A Day in the Life of Sachi

Please forgive me for I have sinned. It’s been 3 months 5 months 11 months Oh, who am I kidding? I’ve never confessed. But I will confess to you now that I’ve been hiding something.

I write this blog because it amuses me. I’m not looking for fame or excitement, although it cheers me when I get a great link from another knit-blogger or things like that. I try very hard to keep the majority of the content light-hearted and fun. But also, since it is a diary of sorts, I include bits of my personal life that have nothing to do with yarn.

As you may remember, I have been working as a temp/Extra Help employee for the local county. I’d applied for the permanent position but wasn’t sure if I’d get it. I had the interview about a month and a half ago. Two weeks later, I hadn’t heard anything. I got nervous.

Out of my attempt to evade the situation and act like, “No, my world is not falling apart around me,” (and then the FIL passed away…), I kept the subject entirely out of the blog. I was certain I would just sob my way through the entire post anyhow. Even though not getting this job would not have been the end of my world, it would have set me back many months in the grand scheme of things. I would have had a good 6 months of pain-in-the-ass stuff.

I wanted this job. I’m comfortable for now. When I leave the office, work stays at the office. I haven’t had that in a good many years. I like the people I work with. I’ve known a good many of them most of my life. I didn’t need much. Just a foot in the door. Meager pay is acceptable.

Two weeks after the interview, I heard something that wasn’t promising. I “didn’t interview as well” as some of the other applicants.

I was astounded. I’m not a person who is full of herself or so full of pride that I can’t see past my own nose. But, come on! You’ve got to be kidding me! I interview VERY well, thank you. Especially when getting the job will not make or break my life. Right away, I suspected that something was going horribly wrong. I am way too far overqualified for there to even be competition here. A week later, I learned that they were not hiring me on as a permanent but that they wanted me to stay on as a temp until the new person was trained (6-8 weeks) and then see if I could find something else within the organization or maybe even go permanent in this position later. No guarantees.

Yesterday, the lady who was accepted to the position came by for a chat with the boss. I know that she is well qualified (it’s not brain surgery…) and that she would do a good job. This morning, the boss called me into the office.

Boss: How’s it going?
Me: Good. You?
B: Good. So… Want a job?
M: *blink, blink* *flashback to last November*

B: So… Want a job?
M: *blink, blink* Uh… yes.
B: When can you start? *Knows full well that I dressed intending to work that day*
M: *Looks at imaginary watch on wrist* Now would be good.

*flash-forward to present*

Me: Uh… yes.
Boss: When can you start?
Me: *forces herself to not roll eyes, smirks instead*
Boss: Miss M. (supposed to be the new employee) was unable to work full time with a young child at home. Congratulations! Glad to have you!
Me: Thanks! *runs victory lap around the office*

Yes, I will be having the best of weekends. Only wish M were here to take me out drinking. (Need a designated driver, after all. Hmmm… wonder what Mom’s doing tonight…)

My Fortune Cookie told me: You are destined to lead a religious cult full of people who paint their faces purple. Get a cookie from Miss Fortune

Naturally. No one would expect any less of me.

Just to be clear, the fiber stuff had nothing to do with my inability to make it to LA. Except maybe the fact that I spent money on stash all these months and just couldn’t get a weekend away. Plus, we have beasties and it’s pretty tough on them when they don’t have a Mommy to snuggle with at night. My time will come. I promise. It just might be a couple months… or five…

Also, wasted Mew.

I want to thank you all for your kind comments. I expected some amount of silence and maybe a few personal emails but I didn’t anticipate all the comments. I will share them all with my MIL in the hope that it brings her some peace or warmth.

Fyberduck, I shared your offer to say the Mourner’s Kaddish with M and he was deeply touched. My FIL was a good, Jewish man and, while he didn’t always live his life Kosher, he lived it with faith in G-d and with a great amount of respect for his rabbi. Having someone say the Kaddish for his family would have touched him deeply.

