12/14/12

Silence or at least, some other person’s voice in my head will do me some good. It’s almost the end of the year, and I’m forcing myself to do more, more, more.

 One friend organized a book drive, and of course, I have to give something. She’s also throwing a party, and I’m racking my brain trying to figure out what to give her for her hostess gift. A few days after this party, another friend is throwing a Christmas day party, and I’m planning, planning on what to give this party. Christmas day, itself, and what do I do? Do I linger at the party? Do I volunteer at the church? Do I go out to the movies?

I begged off dinner and drinks with co-workers tonight.

Really, I spend 40 hours a week with these people; another two hours won’t kill anyone. But still…the thought of telling anyone my life story, making polite banter, laughing at all the right jokes… I’m not depressed, but I’ve had moments when all I could do is sleep for 15 hours straight.

My brain just needs a break.

 I’m not of those people who harness energy from a room filled with happy, shiny people. Quite frankly, people tire me. I inhale books, because books unlike people never disappoint. Or when they do, I can always shelve them. It’s the weather, and the season. I’m pretty in touch, so to speak. Fall never makes me want to go out and go to parties; on the contrary, it makes me want to hide out, read, sleep for longer than necessary.  All this rain isn’t making anyone want to go out either.

I need this time, more than anything, to stay in and listen to the words of my heart.

For a good hour or so, I packaged up the candy that I bought for presents and placed them inside mason jars. I love the idea of a semi-homemade gift. I love mason jars, too. Something about mason jars, that I’ve always liked, even as a child; the feel of it, the sturdiness and its compact beauty.

I feel out of tune. I miss having conversations with the spirits, and knowing I can call them whenever I want. My heart seems so far away, and wherever it is, I can’t call, email or text.

The quietness of my own mind, I miss it so.

*

12/15/12

When the conversation about getting bonuses came up a few weeks ago, I remember thinking, “I’ll be so happy to receive at least $500.”

Wrong, guess again.

 My sense of propriety prevents me from divulging the actual amount I received but it was enough to send me to the ladies’ room and have a tear-filled moment. It was enough to pay one month’s rent and have some left over to party. It’s the biggest bonus check I’ve ever seen in my life, before this bonus check, the biggest bonus I’ve ever seen in my life is $200. This bonus check is a grandma bonus check.

A part of me wants to feel bad about this abundance, but there’s another part of me that’s been working myself to death in the same industry for 10 years for almost no pay. I wonder if overpaid CEO’s ever feel bad how much money they make. This is such a strong pattern in my life—I get a surprise check (although, nothing in life is really a surprise, as I’ve found the older I get) and I get such a pain in my gut over the guilt off my good fortune. Maybe it has to do with growing up in a third world country—no matter where you turn, so many starving, poor people everywhere.

I have to remind myself this is a natural and normal accounting of my deeds this past year. I work myself to death, literally, in all aspects of my life. The bonus check is just a reminder of how hard I’ve worked all year, including my unpaid internship.

Already I’m thinking of sharing my graces. Not that I don’t already do pretty much every day of my life. I don’t know how I find any guilt in fair compensation for my hard work, but I do.