Morning rite went well. I am working from home today because the idea of putting on real clothes is a joke, and the side effects from the pain meds make it even more of a joke. I can wear yoga pants to hang out with friends but ya know, why push it?
It’s interesting how I read through the entries and how time feels like it’s passing differently than it actually is. Events which feel like two or three weeks ago are more like a week or less. I think on events which happened the previous day and think of them as being more like a few days ago. My sense of time is growing increasingly whack. I’m not sure why this is.
Memory lane, memory lane, memory lane. More and more people whom I haven’t heard from in ages randomly contacting me, many of them from my GD days. Interesting.
I have been talking with other friends of mine who also were friends with my friend who had died in the fire. There’s a lot of pain and anger there. While I’m no longer crying daily about it, it still hurts and it makes no sense. I know she keeps bright company and I’ve seen her dressed in white. She is in no dingy underworld; wherever she is at would be what might some perceive as “heaven” and she is okay. I do not think it was an easy transition; she was a punk rock girl to the core. But she was and will always be a fighter no matter what form and vessel her spirit takes on. I went to read some more entries from her Livejournal today and saw that it had been into memorial status. I have no idea why reading such a notification would affect me so deeply but it has. It’s just another reminder.
During the whole process (and as it remains even now) the challenge has been going back and forth between mourning her and acting as priestess and counselor to others mourning her. This is not deliberate; this is my nature and something which puts me into an internal tug of war.
On this and related issues, something I have learned the hard way which not many, I think, want to admit because it’s something they do not want to believe or accept: time does not heal all wounds. You can cover shit up, bury it, get distracted, they might gather dust and be less conspicuous, but time does nothing. I don’t even think that feelings are bound by time, actually. I’ve caught “future echoes” of some before they happened, strong ones. It is what it is. Anyhow.
I spent some time ranting about my job to another friend of mine in IT, and confirmed my suspicions: I will need to get out, sooner as opposed to later. I am in a lead role and if let go for any reason it will be seen as performance related. It will have to be voluntary. The place is a hot mess, and it’s a damned shame, but it was like this before I came on board and there’s very little I can do about it, and anything I could potentially do my hands have been tied on. I would absolutely hate to lie to recruiters and future employers, and there’s no professional way to explain “I walked into a hot mess and then was turned into the sacrificial lamb for said hot mess”; it’ll just sound like sour grapes.
Evening rite went well but painfully aware of the fact that the chaos of this week has prevented me from my usual devotional activities on Wed, Sun, Fri, and Mon. Hoping to do better this week.