I have been working on a post all week. One that I was initially really excited about and thought was very clever and now it is just an albatross I need to throw at all of you. And you are going to hopefully read it tomorrow and think, “Really, Maggie? Was it really that difficult? This took you a WEEK to write?”
I am truly much busier with my new duties at work. However, I am apprehensive that I will not be getting the raise I want and a different title, because “Administrative Assistant” makes me feel silly. I’m 48, well-educated, talented and competent and all the things I need to be. I have put in my 2 years here waiting for this opportunity and if I don’t get what I want, I will tell them that I will be actively looking for another job. And then scream and punch a wall.
I don’t know if I have mentioned this but I am the oldest person in my office. There are seven of us and I’m the oldest. My boss is the next oldest and he is 7 years younger than I. The youngest was born in 1988, which is a ridiculous year for an adult to be born. How can I be working with a man who was born after I graduated from college?!
I’m telling you that… to tell you this: some of my coworkers don’t like it when I open the office door to the 4th floor hallway to get some circulation going because I am so damn hot. Some of my young coworkers express dismay at the door being open. They recover quickly and say it is okay; that they can just shut their doors if they feel cold. I will never be a good poker player, my face makes it very clear when you shouldn’t fuck with me.
I got home from work yesterday feeling teary because my girls are in Palm Springs with their dad (which I think is wonderful) and are not posting pictures on Facebook and telling me what they are doing. So that made me cry. Derwood and I were supposed to go to dinner and a movie but I didn’t want to, so that made me cry. We went for an hour long walk and that made me feel better.
I felt better, until I noticed I had two zits on my face that had not been there when we left the house. Really? That’s what a 60 minute walk in the beautiful spring evening resulted in? More cystic acne?! That’s just pretty.
After the walk, I was attempting to get all sexy and passionate with Derwood, wound up head-butting him and cutting my lip, which made me feel stupid. The dog was barking at us. So, I started crying again. I quickly went from teary to bitter to angry to barely controlled seething rage finally collapsing in hopelessly fat in about 90 seconds.
After a bottle of wine and dinner, we watched the Voice. I really like the addition of Shakira and Usher and I don’t miss Christina Aguilera’s boobs at all. I was dozing off on the couch so Deren said, “c’mon, let’s put you in bed.” So I went to bed and he left. I asked, “where are you going?” “To watch the rest of the show.” Oh, he gets to watch it but I don’t. Fine. So I was bitter but I didn’t cry.
I woke this morning in the pre-dawn light. Birds were chirping outside the open window and I thought, “I hate everyone and I am fat and stupid and ugly.” Deren was cautious around me and gave me a little hug before he left. I followed him down the hall and said, “Don’t do that, you’ll make me cry.”
That man’s gonna marry me. Lucky bastard.