Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Phone Call.

We've been on the receiving end of a flurry of strange calls lately.

Yesterday, the phone rang. It was obviously a call center. You could hear the voices in the background, including a heavily accented voice that was screaming like crazy at someone. "I don't care..." the bellow went.

A little surprised, I said, "Hello?!!"

And a heavily accented voice (think Jamaica, or the like) came on. He politely said, "May I speak to Timothy please."

I said, "No."

He wasn't prepared for that answer. He hesitated.

I said "We don't wish to speak to scammers."

Long pause. Polite 'click'.

I hope the person who was being screamed at found the wherewithall to hang up the phone.

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

On the other side.

It amazes me the difference a job can make.

It's embarrassing to admit, but the pharmacy did not work out. It is the only job that I have ever worked that I left after giving a two day notice. In April, I received a raise that I'd been promised the previous August. A raise that was, after repeated questioning, finally promised in writing in October. As soon as I finally got that long awaited raise in April, my hours were cut from 40 to 30 hours per week.

That was the final straw.

I went back to what I know. I am working with the developmentally disabled. It is a 'fit'. I am happy in my job. I am earning a livable wage. I enjoy my clients, and I receive positive feedback from my superiors.

I also look back at the last couple years and realize that I've been dealing with a pretty heavy duty depression.

I don't know why that should be, that a job determines so much of my feelings of worth, but it does.

But I'm starting to love life again. I am a pretty blessed woman.

Sunday, July 19, 2015


Probably going to sound very stupid, but you know what I love? I love sitting in the semi dark and hearing the clocks strike the hour. First the clock in the hall (slowly, in a serious, deep tone), and then the clock in the library joins in (a tinkly, slower chime which continues on after the hall clock has efficiently done its job.) The two clocks seem to goad the livingroom clock in action, and it joins in, just as the library clock finishes.

As the clocks count the hours, I count my blessings. When the last chime fades into eternity, I sit there in silence, and I am counting still.