Lovely office emails. Do you have one?

As you know, today was the last day of doing Day Job for My Company. As part of the closing ritual, I had to go through and delete old emails, as I could only save a small number of them.

I found this email from months ago that I saved because I loved it. It’s from the office manager.

Dear All,
 
Sorry forgot to mention there is also hot water in the toilets.   Please be careful not to burn yourself.
 
thank you.

New lingo.

I just used ‘facebook’ as a verb. That is all.

Goodbye to the purple overlord.

Tomorrow is the last day as an official employee of My Company. As much as I bitch about it, I can’t deny that working there has offered me many gifts: strong friendships, self-worth, a chance to get more familiar with how maps work.

I started working there on October 6, 2004 – two days after everyone else, due to a screw up of the infamous ‘twat’ in charge of HR at the time. (The ‘twat’ is courtesy of my wonderful ex-supervisor.) I’ve gained a lot. I don’t know if I would have trained as a counsellor without first having that job – or at the very least, I wouldn’t have begun training when I did. Now I’m qualified, and on my way to being a really good therapist.

I live across the street from a fabulous woman who also started late due to an HR screw-up. As a result of my job, I’ve been on a roadtrip to several other countries, been swimming in the grossest area ever, and have gotten so drunk that I stopped drinking for two years as a result. None of these strictly during work hours – except for the swimming one. Shh. Don’t tell.

I met some amazing young people, forming relationships with some of them that have lasted for years. I’ve got to see people grow up, transform their lives, become a little bit more of who they want to be.

My flat is still full of branded pens, notepads, briefcases, t shirts, pencils, erasers, little fuzzy monsters, stress relief squeezies, alarm clocks, pedometers, stickers, post-it notes, keychains. I have about 450 business cards I never used and have not yet thrown away. I have thrown away about 200. I have given out about twenty.

I’ve had more training in the past 3.5 years than most get in a lifetime of jobs. I’ve worked as part of the most fantastic team of people; real people who like to have real fun. Honest, passionate, slightly crazy co-workers spread across a large area of the city.

I have had my heart broken as I sat with crying young women being forced into marriage. I have helped them escape. I have written letters back and forth with a young man in prison, someone with such potential it shines from every pore. I have received a phone call twelve months on, a here’s-how-i’m-doing-i-just-want-to-say-thank-you call. I have gotten a card thanking me for caring. I have touched lives, and I have been touched.

Tomorrow I hand in my laptop, my phone. I trade them for a life of a new identity badge, a new team, a different way of being.  I will undoubtedly lose touch with some, and meet other people who will expand my life. I will continue to search for a new job, because My Job – the one I have hated and loved – is over. Finito.

I may do the same thing for a different company, but most of the ties are cut…or loosening. I will move away from this city, say goodbye to those young people, facebook with my company friends. One more day of that windowless basement, the computer guy’s heavy breathing, and free lunches. One more day in this place I’ve been trying to escape from for over three years.

Tuesday I escape, but now – Sunday – I thank myself for the small and large gifts this job has given me.

And now, a poem composed of search terms people used to find my diary….

good things to say about your love probably don’t
include:
neck massage consequences, confused
about my sexuality, or
motility rate. Love would be a happier place
if
just if
people spoke up more about their love and
said things like, ‘he bought me a transformer
mcdonald’s toy, and then we
ate butternut squash enchaladas, while i whispered
italian endearments in his ear.
this was sexy until it clogged up his ear,
and he had to keep shouting, WHAT?’

yes, those would be love stories to remember.

Time travel.

Juice-ica asked me to post something from my old diary – it involved poop and public bathrooms. I’ve just managed to find it and have been throwing up with laughter, but it feels weird to post it here. I don’t know if I am brave enough to re-post that story, even though you now all know about the poopy pictures taken last night. I will think on it.

However, I’m now rediscovering all sorts of good stuff. Let’s time travel. What is today, 30 March? In previous years on this date, I wrote:

——————————-

Margaret Atwood is a heinous bitch. Okay, maybe she isn’t. Maybe she just ACTS like she is.

And maybe she doesn’t act like it ALL the time, but she certainly does on Saturday afternoons inside bookstores.

…

I am disillusioned because the ten year old inside me thought that meeting another writer would be like magic; she would be unable to resist my magnetic charm, and we would become people who wrote long, chatty letters to each other. She would encourage me and read drafts of my books. Then again, I pictured Margaret Atwood as a tall, thick, smiling blonde….not a tiny, shrivelled, corkscrew haired wench, so I suppose all dreams can’t come true.

(2003)

————————————–

the bastard guestmap has erased all
of my older entries, and it makes
me want to delete it out
of spite. like, ha!, you stupid
fuck of a guestmap, you can delete
my entries but i can delete
YOU.

(same 2003, different entry)

————————————-

Now, this is interesting for two reasons. First, Juice-ica asked me if I had ever read The Handmaid’s Tale just two days ago. I told her it was a fab book written by a woman who was once mean to me. And here we are, on the day I decide to rehash the past – and who’s there on the first entry I click on? Good old Maggie.

