I didn't get much sleep during the twenty-three years that comprised the cohabitation phase of my marriage. I don't know if it was an instinctive response to perceived danger or if it was because of his sleep issues (wild flailing, sheet removal, apnea and snoring), which became increasingly worse as the years progressed. Now, it seems like I can't get enough. One night of less than eight hours sleep and I'm exhausted. I never really needed much sleep before my marriage, and worked nights for a major airline for many years. I just wonder if this new need for increased sleep time is permanent or if it will "normalize" to something in between.
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I don't think the fine (wonderful, gracious, interesting) fellows who hired me ever read my resume. I had all these hard-earned qualifications, the mastery of various software platforms, education and expertise in research, information synthesis and writing, a strong history of creating, reviewing and negotiating complex agreements, and previous small business management experience. None of these items seemed to be noticed. In fact, what sealed the deal, was when Partner #2, whom I had known for eighteen years, said to Partner #1, "She ran the biggest and best Little League Baseball program in town for eight years," and Partner #1 turned to me and answered, without so much as glancing at the resume I handed him, "If you can do that, you can do anything, so you're hired."
In fact, although I had a fair amount of interest from resumes I sent out in response to ads, and went through numerous interviews for some very interesting positions, when it came right down to it, the job I got, I found in a bar. While I had known Partner #2 for all those many years, starting when our oldest sons (now league age 23) began playing baseball together when they were five, our recent (and frequent) contact came because we went to the same watering hole, often. For six months I told him he needed me whenever I got the chance, and for six months he told me he knew I was right. It just took him that long to convince Partner #1.
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My mother is driving me crazy. It seems that, since leaving my marriage (or at least the cohabitation phase thereof), I have developed a very low tolerance for verbally abusive behavior of any kind, which makes it virtually impossible to have a conversation with Mama (gee, no wonder I liked that fellow so much, all those years ago). I try to be sweet about it, using objective statements like, "Mama, when you call at 9:00 on Saturday mornings and yell, 'Where the hell are you?' into the answering machine to wake me up, it makes me feel badly," but she responds with a time-honored favorite tactic of verbal abusers: Divert and attack, screaming back at me, suddenly elevated to hysterics, "I don't know what the hell is WRONG WITH YOU these days! What are you on? I think you're taking too much SUDAFED!" Note to self: Next time she hangs up on me, DO NOT call her back in some hopeless effort to make up. It will not happen.
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The spring baseball season is upon us, and our first game is Sunday. I can't wait.
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It's beautiful today, clear and cool and windy. This job is almost finished and the site is fairly deserted. We're moving into our permanent offices next week. I'm in the trailer with the door open and a big blue tarp is flapping in the wind from the last structure remaining on the site, an old vehicle inspection station that we're using to shelter equipment being serviced. There are only three of us here besides the guard at the gate, but the sounds of the city are out there around us. We're in the heart of Buckhead, one of the nicest business districts in this fair city. It's been a blast, watching this old shopping center be demolished and recycled. I feel very, very fortunate indeed.
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