The Sinking Dreams Part 2.b

You know those sinking dreams? Well, last night they just might have ended . . .

Last night I was in a concrete river. A man-made, half underground drainage waterway kind of thing that acted as if a damn was at the top. The sides and bottom were all concrete and the current was being forced through, as if the mechanisms at the top of the thing were pushing the water down. There were tiers to it and kinds of screens in the water way, and lots of metal and teeth-looking things and it was all very industrial.

I was in the water, swimming against the current -- which was strong and industrial feeling coming through and around the metal teeth. I was swimming where people shouldn't be.

And I swam it! I even climbed out on the slippery, concrete side with little toe room, navigated the parked cars that were hanging over the edge and got to the top of the thing without struggle. And at the top, there were people . . . children and people and my sister . . . all sort of frolicking in it . . . playing in the current and riding along for fun.

I may have finally stopped sinking!

And, low and behold, I had this dream on the night I KNEW Medley was out of the state forever. Ok. He may come back to the state . . . he likes to ski here . . . but he is gone. Gone, gone, gone, from my life and gone from the USAP and gone -- forever. Today was like taking off my corset. I could breathe. I didn't have to pretend not to care and look cool. I didn't have to concentrate on where he was and who he was talking to and if he would walk by my cube. He was just gone. Forever.

Forever.

Do you know? Do you know how great this is to get rid of this useless distraction and reclaim my future! He isn't here anymore! He isn't a constant reminder of how fundamentally undesirable I am! I can be cool enough again. I don't have that dark gray fog around me, trying not to be fat and trying not to be uncool and trying to be somehow interesting to the lyingest man around.

Go! Go! Go! Go away, dark memory and bad self image! Go with him! And be done with you!

My God, it's like a miracle.

It may even snow.

That Guy? He's Gone Now

Today was that guy's last day in the office and it felt dang weird. Of course, someone brought bagels and donuts and lots of people gathered -- around my desk, I might add -- to send him on his way. Ugh.

The last words I said?

"Drive safely."

The last words he said?

"I'll see ya later."

Great life moments die like the rest of everything. Pathetically and with an element of irritation.

The day after I found out he was quitting, he took me to lunch to explain why he was leaving and to ask me what I thought. I found that interesting. It was almost like he was asking permission. Turns out, there were three reasons for his leaving . . . there is no future in the USAP (Duh. We all know that), his Dad is getting old, and there's a girl in Seattle. The girl news took some weasling, but eventually he admitted it. Amazing how uncomfortable it made him when I asked about her. Amazing. He's moving back to Seattle to probably marry this woman and he couldn't say her name out loud without becoming unfathomingly uncomfortable. I thought the man would squirm out of his chair. Amazing!

Poor Dear.

Today he met his other ex-girlfriend -- the one he traveled with that once -- for breakfast. And I laughed when I heard it. How many meals did this poor fucker have to buy to get out of town?

May his journey be uneventful.

May his new job be magnificent.

May his father be healthy.

And may Susanna -- or whatever her name is -- be very, very dumb . . . and not notice that he collects adoring women like postcards. May she never sense all his separate lives. May she never notice his private cell phone calls, his multiple email addresses, each given to a different kind of friend. May she never see his eyes dance all over and flirt with a woman coworker. May she never ask him where he was, what he was thinking, or what he really wanted. May she get pregnant quickly and claim him.

Because this man won't stay unless he has to. And even then it's a risk.

This man won't be honest until it suits him. And even then he'll embellish.

May he drift away forever . . . may he become a memory, bittersweet.

And may I never fall for another.

May I never fall for another.

The Nature of Huge, Great Change

It is 10:33 p.m. I am drinking Gran Patron Platinum Silver Tequila that the Jeff Guy brought to C's going away party. It drinks like butter . . . covered in pepper. Smooth, fucking smooth. And I hate tequila.

I had dinner with my people . . . Jack, Hutch, Traci and her husband Michael -- who I haven't seen in years. It was lovely and wonderful and all we talked about was the program and the gossip and the Ice and the history between all of us. I was irreverent and dismissive and funny.

