Boy, do I have some Tales to Tell...
Sometimes, I look at my hands and realize that I am old. Not older. Old.
I think that no matter what you do to make the rest of you look young, your hands will always show your age. Or at the very least, your hands will show how much you've been through. And nothing you do, except wear gloves, can hide that fact.
My hands are very vascular. That's a fancy word for saying that my hands are very veiny. There is very little to no fat in my hands. Probably because I work very hard. Probably because I am most comfortable working in conditions where my hands are in motion.
But it's not just the veins. It's the fact that my hands are the only part of my body that are wrinkled. My fingers remind me of the rings of a tree. Even when I moisturize them, they are very wrinkled. Even the palms of my hands have wrinkles. The sink is tight but definitely wrinkled.
On top of that, my hands also have various nicks and callouses. The callouses are from years of tennis and handling pots. The nicks are from years of manual labor. Plus, I have never been known to take care of my cuticles. I'm just not that type of gay.
I think what really makes me feel old is not the fact that my hands look old. I accept that. I think it's because when I look at them, they remind me of my mother at my age. Later.
Is there anything better than going to the register to pay for a pair of jeans that make you look really good and having to pay only half of what the tagged price states? I don't think there is. Later.
It's not a big secret that I have been wanting out of my job for a while now. I've been bitching and moaning about it. I've even started looking for some new employment. But I haven't really looked that hard. Or as hard as I could probably look. I believe that everything happens for a reason. I also believe that if you put it out there, the universe gives it back.
Yesterday, I got it back.
I was told by a confidant that my position will no longer exist as of September. I will be officially told in my regional meeting with my 15 other counterparts on Wednesday.
I'm not sad. I'm not even mad. I'm in this weird mood where I knew it was going to eventually happen. Which is probably why I am so indifferent to it. My first reaction was that I needed to be more proactive in my applications. Do things like call the companies to follow up on the application. Look into working not just for companies I would like to but for jobs that I have the qualifications for. And I will.
My husband had his initial freak-out moment. But he has calmed down and realized that I still have a job until September. That is if my source is correct. They could tell me something different on Wednesday. Nothing would surprise me. I kinda feel bad for some of the folks that have the same position as I do. I know I can rebound. But some of these folks were planning on retiring from this position. Not sure how they may take this. It may be a total surprise. Or they may already know.
I asked my source as to how reliable this info was. She said it was a done deal. She said that she was scared that I had called this fact at the end of last summer. I actually called it to the date. Scary indeed.
So, here is what I am thinking: as soon as they announce it, I will stand up, put my coat on, begin to walk out, stop at the door, blow my liar-of-a-coordinator a kiss, and leave. I think that may be the way I want to be remembered in this lousy company. What are they going to do? Relieve me of my job? Later.