Everyday I'm Shuffling

Every evening I leave work with my work-in-progress file folder, so I can do some reading or some light review work at home.

Every morning I pick up my purse near my door, with the same file folder intact and untouched from the night before, on my way back to work. I don't know why I still kid myself every evening and bother bringing the file back.

On my way to work, I use roughly 6 minutes to imagine what it would be like to win the lottery. After I pass by the lottery booth (another 6 minutes left!) I can't help but think about the to-do list and reaffirm to myself that, since I didn't win the lottery this week, they will be completed.

"I'll be extra efficient today and go through all that in the morning, leaving my afternoon open for the conf call".


Obviously reality begs to differ. The doremish hamster runs in the wheel again, and again and again.

Anyhow, while the long term plan of getting out of the rat race is still under development, I need to take care of what is going to happen in the next few weeks first. My hectic month is ahead, now that we are getting pretty close to closing date for the condo. I need to find a tenant, fix my blinds in my condo, pack and take care of about a gazillion little things while keeping my sanity at a workplace that demands about 45+ hours of my week.

I don't know how that is going to work out, but it'll have to... :(

...with the next exhalation, let go...

Being Grown Up, 1983 style.

I'm 28 already, and my mom had me (her second kid) around my age. It's so hard to imagine that people born a mere generation ago, are usually married with kids by the time they are my age. Is it just me? Or are we actually an entire generation of late bloomers?

A few things in life makes me feel uncomfortably "grown up". Say, for example, the title "manager". When I think of a manager, I think of the pointy-haired-boss in Dilbert. I'm so completely unmanagerial - perhaps it's because I haven't grown into my role, or something, but it is one of those things that make me wonder if I should be more mature than I am now. Especially when every time my own pointy-haired-boss speak to me, every sentences must start with "At this level now, you are expected to..."

Well. Gee. Keep expecting.

What are the managers expected to be like, out there in the industry? Note that I'm not talking about accounting firms, where really no one cares what you do as long as you put in 60 hours a week and get your shit done. Out there, on the almighty Bay Street (which was poorly occupied by that Occupy movement, epic fail Toronto protesters), here's the general blanket desired profile, based on my observation.

They are responsible people, they know to do and say the right thing. Preferably family people, or married, shows that they are settled and know commitment. They can gather up people when people are clowning around too much and herd them back into the right direction. They are usually smart at least at something, but are able to share relevant insight or seemingly great ideas, and can crack a few politically correct golf or car related jokes. They never run, or hop - they walk. They own a Blackberry.

Weeeell let's look at how I, circle, fit into manager, square. I still make poop jokes. I make sounds like "huhuhuhuh", sometimes in my head and sometimes not, when I read a funny name on a business card (Mr. Assman, huhuhuh). I still skip when I walk around on the street. I hate and do not own a Blackberry. At work, I always have to try really hard to suppress my tendencies to clown around and think of immature and politically-incorrect jokes. But without that personality I'm just a boring, and bored, existence in the room.

Deep down inside, I know that it's probably not a matter of growing into a role, or anything like that - I simply do not have the personality trait that fits the typical manager image companies look for - not in my industry anyway. The whole "at this level"-expectations are largely restrictive on the way I act normally and naturally...

And this is probably just how the Workplace is. And this is where you should, I guess, compromise.

So why bother putting in more than 7.5 hours a day pretending to be someone that I am not? Give me a 9-5 job. Give me a role right below Manager. And let me have the lack of exposure because it means at least, I get to act like who I am, and feel a bit less like a sell-out...

my last post was really lazy

Mr. Burn's diseases

I'm sorry fellow readers to subject you to a mundane piece of update that's not even worthy of a Facebook Status. The point is, I had a good weekend, it was stuffy as hell downtown, and grumpy doremish just felt like a thousand words wanted to come up but they all got stuck at the door like Mr. Burns' viruses. Maybe the topics hadn't mulled in my head for long enough (the danger of letting ideas mull in my head is that sometimes I forget them, ahem "first cruise ever" post that never got published).


Anyhow... The danger of a good weekend is that it makes the Monday next feel like shitting a pinecone. This morning as I was stuck behind a mob of people at an intersection on my way to work, I appreciated the analogy V made the other day about how it looks like a herd of cattle. I was part of that herd, mooing and obedient, on my way to the slaughterhouse. For those that know me in real life know that I have about as much patience as a potato chip has nutritional value. Being stuck behind suits made me want to go all Keanu Reeves on those Mr. Smiths. Start of a great week, if you must know, but I didn't start the post to whine about my Monday again (I totally just did. Hah).

