantly being over-whelmed as the sole HR resource for the office. I felt compelled to work there out of sheer compassion and empathy for having been the person that sacrifices everything for the company that employs them. I have nothing but respect for her and what she's dealing with... but this is a company that rebuffing structure, and has turn-over like a fast food restaurant. I know everything is strange - between Covid, millennials, pay expectation, and the economy, a lot of companies are dealing with the problem. Compounding this place's problems is a recent lay-off stemming from supply chain bottlenecks. Ironic, since this company's sole function is to provide materials for the bio-medical/bio-science fields. So, there's budget challenges, and I've been told a handful of times, that it was a battle just to bring on a full time temp to help with recruiting staff... hey, that's me. Sharing a small office with two other people, recruiting people to ghost, or quit in less than a week of showing up. I've shared all the red flags with my friends, and they agree that these are genuine red flags. I said yes, because they caught me when I was feeling most vulnerable.

The fact of the matter is, the money is gone. 401K - gone. Severance - gone. Credit cards - not looking great anymore. Pride - swallowed. I have to do this. I don't have to do this for 18 years, but for right now, until they tell me they don't need me anymore, or I feel stable enough that I can start looking for the right fit... this is it.

And I will save that phone call for the next post; whenever that is. I need to get to bed. Dumpster fire signing off for now.

Cities Of The Dead: Hebrew Rest Cemetery One, New Orleans

 Located in the Gentilly Neighborhood within New Orleans, it has some of the most striking statuary to be found.

Cities Of The Dead: St. Patrick Cemetery Two, New Orleans

 Another Cemetery District location. Full of historic and beautiful markers on the edge of the city.