Chapter Three

I have made it through the weekend. Monday morning and I get up with Ken. He is going back to work. We have a morning routine. He makes coffee, I get the lunch boxes out, I make sandwiches, he does the side dishes, bananas, other fruit, clif bars. Then we shower, then we get dressed. I usually leave first, he turns off all the lights, takes out the trash, and he goes to work. On this monday I go into the kitchen, put the lunchboxes on the island and start making our sandwiches. Crap. I stand there and start to cry and shake. I don’t need a lunchbox.  I tell Ken I’m sorry again. He very sternly tells me to stop saying that. I go take my pills. I go back into the kitchen and make his sandwich. The routine is comforting. I am worried about him leaving me. I am worried about being alone with all this fear. I don’t tell him. This is my battle. I have an appointment with Lesley at noon. Ken starts talking about where do I think we can cut back. I say we can survive without TV. Maybe the cell phones. I need the internet to job hunt. That stops my brain cold. How can I job hunt in this condition? Self loathing takes over. I hate being weak. Self loathing gives way to self pity. Ken is watching my face and tells me it’s time to shower. Again, our routine grounds me. Ken washes my entire body from head to toe and he touches me like I am a precious thing. He kisses the tip of my nose and I know I will recover. This will be hard and there will be some pain, but this man and this life are sweet things and I am meant to enjoy them. He is right. She does not deserve time in my brain. Anger feels good. I stand at the window and watch Ken drive away. I am mad at him for leaving me. Breathe in two three four, breathe out two three four. Repeat. I don’t know how many times. A hummingbird comes to the feeder and pulls my eyes from where Ken’s truck disappeared around the s turn on our little road. Jake whines in his kennel. Oh, good. I can feed the dogs.

I realize I’ve not only lost my wits, i’ve lost my brain. There is no toilet paper on the roll. I am paralyzed with confusion. I take a shower so I can pee.

I see Lesley at noon. By then all my newfound bravado has fled. I am pinballing between self pity, anger, self loathing, disgust, fear, panic, and exhaustion. ½ a pill should do it huh?  Yes, I answer myself, that would be a good start. I have been sober since 2/3/88. This dependence on pills is not bothering me. Good.

I still can’t talk about work and breathe. My eyes start to dim, my skin turns red, and I start to stutter. Lesley asks me to think about some good times at my job. I tell her about when I was hired. I loved being a trainer. I loved the crusty old farts the most. The lineman who said “the day you hand me a laptop is the day I retire.”  By the time I was done with him you couldn’t pry that laptop out of his hands. When the hard drive failed he whined every day until we got another one set up. Teaching Excel was my favorite. To have 15 students in a class that had never touched Excel, and then show them the magic.  I got to ride around with a couple of crews. Right of way guys, construction guys. I sat in a business office and took payments. I sat with call center people and listened and learned. Then I got to help them figure out how to use software to make their jobs easier. Streamline some processes. I was the training lead for our JD Edwards and GIS system implementations. Giddy days. Then our company did one of its weird reorganizations. Managers were moved, departments split up, people reassigned. The trainers went off to HR, but for some reason I was left in I.T. with no assigned job duties. They left my title the same, but no more training. Since I have no degree or certifications, I am not a programmer and don’t seem to have the mind for that skill, but I did have an affinity for figuring out what went wrong, I was put on Helpdesk. It looked, felt, and smelled like a demotion to me. My boss at the time assured me it wasn’t. He thought I’d be happier in I.T. No one asked me. I was put in a cubicle and that was it. I’m very good at what I do. People are relieved when I answer the phone. I fix things. But I can’t see their faces. It feels like my soul is dying.

Various bosses have tried to fix it for me over the years. When the trainers were moved their job descriptions were rewritten and they left out the “or five years work experience” so when training jobs opened, I was not even allowed to apply. So sorry, complete oversight, we will get that fixed. But they didn’t. Until last year. My reviews are all glowing. I rock, I am a star, I am a rockstar helpdesk technician. A valuable member of the team. But no, you are too valuable where you are, we can’t move you. My soul is dying.

We recently completed the implementation of part of the SAP system at work. Helpdesk was not given any training. After all, all we have to do is answer the phone and enter issues. Someone else will figure out the problem. Just copy and paste the emails into Helpstar and answer the phone. I figure I must have really pissed someone off, but I don’t know who or how. But, they had always just left me alone in my little piece of cubicle hell. Until last month. Now it appears they want me gone. And here is where I start stuttering and my breathing goes all to hell.

Lesley and I change course and discuss options. I see none. I will have to get my wits and brains back, and I will return to cubicle hell. Hopefully with some tools to get me through the long hours of nothingness. Usually when people talk about stress it’s because they have too much going on. There is too much to do, with too little time. My stress is different. It is being trapped in a cubicle with nothing to do. With endless hours of nothingness stretching before me. And when the phone rings, it’s nothing I can do really. Reset a password or two, but really just relay. And people are pissed. They were inadequately trained in SAP. They can’t do their jobs. And all I can say is I’m sorry. I don’t know. I will enter a Helpstar, someone will call you. I don’t know who. I don’t know when. I don’t know. And then they say I remember when you were helpful Tamara. Or a manager calls and says Who in the Fuck over there knows their head from their ass! Who in the Fuck can I call and get some god damned help. And I don’t know. And my soul dies a little more. I give myself a verbal pep talk all the way to work each morning. I walk hard on each break. I paper the walls of my cubicle with pictures of my kids and my grandbabies. Reminders of why i’m here. I have the picture of Ken and I taken at Texas Motor Speedway right in front of me. We are kissing. And he would never ever call me a fucking idiot.

The only other jobs in two hours any direction from my house are a fry cook at Dairy Queen, or the night clerk at several different hotel chains. Or I could wait tables. The other jobs require skill sets. Nurses, degreed teachers. There are a couple secretary jobs that pay just over minimum wage. I am our primary bread winner. There currently are no options.  I compliment Lesley on helping me sneak up on my work problems. She said we weren’t too what has me scared yet. This was all still background. She will see me Wednesday at 2:00. Be kind to myself. Do only things that relax me. Create something. Here’s my cell phone number if you get into a crisis. Call me immediately. Lean on my support system. I remind her that I’m usually the one that people lean on. She said it’s time to learn a new skill. This woman is gently brutal. We verify I did my homework from our last appointment. I made an appointment with an attorney. It’s Thursday at 9:30.

And I am adrift. What do you do when you don’t work and your brain can’t remember how to put toilet paper on a roll? You go poop at Dairy Queen, and then you get a cherry blizzard. You watch the cooks and wonder if you could even do that really. You go home and walk down your little dirt road and throw rocks until your arm hurts. And you take another ½ a pill.

And then Ken is home. And you grab him and kiss and hold him and make him take you to bed.