"These past two weeks I haven't been very effective at work," I told her. "I can't focus."
"Of course you can't," she said, raising an eyebrow. "You're in danger. Your limbic system is activated and your prefrontal cortex is shut down. We have to get you safe."
Oh. Okay.
I thought persistent, low-grade terror was just part of living.
Thursday, September 22, 2016
Monday, September 19, 2016
getting out
I'm applying for other jobs.
I'd rather not leave this place. I love where I live. I like so much about what I do. But the management is so heinous and I worry that this company won't want to keep me around if I continue to make noise about the illegal and unethical activities. I've seen this one too many times for my comfort.
Trouble is: I'm here now and I want to stay. It doesn't seem fair that I would be chased away by unethical people. Again
I'd rather not leave this place. I love where I live. I like so much about what I do. But the management is so heinous and I worry that this company won't want to keep me around if I continue to make noise about the illegal and unethical activities. I've seen this one too many times for my comfort.
Trouble is: I'm here now and I want to stay. It doesn't seem fair that I would be chased away by unethical people. Again
Saturday, September 17, 2016
Bully
It's strange to consider what I write here. Here is a picture of my internal life. I show the processing but do not log the facts that stimulate the thoughts.
My life lately has been difficult. When I arrived here, I believed that the long work hours and the subtle acts of aggression by my bosses were manifestations of insecurity or concern for the work. But they have escalated their attacks over the past months, and my life at work is hellish.
I've worked for bullies before so I understand the game. And I never internalize the attacks so this mitigates the harm. But I am exhausted from the long days and nights of overwork and the constant nasty surprises. Furthermore, I am fearful that my gentle pushing back against the illegal behaviors has created enemies and I believe they will harm me if they can.
No wonder I dream of fighting demons.
Thursday, September 15, 2016
dream
A dream last night. So vivid it could be a memory.
Flying low and fast over the water, sun at my back, white tipped waves sloshing below me, towards the outline of a city. Racing beside me a shining companion. Angel. So maybe I am Angel too.
We speed under a suspension bridge spanning the wide expanse of water and, as we expect, disrupt a host of demon who take flight, erupting from below like ants from a hill, spewing towards the city in a giant black swarm.
A demon rises to the left of me. So close it startles me. His skin is mottled yellow and green, and smooth and hard as rock. His tongue is poison red and huge, pressing out of his mouth like a snake. He snarls at me, face twisted into a mocking grin.
I should feel afraid but I am not afraid. This is why I am here. Why we are here. We are hunting.
In flight, I fight him. Twisting and falling, rising in the sky above the water. He presses, bites.
Then my companion comes to assist, taking his arm, pulling him away from me. But the demon is strong and hurls him back.
"nice assist," he hisses.
Then I wake.
Flying low and fast over the water, sun at my back, white tipped waves sloshing below me, towards the outline of a city. Racing beside me a shining companion. Angel. So maybe I am Angel too.
We speed under a suspension bridge spanning the wide expanse of water and, as we expect, disrupt a host of demon who take flight, erupting from below like ants from a hill, spewing towards the city in a giant black swarm.
A demon rises to the left of me. So close it startles me. His skin is mottled yellow and green, and smooth and hard as rock. His tongue is poison red and huge, pressing out of his mouth like a snake. He snarls at me, face twisted into a mocking grin.
I should feel afraid but I am not afraid. This is why I am here. Why we are here. We are hunting.
In flight, I fight him. Twisting and falling, rising in the sky above the water. He presses, bites.
Then my companion comes to assist, taking his arm, pulling him away from me. But the demon is strong and hurls him back.
"nice assist," he hisses.
Then I wake.
Sunday, September 11, 2016
Sunshine in September
The next week is supposed to be warm. After a sluggish spring and June and July that let me wear boots to work without discomfort, the Autumn has delayed and we have bright, warm, wonderful sunshine.
Today, Willem returned to his apartment to give a showing and I spent the morning cleaning up and baking cookies. I had a visit from a work colleague and her sons ate the chocolate chip cookies. I visited another work colleague to celebrate his wife's birthday. In the afternoon, after grocery shopping, I painted. A picture of a girl I saw in Tanzania once - in the port city of Dar Es Salaam. She is twelve- or thirteen-years old with thin arms and an inward smile. She wears a white collared shirt with the crest of her school on the left breast pocket, and a pleated black skirt - ridiculous in the Tanzanian heat. Her book bag is slung across her body.
I find it difficult to write about the things that matter to me. Africa matters to me. Last night Willem asked about the work I'd done with APS and, as I discussed the last time Eve and I conducted SAMP in Cameroon, I started crying with the pain of the loss. I still have so many things to say - so many things I saw or understand a little more, or have wanted to capture. But I never seem able to sit and write and articulate.
Work is brutal so I don't often have time to think about the things I wish I was doing. But it does give perspective to remember that I once did something very well that mattered very much.
Today, Willem returned to his apartment to give a showing and I spent the morning cleaning up and baking cookies. I had a visit from a work colleague and her sons ate the chocolate chip cookies. I visited another work colleague to celebrate his wife's birthday. In the afternoon, after grocery shopping, I painted. A picture of a girl I saw in Tanzania once - in the port city of Dar Es Salaam. She is twelve- or thirteen-years old with thin arms and an inward smile. She wears a white collared shirt with the crest of her school on the left breast pocket, and a pleated black skirt - ridiculous in the Tanzanian heat. Her book bag is slung across her body.
I find it difficult to write about the things that matter to me. Africa matters to me. Last night Willem asked about the work I'd done with APS and, as I discussed the last time Eve and I conducted SAMP in Cameroon, I started crying with the pain of the loss. I still have so many things to say - so many things I saw or understand a little more, or have wanted to capture. But I never seem able to sit and write and articulate.
Work is brutal so I don't often have time to think about the things I wish I was doing. But it does give perspective to remember that I once did something very well that mattered very much.
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