Wake up at 6:35a, go to work and maintain a persistent nagging mindset there there is more to do than you have time for. More important things to do than sit in this chair and be a tech therapist for the next 9 hours. You should be packing, 3 days left and you're no where near through yet. You begin noticing mistakes and oversights you've made. Your co-workers have to clean up one failure after another. They have to come behind you because you can't do it yourself. You're not a good tech, you're a mediocre tech who others have to help. You have to live this for 8 more hours, more Indians, and Romanians and Filipinos. More mistakes, more escalations to other people because you can't do it, and the few you actually get through, who cares? A glimpse of a lucky call before you trip and foul up again.
You have said "I'm sorry for the inconvenience" or "I'm sorry I don't know that" dozens of times and its not even lunch hour yet. You hate telling people that. It is your polite code for I failed you, and there's nothing I can do about it. So many times, so many people you can't help. Why the hell are you still wasting time in this chair? People need you and you fall short over and over again. What is the point?
You sit in traffic for 40 minutes to find your way home and you apologize to your wife, who pulls in just behind you. You should have been home before now, should have been packing already, but all you can say is "sorry I'm late, traffic was bad." You fill another box in the ever growing mountain of cardboard. Your house is a mess, a disgrace, and there is nothing you can do about it. You haven't dusted, vacuumed or swept in over 3 weeks and it's diving you crazy. Way to fail at one of the things that brings you happiness. You keep packing, and put dinner on. There are no plates or silver...of course not, they're PACKED. You were supposed to find the paper plates and plastic forks, but you didn't do that either. You failed again, and this time it breaks you. One job Chase, you had 1 fucking job and you couldn't do it.
There is no tier 2, there is no helpdesk for me to call with my troubles. No one should care about my troubles because they're mine. I made them, and I have to deal with them. I don't get to call an 800 # and have some voice magic my problems away. Why have I chosen to be that guy? Why have I chosen to be that voice? I am tired of people and their problems. I am so extremely tired. I don't want to play this game of repetition anymore, but I have no choice. I have to have money so I work. As I sit here my daughter calls "Da-da?" up the stairs until my wife comes to her and helps. "Your daughter is calling you." she says. I know, as I stare through watery, tear filled eyes at these words I'm typing, I KNOW THAT! I scream inside my head. She doesn't need to see me, or hear me like this. I have lost the fight. Too much stacked against me for one day and I have LOST.
Simple things like finding paper plates and plastic forks loom like towers over me. You can't do it. I know I can't. Comments from my wife and squeaks from my daughter for attention because she just wants a hug are blocked out. I don't want to hear them, why don't they understand I am a failure? Why don't they turn their backs and leave me alone? I don't deserve love, I haven't earned love. What I have done is shown just another thing that I can fall short at, and the 2 people I care most about were front row, center for the show. Despair and self loathing consume me.
Stop...Reboot...
Sorry, command not recognized...
I spend the evening this way. I hurt to my core. My throat and chest feel like a vice is wrapped around them. All I can do is wait for sleep to silence the despair. Tomorrow is a new day, and I can try again. I'll put on a happy face, and I'll sound cheerful. I'll convince people I am a good employee, but what I really am is a better actor. I have 2 options available to me: I can learn to deal with my failures, or I can not. People put far more faith and stock in me than I am worthy of. I am no one special, no one important and I have accomplished nothing worth mentioning in social studies class. If I can come to grips with this, and tailor the next 30 years of my life around it, what is preventing everyone else from doing the same?
Next time with happier tidings
Chase
Showing posts with label overwhelmed. Show all posts
Showing posts with label overwhelmed. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Start with pumpkin pancakes, end with bubbles
Breakfast has a way of setting the tone of your whole day. As I have recently taken to planning all our meals around emptying the pantry, I decided on pumpkin pancakes, and a side of bacon. After defrosting the bacon and heating my oven up to 450, we were ready to get cooking. I believe cast iron is the key to a perfect breakfast and so I have an assortment of pans to choose from. Today called for my pancake pan and grill pan, so I got them up to temperature while grinding some coffee. With the exception of a little overcooking on one of my pancakes, I think we came out pretty well. My wife was happy, my daughter was happy, we were all full and we had 2 less boxes to worry about packing before we move at the end of the month. George Clooney was jamming Man of Constant Sorrow on TV and all was well with the universe. And here's where my problem came in.
