I'm lucky.

I have to keep telling myself I'm lucky. I have a job. I'm lucky, lucky, lucky.

Every Monday morning when I wake with a knot of dread in the pit of my stomach and a throbbing headache, I know I'm lucky.

I drive to work, weary before I've even arrived. Trek across the frozen tundra of a parking lot, icy needles of the wind piercing my cheeks. I'm lucky.

I sit down at my desk, fire up my computer, glance at the phones to see half a dozen or more calls waiting - each caller more frustrated than the last. Email from leadership with vague, obscure messages, forecasting negative numbers and all sorts of unacceptable metrics. I'm lucky.

We're seat-fillers. Companies can fill 5-9 seats in India at the same cost it takes to fill just one of our seats. We know this, yet push it to the back of our minds even though much of our processing responsibilities have already been off-shored. We're lucky.

Yes, my friends, this country is in trouble. I'm lucky to have a job when so many others are arriving at work this morning to pink slips, given ten minutes to box up years worth of desk memorabilia and be escorted to the door by security - not even allowed to say goodbye to colleagues, peers . . . friends.

So, I take my meds and visit my therapist regularly to keep the dogs of depression and woe at bay. I complete all the ridiculous exercises in "What Color is Your Parachute," even though I already know my strengths, my skills and the job environment where I'll be most happy for the next 25 years:

I want a position which has zero chance of being outsourced.
I want to be trusted, not micromanaged.
I want to be creative, innovative, forward-thinking. A problem-solver.
I want to utilize my written communication skills.
I want to utilize my artistic skills.
I want to research, investigate, resolve, complete, present.

I received the summary plan description for the long-term disability plan I'm enrolled in. For my age bracket, the "expected retirement age" is 67.

Folks, this isn't your grandfather's retirement plan.

For those of you who have lost your jobs, I'm truly sorry. Hang in there - I hope you find something soon.

I'd like to thank my loving husband for all his support. . .

After receiving a text message from my husband today, I realized how much he's helped me with my transition into working full time. He merely texted about arranging some things that I thought I'd have to take care of when I got the chance. I got the text while at work, glanced at it, typed a quick reply and got back to work. And then on my break, I realized he's been such a blessing.

Every morning he walks our daughter to the end of the driveway to see her onto the bus so I can start my day on a positive note without enduring hostility and abuse from The Spider. He starts dinner nearly every night. He grocery shops on his days off. He looks over our daughter's homework and encourages her to help with dinner and housecleaning.

I'm very lucky, I realize. If I had to manage the bulk of those tasks along with working full time and facing off with The Spider, I'd probably be an emotional wreck right now.

Instead, I'm happy and enjoying my job, LOVING being productive and challenged at an honest-to-God-real-grown-up JOB.

I thanked him today and told him because of his help, I'm able to focus on my work and not fret about things at home.

I don't gush nearly enough about him, taking for granted how good I've got it. But I do so appreciate him.

Catching up . . . ?

Today is my day to work late and I was hoping to catch up on my blog reading this morning but my blogroll isn't showing up! Instead, I'll post about the latest with me. Forgive me, but I promise to catch up with my blog friends, leave comments and touch base.

My days are filled with . . . work. But, pleasantly so. I'm swiftly getting the hang of my job and have had very few minor bumps along the way. Some of my fellow trainees haven't been so fortunate and have dealt with some irate, unreasonable callers. Having worked in several call centers before, I know it's just a matter of time before I get that unreasonable, hostile caller who will attempt to rattle me. I feel lucky that I've been experiencing placid calls which allow me to learn, adapt and gain confidence. Confidence is one of the key virtues one must possess when attempting to de-escalate a bad call.

As for The Spider situation, there was a scene between the two of us last Friday morning which threw me off my game for a better part of the day. In order for me to maintain a positive start to my work day as well as my sanity, my husband has been waiting with our daughter for the bus at the end of the driveway each day.

The scene, when described in simple words, seems benign enough, but the hostility, tension and sarcasm were palpable and disconcerting. I'd been stewing over The Spider's angry email and, well, instead of ignoring her Friday morning, I set my face into a grim expression, looked her in the eyes as I walked to the end of our driveway with my daughter. She smiled this broad, fake, taunting smile (very difficult to describe, but it threatened to weaken my resolve.) Never smiling in return, I gave one short, abrupt wave to which she responded (her voice dripping with sarcasm,) "Oh, I like that, that was nice." And then she mimicked my wave. I turned away and the simmering began.

What is she, in high school now? She possesses such a mastery of passive-aggressiveness, with just a simple taunting smile and sharp, grating voice. I kept it together long enough to see my child on the bus and head to work. On the way, I had to call my husband and rant and vent, poor guy. And thus, it was decided I should avoid her whenever possible, to protect my emotional well-being.

I've struggled to write over the past few months. I knew I wanted to write about The Spider Situation without it being a libelous story with recognizable characters. Lying in bed one night, I was struck by an idea and thus began my grown-up fairy tale with life-lesson moral about a dung beetle and a caterpillar. I brought it to my writer's group and it left them doubled over with laughter. My friend Gail was the only one who knew the true events behind the story; the others just enjoyed it for the writing and the lesson it presented.

It was cathartic and there's growing hope that I'll once again become a prolific writer.

Balance. Or lack thereof.

At first the transition to full-time working mom didn't seem so bad. Maybe it was because my husband was on vacation and managed the household, made dinner, etc.

