It’s been a hectic week of retail purgatory. I call it purgatory because there has to be something better out there for a person with my talents. Everyday I arrive to work optimistic and ready to do my best. Yet, little by little the drama of sales is beginning to chip away at my enthusiasm.
The sales goals are unrealistic. The associates are ruthless and will stop at nothing to meet their goals. There are a few who are kind and giving, but they are far and few between. What kind of world have I stepped into? My last job, at a Beverly Hills law firm, paid twice as much. I didn’t hesitate to quit that job because of the drama. How much can I take now?
I try to be easy-going about the whole thing. I’ve managed to get along with everyone I work with. I’m well liked within the store. But inside I bite my tongue and follow the same steps of bitterness of complacency everyone else has adopted. I’m too feisty for the BS.
Worse of all I haven’t made any money. How is it that I managed to spend over $1,000 in less than a week. Some may call it an addiction. I simply justify my need to look and feel good. Regardless of whether I have money or not, I have always managed a way to keep my wardrobe updated. that has always been more important than going out or eating well. Only time will tell at my department store madness.
On to, uh, better things? Yesterday marked my third year anniversary. I woke to a message from my ex. He prefaced it with sincerity. Wishing me a happy anniversary was oddly sweet. Technically we are still married is benefit from his health insurance. Next week he has an interview with the INS to determine the renewal of a visa. When we first separated I sent a letter along with my petition of dissolution of marriage. I explained that his “promises” were suspicious considering he felt he no longer needed my support to ensure residency. I was determined to voice my concerns.
Now, he has to justify… our marriage? our separation? his purpose in this country. In the last two days I’ve been haunted with the notion to submit our court proceedings. The documented words of a cold man would definitely show there was absence of love. For months I tried to figure out how long, if ever, he did love me. Nowadays, it’s not so important to know. What will it prove to me? I was used? I was wrong? I was right? Does it make a difference? My choices were mine based on my own feelings. My love and hopes for our future were true. Isn’t that all that matters or am I turning a blind eye to an expensive mistake?
Ironically, I THINK I have a date tonight. I say THINK because there has been no formal confirmation. Prior to Thanksgiving we have been trying to find a night when we are both free. Due to our commitments, tonight was the first night. We’ve both communicated that tonight works well. But as of 12:30pm, I have no idea if we are still on, where, or when. Isn’t that strange. I’m considering writing the whole thing off. Most definitely it will not be me making the next move. In fact, if he fails to contact me today he is gone.
With my recent abandonment of cougarlife, I hoped for a connection with staying power. A connection more than anything else is what I seek. Sex is usually the quickest and easiest answer. As superficial as it may sound, I’m doubtful that I can have more than that. Note that for next therapy session!
This recent revival of my sexploration will not end as the last did. Three years of celibacy is not a good thing for a woman my age, who dreams of conceiving a baby someday, to endeavor. I thought a compromise in giving man what he wants will inevitably give me what I want. That has not been the case. More than a handful of hopefuls leaves me aloof to love. The saying, “you must de-sour before you sweeten keeps ringing in my head.” Funny, I thought that every other man since my husband would not see that side of me. Maybe I’m realizing that I can’t hide it even if it is suppressed.
I don’t want to be bitter. There are so many things I am grateful for. I have far more blessings than misfortunes. I bring up some valid points and note that my time of introspection, the return of the hermit, has proved beneficial. Maybe it’s the weed. I shrug my shoulders.
Orpheus losing what he sought after by looking behind. Is that my curse? My target it forward. Besides experience my past has nothing to offer. So, my stream of consciousness takes me. Can I do both? Chart the path forward while recording, more like replaying, memories of where I’ve come from. Like all my ventures I struggle with purpose.
Alright, time for me to return to the couch and enjoy my only day off. This internal debate is a waste of time. I’m a servant. The rules are dictated, not chosen. Happy Sunday!