You know that squealing I mentioned, coming from my lawn mower the other day? Turns out its caused by a loose or slipping belt on the drive pulley. Now that I was full of breakfast calories, it was time to start earning lunch by way of projects and chores. My plan was to service the lawnmower and put in an hour worth of packing, then we'd run our weekly errands. Piece of cake, I thought. Armed as I was with the knowledge from 2 YouTube videos, an exploded 3D diagram, and the Craftsman instruction manual, no way was this going to take me more than an hour. Not to mention progress pictures for a solid start to the Man vs. House 2014 season.
That hour came and went, and what I walked away with was a pulled shoulder muscle, throbbing fingers, and a half a dozen ways how not to remove a rear wheel drive pulley belt cover. I was bested, defeated, and shamed by a 1/16" thick molded piece of plastic no bigger than a phone book. The instructions had been straightforward:
1) Remove securing bolts
2) Slide debris cover off
3) Adjust, tighten, or replace belt as needed
4) Put everything back the way you found it.
Remember how I said that one of the skills I am thankful for is being able to build/fix things? Well I never said I was any good at it. Now I know what you're going to say "Chase, have you ever done anything like this before? No need to be hard on yourself if you had no experience." That's what instructions are for. I don't know everything, and don't pretend to. I rely heavily on Google and booklets full of expert advice to get me through projects daily. Sure, I'll agree that experience makes the all the difference, but any slack jawed, simpering primate can follow 4 clear instructions.
Sadly for me, that did not hold true this day. I changed my stance, grip, and used several combinations of tools, but to no avail. It's not like I'm disarming a tactical warhead here. There is 1 bolt and 3 plastic clips that held my objective in place, and I had negotiated them all for 60 minutes solid. Anger started to take the wheel, my eyes flashed green and I started making up words to express being beaten by an inanimate object. Maybe if I just threw some Hulk rage at it, I would get it loose. Twist it, bend it, I didn't care at this point. Hardware is my domain regardless of its shape, and I am not about to lose. This is when I felt my shoulder falter and was sure I'd pulled something. The cover remained unchanged. Well done, imbecile, I thought. Now your shoulder smarts, your back is screaming, and you've accomplished nothing. You could have been packing this whole time. You've wasted time. You've failed, quit and go inside.
My wife called me out as soon as she noted the tone of my voice, and as I have been practicing, I told her what I was feeling and why I was feeling it. Defuse from your emotions, they are what you feel, not who you are. Can I get a show of hands of how many people lose a competition then spend their day smiling over how good it felt to compete? Bullshit, you play to win, or don't play. For the remainder of the day I felt distant, and withdrawn. Try to imagine fallout from an anger powered bomb. I went through the motions, but shame was my constant companion. One of the few things I fancy myself good at, I couldn't do. I had run out of time and accomplished nothing. That same hour could have been spent doing something with 100% chance of being productive, but that's not what I did.
After we returned from our few errands, my wife and daughter relaxed on the couch while I isolated myself upstairs and scrolled mindlessly through Facebook. Some time later I was called downstairs because my daughter wanted to go outside and play. Heh, I thought, something I can't fail at. I slipped my daughter's little shoes on and giant stepped her down the garage stairs to the concrete, then out onto the driveway dappled with late afternoon sun. While she busied herself collecting various front yard treasures, I pulled a bottle of bubble soap from my wife's trunk and set to removing the safety foil with my pocket knife. With the soapy little wand pinched between my fingers, I sat down beside my daughter, whose hands were full of various weeds and pieces of mulch. She was elated to show me what she had found in the past 90 seconds. I genuinely smiled for the first time since I had turned my lawn mower over 5 hours earlier. I blew a bunch of bubbles and my daughter squealed and swatted them. Then I slowed my breath and blew a bigger one. Why am I mad, I thought? The day is beautiful, I'm with my family, and all is well with the universe.
Stop...
Reboot...
Why are you mad? Because I have to admit there is something I can't do
Why? Because I lack the strength/knowledge/tools
Why? Because I have never had to replace a drive belt before
Why? Because I have never owned a self propelled mower before.
Why does admitting this make you angry? I need to be able to service my tools
Why? I consider it something I am proficient at. Whether it be true or not
Why? Pride
WOAH
Pride of life is a sin. Wrath is a sin, and I suffered them both today. I need help. I need my Dad. I need Dan. I need another set of eyes or another set of hands. I cannot complete this project alone.