Second, I forgot Guestmaps existed. I suppose this point isn’t really interesting in and of itself, but what I do find odd is how much I miss all the people who used to read my old diary. If any of you are over here, hello. And for those of you who never read that other diary, or the one before it – hello. Welcome to a new, improved (?) me where I am too chickenshit to tell you about what happened in Burger King. Or perhaps not such much chickenshit, but trying to build something new?

I forgot how glitzy and popular the old blog was until I popped over there just now. I feel quieter now, and perhaps my writing is more muted as a result? I used to be explicit about all areas of my life, just to get a laugh, and now I feel like writing only about those things that I want to remember, that mean something to me, that are real.

And, Margaret Atwood, if you ever come to this space – thank you for writing things I want to remember, that mean something to me, that are real. I don’t dislike you that much anymore. Really.

Say it with me – inhalers are your friend.

Well, I’m back. Just a short jog/walk, but longer than any jog I’ve ever had in my life prior to this morning. It felt so glorious to be alone outside, music in my ears, sunshine on my face. I loved the jogging part, but I suspect it will be awhile before the jogging loves me back.

I felt like I would be giving up to go straight home, so added some little walky bits on the ends. Then went into the little green space Birdwatcher showed me yesterday (again, something I’ve wanted to do since we moved here a year ago). Had a little wander on some of the muddy paths, and then did the stretches Hun (my physiotherapist) has requested me to do.

I like stretching, even if I never do it, but it added another dimension to be stretching out by using logs, rocks, etc.

Aussie, Birdwatcher, and I went to some camping stores yesterday to help Birdwatcher pick up some camping/hiking supplies. He’s suddenly become a mountain man butch dude who is quitting his job to go on a thousand mile hike in a few weeks. How awesome is he? It made me miss camping so much.

It feels like another lifetime, another me, when I lived oudoors for four months a year. Sleeping outside, feeling the night air, loving thunderstorms. In a way, it was another life – another country, another lifestyle, another me. I met TMD there, and I’m so pleased she was part of that life. I miss it badly, though realistically I don’t think I’m cut out for it anymore. It’s a hard job.

What I want now, is time and space. And that country – a place where forests, bears, mosquitos, and raccoons are part of normal life. Here I have fields and sheep – it’s not quite the same. Still, I can’t wait till we move. A little more green space and a little less traffic.

Anyway, back to jogging. If I can do this - something I’ve wanted to do for about seven years and have never done - what else can I do? It’ll be fun to find out.

Hopefully I don’t shake shit out of my ass.

Feels like first thing in the morning, even though it’s officially afternoon. We haven’t slept that late in ages.

I’ve not showered. My hair is in a ponytail, and I’m wearing an outfit entirely composed of sweatshirt material. Yes, folks, I’m going for a jog. I always always always want to do this, and never do. The urge has been very strong the past couple of weeks, and my bitsy weight gain (which feels huge) is uncomfortable.

I always think about things I want to do – write a new book, jog, swim, explore – and always manage to squash myself down. That stops now….for at least the next ten minutes.

Happy to say the plumbing seems to be coming unstuck.

TMD just said, ‘Christ, you’ve really got a way with things, haven’t you.’

When I asked what she meant, she said, ‘The outside of the salsa jar is all covered in salsa.’ To find out why this was funny, or this how might be a poop metaphor, read the previous entry.

A picture is worth a thousand words.

It’s been a long time since I’ve talked about bodily functions. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve done so since moving to this diary. I won’t be able to type much, since my hands are almost raw from the amount of soap-and-water washes I’ve just had.

Why, you ask?

I’ve been having bad shitting problems for about six weeks now. It’s impossible to overestimate how bad they are. And when I say ‘shitting’, a more accurate term might actually be ‘not shitting, because I can’t. And being full of actual terror about farting in public, because I have never produced - or smelled – anything this obscene in my whole life.’

I’ve made people gag and cough within the last week. Mostly Aussie, who was joking, except somehow I think she was just pretending her gagging was a joke to be nice.

So. Tonight.

Let’s just say that three pictures of what have happened exist. One of the inside of my underwear, one of the inside of my pajama bottoms, and one of my ass. All three are coated in shit. So much, and so moist, that I thought I started my period. No lie.

I don’t know whether I am blogging about this because I am proud, in shock, or both.

Added bonuses.

Went out to dinner with Sil and Bil (sister-in-law and brother-in-law, nicknames stolen from Quarter Lady. I hope she does not mind!). I no longer can find it in my heart to feel hateful they are pregnant.

At one point, Bil, TMD, and Mil (can you guess what that means?) were talking, and I just glanced over at Sil. She had her arms wrapped round her bump, this beautiful smile on her face, and it struck me – she is already deep into a relationship with the little human inside her. The little girl human.

Removing my own anger only makes room for more hurt. I am feeling so tired of waiting, and upset with poor TMD for doing her course. I’ve been in touch with a local Big Baby Expert Lady and turns out the area we’re moving to is chock full of baby groups, classes, etc. I suppose it’s no surprise considering the sort of people who live there.

I’ve also been thinking a lot about adoption lately. TMD and I definitely want to foster in the future. Though I really want to be pregnant, it’s more important that a child comes into our lives. I pray I can and will get pregnant, but if TMD had to – or we adopted long before we planned to – so be it.

Still, I got to touch Sil’s bump and I must say, it’s got to be nice to have a firm stomach.