Friday, November 10, 2006

Life Can Be Scary

The young lady walks through the living room wearing black sweatpants and a string tank top. “Excuse me,” she says politely, as I watch that perfect little body go by. Every time Eva B. passes, thoughts of malevolence run through my head. She’s a fine looking lady, an addict at least a decade younger than Dan M. I have to constantly reminding myself she’s his girlfriend. It’s good to exercise one’s daemons. It teaches you that morality is not inherent.

Lying in bed, nearly falling back to sleep way too early in the evening, thoughts of June W. run through my head. I couldn’t stop the anger from building up in me from the day before. June had said we’d have time to spend together that evening, or so I thought. There are so many feelings about her that are coming to the surface that I wanted to discuss with her. But then she changed her mind and decided she didn’t have time to spend with me because of an important party she’s throwing for her boss and colleagues.

With June it’s always too early to discuss our current relationship. She doesn’t even want to admit we have one. My belief is that there’s always a relationship between two people, any two people. If the human mind is the most complex thing in the known universe, the relationship between any two must be the most complicated protocol known to man. The fact that she is not interested in expending one ounce of effort to try to understand or define it after our divorce is so negligent.

Then it clicked! What really makes June tick: money. She’s attracted to money. That’s what attracted her to me. I was a Software Engineer (well, I guess I still am) who made a decent wage. And at that time, before the technology bubble burst, anyone in the computer field had a promising career ahead of them.

However, June never could understand what made me tick. I never got into the computer field for the money. I love programming computers. After the technology bubble burst, many surviving companies decided the computer field would be measured by the bottom line. That’s when outsourcing the technology trust became a popular choice for American CEOs. Programming computers for the fun of it was now relegated to the technology centers around the nation, like Silicone Valley.

I never would’ve imagined that my job would be outsourced to India. Now American’s complain that they are discussing their private financial records on an over-seas call with someone who’s native language is not English; how secure is that?

So Wax falls back on this first love, what he majored in college originally: photography. And what better way to get your feet wet than to work in a photo lab. Being constantly depressed about my situation, I looked forward to going to work instead of the harsh reality of my life.

Being turned down for the Photo Lab Manager position was not devastating. I really took away from that experience a healthy lesson in failure. We must reach for the stars if wish to travel to the Moon. I had my regrets afterwards, which made me question motives of The Store. But the complicated machinery of a highly successful corporation is not always understood by one cog.

Soon, I fell back into my old comfortable position of the repairman, a habit that dies hard. I was always trying to fix things in my marriage, not realizing that when June was complaining about problems, she didn’t always want her man to fix them; sometimes it was enough just to listen. But sometimes she did. I never could distinguish which though. At work, I distracted myself by making sure all machinery worked flawlessly. It’s a busy job, but it paid off. As a consolation, I was moved full-time to Photo Lab, instead of two day there and three days in Electronics.

Simon P. called while I was working frantically in the lab. “Hey Wax, when you get a chance, please stop by my office.”

“Is this about that dreaded news you’ve been scaring me with?” I jest.

“No, no, nothing like that.” Of course, no more detail than that. He’s got something important to tell me, but it must be face-to-face.

“Okay, I’ve got a half-dozen one-hours to process. Can it be in thirty minutes?”

“Sure, whenever you finish, come meet me in my office,” he says.

It’s fallen on Simon to discipline me for working way past my scheduled hours. It’s got to be that. Simon is the executive in charge of Photo Lab, its manager’s boss. He has a keen interest in making sure the lab runs smoothly and has thanked me on several occasions for going above and beyond the call of duty. In fact, he’s the only one who appreciates my efforts. Who else better to deliver bad news?

“Latisha, can you hold down the lab for a little while? Simon wants to see me in his office,” I ask.

“Is it good news,” she asks with a shit-eating grin on her face. She knows something. Latisha A. is their choice for Photo Lab Manager, one made more for her leadership skills then her photography.

“Now how would I know what he wants me for?” I reply.

Simon invites me into his office and shuts the door. “How would you like to be Photo Lab Manager?” he asks.

Without Wax,


Trudging said...

Easy boy, easy! First things first and all that

Anonymous said...

Let her go. Don't be such a pussy whipped weeny.

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Anonymous said...

Hi people
I do not know what to give for Christmas of the to friends, advise something ....

Anonymous said...

Hello. Good day
Who listens to what music?
I Love songs Justin Timberlake and Paris Hilton

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Anonymous said...

Hello. Prompt how to get acquainted with the girl it to me to like. But does not know about it
I have read through one history
Each of you has your personal story; it is your history. Keeping a diary or writing your feelings in a special notebook is a wonderful way to learn how to think and write about who you are -- to develop your own identity and voice.

People of all ages are able to do this[url=""].[/url] Your own history is special because of your circumstances: your cultural, racial, religious or ethnic background. Your story is also part of human history, a part of the story of the dignity and worth of all human beings. By putting opinions and thoughts into words, you, too, can give voice to your inner self and strivings.

A long entry by Anne Frank on April 5, 1944, written after more than a year and a half of hiding from the Nazis[url=""],[/url] describes the range of emotions 14-year-old Anne is experiencing:

". . . but the moment I was alone I knew I was going to cry my eyes out[url=""].[/url] I slid to the floor in my nightgown and began by saying my prayers, very fervently. Then I drew my knees to my chest[url=""],[/url] lay my head on my arms and cried, all huddled up on the bare floor[url=""].[/url] A loud sob brought me back down to earth, and I choked back my tears, since I didn't want anyone next door to hear me . . .

"And now it's really over[url=""].[/url] I finally realized that I must do my school work to keep from being ignorant, to get on in life, to become a journalist, because that's what I want! I know I can write[url=""].[/url] A few of my stories are good, my descriptions of the Secret Annex are humorous, much of my diary is vivid and alive, but . . . it remains to be seen whether I really have talent . . .

"When I write I can shake off all my cares. My sorrow disappears, my spirits are revived! But, and that's a big question, will I ever be able to write something great, will I ever become a journalist or a writer? I hope so, oh, I hope so very much, because writing allows me to record everything, all my thoughts, ideals and fantasies.

"I haven't worked on Cady's Life for ages. In my mind I've worked out exactly what happens next, but the story doesn't seem to be coming along very well. I might never finish it, and it'll wind up in the wastepaper basket or the stove. That's a horrible thought, but then I say to myself, "At the age of 14 and with so little experience, you can't write about philosophy.' So onward and upward, with renewed spirits. It'll all work out, because I'm determined to write! Yours, Anne M. Frank

For those of you interested in reading some of Anne Frank's first stories and essays, including a version of Cady's Life, see Tales From the Secret Annex (Doubleday, 1996). Next: Reviewing and revising your writing

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Designer Girl said...

Hey, Wax! Just want to wish you a Happy 2007! How's every little thing?