Now school has begun and I find myself deeply entrenched in a juggling act.

As you can see, this blog is one ball I've dropped.

I'm happy to be working, to be occupied, to be useful. Making money. However I sometimes feel as if I'm inches from failing at something. I suppose this is an issue for every working mom.

On the first day of school, I waited for the school bus with my daughter at the end of our driveway. Traditionally, The Spider and her family are in their driveway, as well, and friendly greetings are exchanged. This time I chose to be chilly and did not even look over at The Spider or acknowledge her. Later that day when I returned home from work, I discovered The Spider had sent me a hateful email lambasting me for my behavior. My friend Gail suggested I not respond. Gail is a pretty good judge of character (never liked The Spider) and explained that The Spider is seeking a response, any response, that will link us together again. Gail said The Spider is behaving like a jilted lover, disturbingly like Glenn Close in "Fatal Attraction." ("I won't be ignored!")

Last year, all those months I worked with The Spider, going to her house to write - those wrecked me. I grew depressed. I gained weight. I neglected housework. I woke up exhausted each morning and needed frequent naps. Since severing my relationship with her, I wake up rested, happy. I've lost weight and had to buy new clothes. I have energy to work full-time and take care of things. The email she sent - her remarks - I felt that darkness, that depression creeping back. She's so oppressive. I must stand my ground. My daughter wrote me a little note that said, "Just say NO!" She gets it.

Maintaining an even keel.

After I typed the post title, I wondered what that even meant? Somehow I knew it was a nautical phrase.

Anyway, this past week was to have been my third and final week of training at my new job. But then I was struck with bronchitis and unable to muster energy or stop coughing long enough to make it to work. I went to the doctor, was prescribed antibiotics, which I'm just finishing up. I've been fretting about being behind in training but spoke with my supervisor yesterday and she's already devised a one-on-one plan to help me catch up once I return to work.

Prior to getting sick, we had a wicked storm come through the metro. Wind, hail, non-stop lightning, thunder, rain. We lost three trees, our roof was damaged and hail cracked holes in our siding. The insurance adjusters totaled our roof (Yay, new roof!) and are attempting to locating matching siding for repairing it. If they can't match it, they'll total it (Yay, new siding!) and if that happens, my husband says we might as well replace the gutters, soffits, fascia and get all new windows while the siding is being replaced. (Yay, new windows!)

Our 1970 home is a mish-mash of colors and weathered materials. The wood trim around every window is painted a dark green which is peeling off. The roof is a nasty tan color. The siding is a cold grey "putty" which doesn't coordinate with the roof, the brick front or any other part of the home. There are raw wood posts in front that no one bothered to dress up with columns. So, when the insurance check is cut, I plan to select colors that sync well with each other. And finally having attractive, functioning windows - windows that open for easy cleaning or to let in breezes; windows with proper airtight seals!

My only lament is that we somehow didn't manage to get hail damage IN the house. Like on the medieval cabinets, the gold-fleck Formica counters or the yellowing linoleum floor. Darn it.

Guilt via text.

I recently got a new cell phone with a texting plan. My parents, brother and cousins text each other all the time and I wanted in on that; it seemed like fun.

I should have known that my mom would use texting as yet another way to apply the guilt.

It doesn't matter that I'm forty-one years old, married for over 17 years and have managed to raise a child who is happy and thriving. No, she still needs to tell me what to do because, in her mind, I'm clueless and in desperate need of guidance.

And, this is the kicker: my other brother has been homeless, jobless, living in his car, arrested (more than once), sent to jail (more than once), broken various laws, accumulated numerous misdemeanors and maybe a felony or two, is a deadbeat dad, doesn't report all his income, can't pay his rent or phone bill - my mom REWARDS his behavior by sending him money any time he asks.

But me, I'm law-abiding, independent with a roof over my head, clothes on my back. I'm in a stable relationship, take care of my child and haven't asked for money from my parents in over twenty years. What do I get? All the guilt! I wish the woman could see the double-standards she sets!

My doormat tendencies? The ones that got me in deep with The Spider? Those stem from my relationship with my mother - she's always been hardest on me, even though I've rarely been the one who's given her worry.

In light of my impending status as a full-time working mom, I've been consumed by my own guilt and transition issues, mostly concerning my time with my daughter. So my mom compounds that guilt by heaping on her own concerns, her text messages implying I can't manage and I'll be screwing up my kid's life.

Maybe if I text her back to say I am leaving my husband and trading my daughter for crack, she'll send me a check.

Among the shadows of giants.

Since moving to the Minneapolis area in 1998, I've only ventured downtown a handful of times. And I've never driven there myself. In the past I've never had problems driving through metropolitan areas with their imposing skyscrapers looming all around; I found it exhilarating.

I know the north metro suburbs like the back of my hand but downtown Minneapolis makes me skittish and queasy. In fact, a few months ago I canceled a job interview with a temp agency because it required a visit to the agency's Minneapolis offices!

Today I received a welcome packet for my new job with instructions and directions for attending an orientation and welcome session. In downtown Minneapolis. Don't worry - I'm not going to turn down the job because of this. But I will need to mentally prepare myself beforehand. Maybe even pop a Valium.

I try not to be too hard on myself for this late-in-life fear. After all, I was raised in Kansas, land of as-far-as-the-eye-can-see prairies and farm fields. It's only natural that the opposite extreme might seem a bit imposing.