Tag Archives: relate

Work & Work

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The system is that was go to school to go to school to get a job to get money to live. Where’s the time to enjoy the life or the money we make (if there is any left after living). Many of are expected to be at work even when we’re not working or be on call. We look forward to retirement which may not happen before we die and when it does we will be either too old or poor to enjoy it. We take part in this cycle because it’s what we’re born into. The most that most of us can do is try to get that job that you somehow identify yourself with. That way, when it becomes the all consuming meaning of your life, it won’t feel quite so empty. When you admit that you are so much of your job, hopefully it is something you can at least take a piece of pride in. Relate it to a piece of your true self are a large notch above most of the working world.

The double irony of all of this is there are those of us who enjoy working. My entertainment mostly consists of work, but it’s work that I chose to do. It relaxes me in its own way. I put my full self into it with gusto. This is the sort of thing most of us dream about getting paid to do on a regular basis. Many people can be happy with a job they don’t identify with. I am the type of person who will probably not feel completely whole unless I have a job that I own. I want to work somewhere were I have pride, pronouns like ‘my’, and see myself in products of my labors. That may sound a little selfish, but all I’m asking is to work in the world as me, and not just be a moving, warm body that goes from day to day. I want more, I’m willing to work hard for more, but none of us knows how to get that (even the people that have it). They would look at you or I and say “I dunno.” or “Work hard.” as if that’s all they did to get where they are. They say it as if it’s not what you are doing. A few honest people have told me to be in the right place at the right time or talk to the right people.

Life doesn’t give you much to go on. It’s so hard even just to be and remain you.

I look at the people my age who I know and they are struggling with this aspect of their lives. They have college degrees and resumes and mad skills and talents. Yet, still, they fall into few categories. I have friends who get jobs they love, but they’re temporary or don’t actually support them. Internships are supposed to get you the better job tomorrow, just like college was. How many jobs is a person supposed to have to support their life? I have friends who find themselves out of work due to weather, economy, and simply being the low man on the totem pole. It seems like we have to pick up the ‘any’ job or drown. And then there are those that have better than the ‘any’ job, secure, but still somehow utterly miserable. They work for X Corp. which is part of their field, but no matter what they were hired as, they find themselves as little more than a glorified receptionist / personal assistant. Low man on totem pole is always looking for work whether or not they have a job and is scraping by for money even when they have a job. If you have the money for fun after everything else, it’s a must to survive life. You can’t work so many hours at a job, even one you like, and then when the weekend comes say, “I would socially interact with you, but I need to pay the bills.”

We play the ‘whose bills’ game with each other. Who has the worst student loan debt? Who has the lowest bank account balance? We all have savings accounts, but they’re for good intentions and future hopes at this point. Who gets by without getting any money from the family since they moved out? Anyone? Anyone?

This is my generation and I’m trying hard to be the exception. But then, most of us are.

Bodies – Chapter 2: Relating & Unrelated

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This is the second installment of a novel I’m writing called Bodies. You can read chapter one here. Feel free to comment. This is a work in progress and any insights could be helpful.

– – – – –

Silvie had begun to read and stopped twice now. The first time her voice faded off as she stared at the girl and wondered. The second time she just lost interest and desire to recite the written words she was not sure the girl could hear.

“You love torturing yourself, don’t you?” Silvie jumped and spun around. Phil was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed around a clipboard.

“No,” Silvie snapped, “I’m just curious.”

Phil put the clipboard down on an end table and sat in the chair next to Silvie’s as if her anger was an invitation, “Do you expect her to wake up and give you answers? She’ll likely never come out of it, and even if she did, she’s likely moderately to severely brain damaged. Who knows if she’ll be able communicate or remember anything.”

“Still,” Silvie held her ground, “I’m allowed to visit her and wonder.”

“Yeah, of course, I never said you weren’t!”

“Really?” sarcasm crept into Silvie’s voice, “I talked to Bonnie.”

“I was just trying to protect you, Silvie,” Phil’s smile was as soft as his voice, “I’ve come to care about you quite a bit.”

“Well, next time you care about me so much that you want to control me, save yourself the effort,” Silvie blurted bitterly. She grabbed her book and shoved it into messenger bag, getting up to leave.

“Hey!” Phil grabbed her arm, and Silvie pulled her arm away forcefully, “What the hell’s gotten into you?”

Silvie rolled her eyes, and any guilt she felt about snapping was rushed away by righteous anger, “Feminism,” she explained as she stormed out the door.

Silvie supposed Phil would get over his ‘caring’ and stop speaking to her, which made her anger drop down into sadness as the elevator made its way to the ground floor.

“Good job, Silvie. You managed to loose a friend to defend your relationship with a girl in a coma.”

“He’s an asshole,” she explained to no one in particular as the elevator jerked and came to a halt, “Macho. Definatly not my type.”

Her actions properly rationalized, she made her way into the crisp late afternoon and down the steps wondering if Andorra’s was open.

* * *

“Man, I just don’t get women,” Phil was off work and sitting in a local pub called Bernies with his friend Matt. Phil knew the man would have nothing more sage than that to say, but it felt good telling someone his frustrations regardless.

“How can you say that?” Phil cracked open a peanut, “You’re married.”

“I thought that was the first clue that I don’t have any good advice,” Matt chuckled and leaned back in his barstool, precariously balancing with his foot on the bar.

“Don’t worry, my man, you’re off the hook. I don’t need advice, just to blow off some steam.”

“We could always go to the strip joint,” grinned Matt devilishly. Phil snorted, “Yeah, well, I wasn’t being serious anyways. Jenny would divorce me for less.”

“How would she even know?” Phil’s mouth was full of peanuts. He washed them down with his beer.

“That is one of the mysteries of the universe, Phil. She just would.”

“Huh,” Phil’s eyes wandered to the flat screen TV across the room.

“Look,” said Matt rubbing his eyes, “If you like her, just keep at it. Women are moody. Maybe she’s on the rag.”

“How philosophical of you,” Phil’s eyes never left the screen. It was a commercial for something that made people dance and he was trying to guess what it was before the commercial was over.

“Har-dee-har. No, we leave the tough thinking to you, Phil. That’s why your mom named you that. Phil the philosophical,” Matt laughed at his own joke.

“Yeah? Well, you know what your mom calls me?”

“Phht. I gotta take a leak,” Matt pulled himself out of his leaning bar-stool position by grabbing the bar and slammed down the rest of his beer before heading to the men’s room.

Phil in truth felt a bit better, but he also didn’t want to think about it anymore. Everything he did or said to Silvie was always wrong. He tried to be sensitive and caring and it somehow came off as manipulative.

Maybe I’m trying to hard with the touchy-feely approach. Maybe I should just try the classics: flowers, chocolate, dinner… If Silvie wants to make herself miserable, let her do it and get over it herself.

It’s not my problem.