State of Jojo

The more time I have the less I get done. I have been unemployed now for a few weeks and I have posted seldom (about once a week). When I was first unemployed I thought "well now I will have tons of time to write tons of fabulous posts". Needless to say, that did not happen. When I had to fit it in between 5:30 and 6:30 in the morning, my fingers would fly over the keys so fast my brain couldn't keep up. I would think, write, create in such a flurry sometimes I wasn't sure what I had written until it was done.

Now I have all the time in the world (relatively speaking) to post and I just can't seem to get my butt in the chair and do it. Maybe it is the fodder for my posts so often came from work, something someone said or did made me think or reminded me of something. Now there is just me and my cats on most days. My days are filled with cleaning, cooking, letter writing, reading want ads, sending resumes and e-mails, these are not the things great posts are made of. When I was on a tight schedule I couldn't wait to have my hour to myself to hammer out something. Now I think, "What do I have to say?" "Oh, I'll do it later" and then later never comes. There are so many things I still want to talk about and so many stories I want to tell. It is just so much harder to make myself do it.

I have never been prone to depression. Until now. It is not a deep depression but a mild case of worthlessness that is nagging at me. I have no marketable skills. I have worked in a very specific industry for a very long time and I am no longer young and cute. I read the ads and they all want skills I don't have or they want a four year degree I don't have. What difference does it make? Even if I had a degree from college it would have been from 20 years ago, who would care?

I could work at Wal-mart for $7.40 an hour. I make more than that on unemployment. I was at the high end of the pay scale for my industry. The industry is hurting, everywhere. There is no way someone is going to pay me what I was making, especially with no degree and no "skills" (Microsoft word, excel, photoshop, outlook, windows XP). All those things that almost all the want ads that aren't for forklift drivers ask that you have.

The "dislocated worker" program at the local Minnesota Work Force Center will hopefully pay for me to take classes to learn all these fun things so I am marketable to more places. I don't want to work in an office. I realize that is probably what it will come down to though. After so many years of freedom and autonomy it will be very very hard to have to tow the line and work in a structured environment.

I am sometimes still so angry about what happened and the way I was treated that I can hardly see straight. I fluctuate from wishing them all the ills in the world and hoping that they sink like the Titanic to feeling sorry for them and hoping that they survive and everythings works out an the business gets stronger. I heard they were hiring someone to come in and teach someone the things that I used to do that no one else knew how to do. The problem is I cared, he doesn't I hope they have fun. I still have this huge chunk of betrayal sitting in my gut that won't seem to go away. I try to put a positive spin on things and am trying really hard to find that silver lining I am sure is on this cloud but it gets harder everyday. I am running out of money and self-esteem.

I am going to go hug my kid now. That always makes me feel better.

Witness

Your teeth bared
behind angry lips
chewed up the silence
I tried to escape into

your words kept coming
at me like bullets
from your gun-mouth
piercing my skin

Your eyes throw
daggers of fire
that follow the bullets
to my heart

I close my eyes so
I won't see
that much hate
from the one I love

I am not the one
who is looking

from behind the door
a small blonde head
eyes full of fear
hands clenched in fists

How do I explain
the hurtful words we
throw at each other?

I need to hug
the small scared boy
who doesn't understand

that sometimes we hurt
most, those we love
the most
because we can

we have all the
right weapons
we know how to
push the buttons

we supply our
own ammo from
years of intimacy

in that moment
I hate that we do
this to each other

not because of
what was said
or the look
in your eyes

because of the
look
in his

Dog Envy

There I admit it. I have dog envy. I want a dog. A big dog. My neighbors have a miniature toy poodle (is that like a toy-toy?) that is small enough to fit in one hand, and she is full grown. Her name is Polly (isn't that cute?) When she is yapping and nipping at my ankles I have to fight the urge to shove her in my coat pocket and zip it. Why do people want little pocket puppies? If you want a tiny pet get a hamster or a guinea pig at least those you don't have to take outside every few hours. I have nothing against people with tiny dogs, I just don't understand it. If you want a dog, get "real" dog.

My sons best friend has a golden retriever. His name is Bubba. He is a real dog. He wanders around with a tennis ball in his mouth waiting for someone to play with him. He ambles over whenever we are outside and sits on my porch. Everywhere my sons friend goes, he is there. They are pals, constant companions. I think every boy should have a dog, yard permitting. We live by a lake we have park trails and woods in our back yard. I have visions of our dog and my son going off on adventures through the woods and if Son falls and sprains his ankle our furry friend will race home to get us so we can rescue him.

I want a big black lab and I want to name him Moses.

My husband say we can not have a dog. I know, I know. Why does my husband get to make all the rules? Well I can't very well force him to accept something he doesn't like. He grew up with dogs. Little kick-me dogs, they raised Chihuahua's. Then they moved on to slightly bigger dogs that always had bladder problems. More than once I sat on his moms carpet in a big puddle of dog pee. His mom sees her dogs as her children that have left the nest. Her new charge, a cairn terrier, is her baby, she feeds him with a spoon, she makes sweaters and booties for him so he won't get cold in the winter when he goes outside. Sometimes I am not sure she realizes he is a dog. My husbands past experience with dogs does not bode well for the future of a canine in my home. The older he gets the less he likes dogs, unless they belong to other people.

He says "Dogs are a lot of work" to which I replied. "So are kids but we had one of those". He says "You can't just leave a dog with food and water and go out of town for the weekend" to which I replied "You can't do that with a kid either, and we had one of those" My logic escapes him.

We have cats, I love cats. I have always had cats, I intend to always have cats. They are intregal to my personality, my lifestyle. At least my husband is a cat person too. I have never had a dog. I want to be dog person too. I want to have to go home straight after work (assuming I work again) so I can let the dog out. I want that unconditonal love with tail wagging when I come through the door at night. I want a big shaggy head on my feet as I watch TV. I want to throw slimy tennis balls until my arm is weak. I want my son to live in Mayberry and walk down long, dusty country lanes with a fishing pole and sandwiches with pickles tied up in a red bandana, with Moses at his side.

I want a big black lab and I want to name him Moses.

I have dog envy.