But all day I have felt sad and sick.

The sinking dreams are starting to make sense. The foundation of my Golden Antarctic Age is crumbling. The group is blowing apart. By next spring, I doubt there will be anyone left. We all have maybe this season in us, maybe. We all knew Carlton was going. When Medley quit . . . dishonorably and without warning . . . right before we were to deploy . . . the wind started pouring out of our sails. Martin looks terrible. BK is absent on PTO. Joking about quitting isn't funny anymore. And now, the ones remaining are starting to eye their dates . . . I'll make it to June. I'll commit until March. I'm checking out this school that teaches international management. It's coming to an end.

Which means my time will come to an end. And I don't know how and I wasn't actually really ready for it. Not just yet. I like my job. I love coming to work. I LOVE the Antarctic. Love, love, love the Antarctic. But the people won't be there anymore. The people who I did this for and with and because. They are scattering. And I don't know what will become of me.

It is time for me to turn my hands up and ask for something. I need a smooth transition. I need to not take a cut in pay. I need the next great thing to present itself.

All my horoscopes are about exotic great love and huge great change happening. I'm feeling the huge change . . . but not quite the great. I'm really worried that it will all happen with grief involved or that it will come only after being set on fire and dragged through the torture.

Does huge great change ever come easy?

Professional Note to Self

Note to self: Leave boring administravia job prior to becoming a control freak cunt bitch from hell.

Surrounding me in my office are older women who have been in service too long. Their self worth is entirely wrapped up in the seemingly meaningless, but hugely important, tiny little work stoppages they control. You want a report run? First they will tell you it isn't in their job description. Then they will spend 5 minutes telling you how complicated it is to do and what a burden you are placing on them. Then they will begrudgingly tell you that they will do it, but it will take a really long time and you will owe them.

What fucking ever.

Or, they will road-block you. Something critical needs to happen right away for the good of the whole? Well, you will have to write a justification and get it signed by a Director. Ok. Got that. Done. Trumped the blockade. Go forward! And you get another email asking why you are hiring this person at midrange when they clearly don't meet the minimum requirements for the position? Instead of reading the fucking justification and just telling me what they WILL sign off on.

Fucking cunt bitch from hell.

Why, exactly would I spend a day writing the justification if I didn't whole heartedly believe she could do the job?

For fuck sake!

No one! No one on Earth has time to be this bitchy and passive aggressive. You won't sign off on the hire? Fine. Tell me what you will sign off on and get out of my way. No more road blocks, Honey. Tell me how to get around you and we'll do it. No one has time for this shit!

Except bitter HR women and secretaries who never met their full potential.

Note to self . . . self actualize.

Take the hard risks that make you WANT to jump in and help. Do the jobs that are rewarding. Surround yourself with people who say "Sure!" and "Yes!" and "I can help." and "We'll all work together and we'll get it done." and "Thank you so much for pitching in."

Avoid the endlessly bitter, angry and controlling people who protect keys, post signs, prevent progress and demand signatures . . . because their lives are so damn small.

Note to self . . .

I Knew This Guy Once

In January, 2000 I feel in love. Hard. Bad love. Actually, it began when I heard his name several months earlier, but that is neither here nor there.

I feel in love in January. I knew I was in trouble in March, on a boat, when sitting reading on the deck, rounding the bottom of South America, I thought to myself, if he's not in love with me in four days, I'm moving on!

He and I spent seven and a half months together, with only 22 other people, far away from everything else. And it was magical. HUGE, big, wonderful DRAMA. I loved him more than I have ever loved anyone -- except Chris, of course -- and I knew that nothing that felt this HUGE could be untrue.

Whether he wanted to admit it or not.