I want to say that the last few days have been a rough as expected but it’s not the truth. I feel a sense of peace about the fact that he’s not suffering and a sense of denial about the fact that others around me are hurting so much. I’ve watched M hurt but mostly for his mom rather than himself. I’ve avoided calling my MIL figuring I’d just use the excuse that I wanted to give HER time, rather than the reality of me wanting to spare my own feelings. I can’t handle this right now.

I can’t handle her crying on the phone in my ear. I don’t want to deal with her crying at all. I don’t know how to explain this. I can’t emotionally be there for anyone but myself and my sweetie right now.

I can’t do the, “I’m so sorry,” routine. A large part of that is due to the fact that this whole widow thing is still so fresh and sharp in my own mind. People say that you go through it over and over, every time you try to comfort another who has lost someone. It’s true.

About a year after Tom’s death, a friend committed suicide and left a devastated family in his wake. I was not friends with his family; I was friends with him. So I lent comfort for the widow in every way I could out of respect for my late friend. I went through every emotion; every pain, thought, cry, agony and moment of despair all over again. Only the emotions weren’t mine, they were hers.

My emotions screamed out, “Fuck you, Shaun. How could you?” My emotions were angry, and still are, that my Tom fought so hard to cling to life and he was right there, at his side, cheering him on. I’m still angry that Tom lost his fight and Shaun gave up on it; as if Shaun’s resignation from the human race cheapened what all us humans mean in the world.

I have dealt with losing a husband so young but perhaps I’ve never completely dealt with Shaun. How odd is that? How can I accept the death of a husband so completely but not of a friend? Perhaps it’s that I actually watched my husband’s body stop and that I learned of Shaun a good while after. Or perhaps it’s because I can’t let go of that anger but, at the same time, there is no one I can be angry with; I’m angry at a dead man, I might as well be angry at the wind. (I have been angry with the wind before… don’t ask.)

In my screwed up mind, losing a husband at age 26 (my 26… he was 36) is far worse than losing him at age 70-something. Or maybe I’m not so screwed up. Somewhere in my psyche, I understand that, if I marry someone who has minor health issues, it can, at any time, turn into a major health issue and he would be gone. This is a decision I had to make when I married M. And maybe that’s why I have such a sense of foreboding about this one.

Part of my job requires me to search the daily press for any publicity. An unfortunate side effect of that is that I see the obituaries daily. When you see an entry for someone who was only 30-something, it’s a tragedy. When you see an entry for someone who is 70-ish, you think that it’s a shame but, such is the circle of life.

When I see an entry for someone who is 50-something, I want to cry. It reminds me that M could up and go any day, even though he appears to be perfectly fine and that I should have no reason for concern. And maybe that is why I don’t want to deal with this death. Maybe it reminds me that I may only have him for a short few years. Maybe it reminds me that, no matter how much I love him, I cannot stop death.

No yarn yet. Mom put it in the mail rather than carry it all so it’ll be here in a few days. Meanwhile, I’m having too much fun now that she’s home.

So, for now, I leave you with a joke that I got in an email today.

A Scotsman moved to Boston and attended his first Red Sox baseball game.

The first batter, shortstop Julio Lugo, approached the batter’s box, took a few swings and hit a double. Everyone stood and screamed, “Run!”

The next batter hit a single, and the Scotsman listened to the crowd cheering, “RUN! RUN!”

The Scotsman thought he’d gotten the hang of it; he began to enjoy the game and started yelling along with the other fans.

The fifth batter, right fielder J.D. Drew, stepped up to the plate, and the pitcher proceeded to throw four balls. The umpire called, “Walk!” and JD started his slow trot to first base.

The Scotsman stood up and screamed, “Rrrun, ye lazy bastard, rrrun!”

The people around him started laughing, and the Scotsman, embarrassed, sat back down. A friendly fan noticed and explained, “That batter can’t run — he has four balls.”

The Scotsman stood up and screamed, “Walk with prrride, Laddie!”