Until we meet again
-Chase
You know that squealing I mentioned, coming from my lawn mower the other day? Turns out its caused by a loose or slipping belt on the drive pulley. Now that I was full of breakfast calories, it was time to start earning lunch by way of projects and chores. My plan was to service the lawnmower and put in an hour worth of packing, then we'd run our weekly errands. Piece of cake, I thought. Armed as I was with the knowledge from 2 YouTube videos, an exploded 3D diagram, and the Craftsman instruction manual, no way was this going to take me more than an hour. Not to mention progress pictures for a solid start to the Man vs. House 2014 season.
That hour came and went, and what I walked away with was a pulled shoulder muscle, throbbing fingers, and a half a dozen ways how not to remove a rear wheel drive pulley belt cover. I was bested, defeated, and shamed by a 1/16" thick molded piece of plastic no bigger than a phone book. The instructions had been straightforward:
1) Remove securing bolts
2) Slide debris cover off
3) Adjust, tighten, or replace belt as needed
4) Put everything back the way you found it.
Remember how I said that one of the skills I am thankful for is being able to build/fix things? Well I never said I was any good at it. Now I know what you're going to say "Chase, have you ever done anything like this before? No need to be hard on yourself if you had no experience." That's what instructions are for. I don't know everything, and don't pretend to. I rely heavily on Google and booklets full of expert advice to get me through projects daily. Sure, I'll agree that experience makes the all the difference, but any slack jawed, simpering primate can follow 4 clear instructions.
Sadly for me, that did not hold true this day. I changed my stance, grip, and used several combinations of tools, but to no avail. It's not like I'm disarming a tactical warhead here. There is 1 bolt and 3 plastic clips that held my objective in place, and I had negotiated them all for 60 minutes solid. Anger started to take the wheel, my eyes flashed green and I started making up words to express being beaten by an inanimate object. Maybe if I just threw some Hulk rage at it, I would get it loose. Twist it, bend it, I didn't care at this point. Hardware is my domain regardless of its shape, and I am not about to lose. This is when I felt my shoulder falter and was sure I'd pulled something. The cover remained unchanged. Well done, imbecile, I thought. Now your shoulder smarts, your back is screaming, and you've accomplished nothing. You could have been packing this whole time. You've wasted time. You've failed, quit and go inside.
My wife called me out as soon as she noted the tone of my voice, and as I have been practicing, I told her what I was feeling and why I was feeling it. Defuse from your emotions, they are what you feel, not who you are. Can I get a show of hands of how many people lose a competition then spend their day smiling over how good it felt to compete? Bullshit, you play to win, or don't play. For the remainder of the day I felt distant, and withdrawn. Try to imagine fallout from an anger powered bomb. I went through the motions, but shame was my constant companion. One of the few things I fancy myself good at, I couldn't do. I had run out of time and accomplished nothing. That same hour could have been spent doing something with 100% chance of being productive, but that's not what I did.
After we returned from our few errands, my wife and daughter relaxed on the couch while I isolated myself upstairs and scrolled mindlessly through Facebook. Some time later I was called downstairs because my daughter wanted to go outside and play. Heh, I thought, something I can't fail at. I slipped my daughter's little shoes on and giant stepped her down the garage stairs to the concrete, then out onto the driveway dappled with late afternoon sun. While she busied herself collecting various front yard treasures, I pulled a bottle of bubble soap from my wife's trunk and set to removing the safety foil with my pocket knife. With the soapy little wand pinched between my fingers, I sat down beside my daughter, whose hands were full of various weeds and pieces of mulch. She was elated to show me what she had found in the past 90 seconds. I genuinely smiled for the first time since I had turned my lawn mower over 5 hours earlier. I blew a bunch of bubbles and my daughter squealed and swatted them. Then I slowed my breath and blew a bigger one. Why am I mad, I thought? The day is beautiful, I'm with my family, and all is well with the universe.
Stop...
Reboot...
Why are you mad? Because I have to admit there is something I can't do
Why? Because I lack the strength/knowledge/tools
Why? Because I have never had to replace a drive belt before
Why? Because I have never owned a self propelled mower before.
Why does admitting this make you angry? I need to be able to service my tools
Why? I consider it something I am proficient at. Whether it be true or not
Why? Pride
WOAH
Pride of life is a sin. Wrath is a sin, and I suffered them both today. I need help. I need my Dad. I need Dan. I need another set of eyes or another set of hands. I cannot complete this project alone.
Until we meet again
-Chase
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