So new development this weekend, V has met with a mortgage specialist which I suspect may kick start his moving out in a more concrete way (well, more concretely than it ever was). That, coupled with my recent visit to an ex-coworker's humble (read: not humble at all) abode in a rich Missisaugan neighbourhood made me wonder about homes: do you prefer a spanking new house or something with a bit of age and character? Heck it got me thinking, and I don't even know. An old house if well renovated, could look like something out of a magazine - the romantic side of me thinks that I can decorate it with junks I bring back from around the world (hello drum from aggressive vendor in Jamaica!)... it would have terracotta ceramic in the kitchen, a well stocked garden for me to kill, and trees tall enough for a treehouse and hammocks. On the other hand there's the thrill of designing and having a spanking new big house - a proper dining room, family room, and all that stuff. It's all about suburbia and landscaping... yes it's comfortable, but somehow, feels a little - generic?

I don't know if I will want to deal with the old gas pipes and all the hidden problems of an older home, but if there's one that just has character but proper innards... well, it'd be like finding the perfect guy that's also not gay. One can dream...

the grind

I made some serious kickass beef stew last night and it just made my lunch-eating-at-desk a lot more bearable.

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On my walk to work today I was pondering about the reason why I ended up where I was - walking to work and dreading the arrival. It is hitting me more now due to my daily dealing with wealthy individuals heading into their retirement. It's obvious that people think success is how high you climb up the ladder and how much you end up with in your pocket... and success is synonymous with happiness. I think we're all just aiming to one day be the envy of other families talking about us during their dinner, and we're convinced that to achieve that you have to pay your dues now. One day one day.

One day I'll wake up 40 years old, as an upper-middle-management, and still complaining about the same shit as today. I have no idea what happened to my ambitions - I hate the rat race, the sucking up, the face times and the optics. It looks like everyone else hates it too and yet we're all attending networking events and talking to the douches (as my friend A says, those that go "Hi I'm Reginald from Merril Lynch").

What I could was to get into this rat race and safely earn moolah, which I did, as most sensible people. What I wanted to do (freelance graphics or something other artsy-fartsy or techy stuff) will in no way guarantee me income or success or happiness.

I have no solution whatsoever - having a stable income provides me with the basic needs of food and shelter, and a certain lifestyle, I can't go back to learning the fun stuff and going entry-level. In the mean time pride pushes me along - you get there just because you don't want to be left behind when all your friends move up.

I think this is how those Bitter Female Managers came to be.

Disadvantages of vacays

Those vacays you come back and feel like you need another vacay from your vacays... those that take a toll on you instead of making you feel rested (and sometimes even, eager to get back into work/school/whatever sh*t you were complaining about before you left).

So I came back from one of those one that seem to suck away your energy. And then work sucks away my energy... and i'm going through this phase of hermitage as means of giving myself treats. And the more I stay in my condo the more I like it. I'm turning into a cat lady.

Boooooo

We're well into february and this is only a second blog of the month... Things are not looking too great for my relax, sit around-have-a-sip-of-coffee and-stare-into-space-side. Summer oh summer free time oh free time, where the EFF art thou. Honestly, i don't know what i really want out of my career now, but i wish i can soon find the goddamn balance between getting bored at work and working 12-14 hours a day.

Work drains me so much that lately i've got the habits of a 40-year-old loser when i'm not working... I tend to eat instant noodles and other junk food in front of the tv, and sit there watch shows for hours, even if they are reruns. During commercial breaks i play angry bird because thats easier than to reach for the remote (and having to aim) and pressing the button. Garbage in, fat growing out. I have been literally donating to my gym and not getting receipts out of it... And haven't even got time or energy to go cancel it. Moo-moo is somewhere on the horizon on the road where i am.

I flipped open my new app on designer runway photos today (it's called The Cut... not really worth checking out tho) and it startled me how many models are pretty darn hideous. I mean, that just tells you when someone says they're dating a model, he or she could look like well, this....(left).

Anyhow, back to surviving another day....





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Unwinding........

It never occurred to me when I was younger how good life was, to be sheltered from the pressure of sustaining myself. I can't believe i used to bitch about it, either...well that was when I was seven. The fact that one day I will have much more to worry about than a final project presentation seemed pretty improbable at the time. Anyway now I look at what stresses me at work and I tell myself, well at least i'm not saving a life... It always helps me put my job in the financial services industry into perspective - it is not a medical, life-death situation... The only thing I might kill is my job...

My mind works in a funny way, too - I'm probably the type of person that is more receptive to placebo effects. The fact that I have savings in my bank accounts (doesn't even have to be a lot) makes me more relaxed. It has an effect on me once I realize it. In the back of my mind where logic and reason don't like to hang out, if I can sell my condo, pay off debt and survive about six months then somehow i feel like I'm quasi-invincible. That's why sometimes to calm my work related nerves, I play a little game of "wonder how long can I survive if I lose the job". Well, except it didn't work the first couple of months after I bought my condo with all my savings :P The mental calcs during that period were depressing as hell.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad... That's right!