He and I worked together. Matter of fact, I worked for him. And we became fast friends. During the day, he wouldn't spend more than about an hour apart from me before he would call or come by or check in. Many, many evenings after work we would sit in his tent, away from the others, and talk and cry and talk and talk and DRINK, like fishes, and then sometimes he would kiss me good night and he would tell me how much I meant to him. But he would also say things like "Oh, no, no. I told myself I wouldn't get involved on the ice." "I really have to focus on my career." "No, no, no! I'm incapable of love." And he would also say, "You're the type of girl a man marries." And, my personal favorite, "I love you, Beth."

When I left this far away place, he gave me a piece of crepe ribbon which, the night before, had acted as a ceremonial ribbon, opening the building we had rebuilt together. He gave me that crepe ribbon and told me I was "his other half." And we cried and we held onto each other and I walked alone to my boat.

And I loved him. My other half. I LOVED him.

He stopped writing on December 7, 2000. Just stopped. And it was the next January when I got the letter . . . "No, no, no, Beth. I never meant to mislead you." I cried and freaked out for days.

Then the Great Goddess played her first trick. When the construction manager at my station couldn't winter, they decided to bring Him in at the last minute to replace him. He would come in and I would go away. And I was supportive and helpful and kind . . . and forgave him my hurt.

And we wrote a lot. And he would call on the phone. And I loved him again . . . and I knew once he came around, he would come around for me.

And then I came back and he went away. And a few months later, when he was about to come back and I was about to go away, I found out he had traveled with his ex-girlfriend. So much for "focusing on his career." And I cried and freaked out for days. And when he did finally come back . . . I was supportive and helpful and kind . . . and forgave him my hurt.

And this went on for three more years.

And then it was time for him to leave the program, and I had just come back and he was about to leave, and we had The Big Talk. What do we become, then? And I told him I couldn't do this anymore. I couldn't be his friend because it hurt too much. And he told me he wouldn't let me go! He would never let me not be his friend. I told him I didn't want that. And he said he would move to Chicago to follow me (I was threatening to move to Chicago at the time . . . I never actually did). And I was strong and said, "No, no, no." And I loved him still, and I was supportive and helpful and kind, and I told him to go on his Vision Quest and to let me know what he decided.

Which he did.

And when I heard back from him he was lost and working in Seattle and sad. And I was supportive and helpful and kind . . . and forgave him my hurt. And then he disappeared. And when he called again, lost and sad, I was supportive and helpful and kind. And then he disappeared again. And when next I heard from him, he had accepted a job back at the DHQ, working with my group.

And what I KNEW in my heart was that he was finally true . . . he finally wasn't going to let me not be his friend. And I was supportive and helpful and kind.

When he arrived in town, working full time with us and ready to go back to that far away place, I invited him to dinner . . . and he didn't speak to me for four days. And I was devastated with hurt. It took months of whimpering to girlfriends and a trip to a shaman to make that hurt stop. The shaman took him out of my heart. And I was better. And I worked with him for a year, almost unscathed.

And today he quit.

He's moving away.

And you know what sucks?

Now I really am going to have to see that he COULD let me not be his friend. That he didn't come back for me at all.

Whether I want to admit it or not.

Fracturing the Muck Away Suddenly

Dang it all to heck! I have had TWO creative ideas in the last few days. TWO. After years and years of nothing . . . TWO different ideas came to me.

The other night I was heating up a microwave dinner and suddenly I drew a lake house right there on four telephone pad pages. Had the whole thing come so clearly . . . it was just like junior high when I would design house after house, seeing the entire interior (I'm bad with exterior details). I love it! Gorgeous decks and a fabulous kitchen and two different office spaces . . . big enough for me and my Lovely Artistic Man Companion To Be Named Later.

Then, tonight after work I read a Dwell magazine, got pissed off that the editor was so shocked and amazed that ANYONE in Middle America would be interested in modernism (shocking I know, Pumpkin . . . Maybe you should get your skinny design-sucking ass out of California once in a while . . . Fuckwit), which made me sit down and journal and all the sudden, bang, clear as day, was a film project for the SPIFF (South Pole International Film Festival).

I am quivering!

Please, The Goddess, please let this good feeling continue!

Yee haw!