So that someone could just format me... and I could start all over again.

I want to forget people and places.... things I have done and people I have spent large chunks of my life with. Because although people say that those experiences build who we are... I don't particularly care for the bitter and estranged person that I am right now. Great portions of my life have very little meaning, and I have no reason to believe that it's going to change. I thought that things were changing and that I'd have a family and that I'd have a life again... but now I have no reason at all to keep repeating my day over and over again.

If nothing ever changes, and a person just continues to walk in the same circle over and over again... get up... go to work... go home... go to sleep.... why would someone want to continue that? Once your anchor to meaning is gone, and you're adrift in the middle of the ocean of that which you despise....

I'm happy for everyone that is experiencing life and having their dreams come true. But there really are those of us that have continued to try and try and try to make their dreams come true and those dreams just go away once we wake up, never to show their faces again.

So sometimes... I just want to start over. And forget about all of the things that have happened before.

Sherry continued into the house, the inside already becoming dusky as the clouds started to roll in. She swept off the jacket she was wearing in a quick motion and hung it on the hook just inside the door. She pulled the tie from her hair and it drifted down her neck and half-way down her back, what light was left glittered in the black, silky strands.

Sherry was a small woman, not much more than 5 feet tall, but voluptuous and beautiful all the same. Her breasts heaved in the black tank top she wore as she sighed and bended to grab a sweater. This drafty old house didn’t provide the protection it once did from the wind and the cold. Nothing a sweater couldn’t fix.

As she bent, the faded blue jeans caressed her body snugly and showed every curve of her form. She lifted the sweater over her head and pulled it down neatly and buttoned two of the buttons on the front and crossed to the kitchen where there was coffee brewing.

Her face was somewhat hard, troubled, and almost normal to look at... a complete mismatch for the body around it. Her cat jumped up on to the counter, and she smiled. When she smiled, the beauty beamed suddenly from her face-- just as beautiful as the rest of her. She ran her slender fingers over the small cat and rubbed behind the ears and the kitten purred with delight.

She turned her attention to the coffee maker and poured a large cup, adding some cream and just a little sugar substitute to the mix, stirring with a small spoon that sat by the coffee maker for that purpose. Sherry picked up her book and crossed to the living room where she sat in a large overstuffed chair, crossing one leg under her as she sat.

She looked small... was small... in that large chair that used to be her father’s. She sighed a contented sigh and opened her book to the place where she had left off and began reading. It wasn’t but a few pages before the thunder rolled in and the rain began to fall.

Sherry liked the rain and the thunder. It comforted her when she was angry and brought tears when she was in pain, washed her melodically to sleep when she had insomnia, and wrapped her in a song when she was happy. Sherry read on in her book, but the words on the pages began to blur a little bit... and it wasn’t long before she was fast asleep, a book in one hand, a purring cat in the other and a mug of hot coffee steaming on a small table next to her chair. The rain had washed her to sleep.

*****

Roger was a local trade professional in the same small town where Sherry lived. He spent his days mostly on the phone or on the Internet, finalizing contracts and making new deals. He wasn’t a sales guy, oh no. He was just a deals guy. He never did any selling. His natural charm and wit were the tools he used to do his job, and he made a comfortable living at it. His father used to tell him that he’d never make a sale in his life, and that if business could afford it, they’d GIVE him what he wanted.

To this end, Roger knew that his father had always been right. This is why Roger was an avid supporter of local pet shelters and food pantries, and would give tirelessly of himself to others in pursuit of their goals and dreams.

Certainly, Roger had been through some tough times in his life-- even more than most people had-- but what didn’t kill Roger made him stronger. He was a fighter and survivor surrounded by tireless friends that would never let him quit or give up when times got tough. And he owed them for that. More than he could ever repay.

Roger was a heavy-set man in his 30’s, also not much taller than 5 feet, always with a smile and never too serious about much at all unless it was strictly called for. He was polite and often quiet when it was called for, but had a ruthless tongue around his friends that would always be humorous unless he was on one of his "rants" that seemed to be vigorous and bitter, but were actually meant to be funny. Unless you knew Roger, it was almost like Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde. If you could see his face, and knew him just a little, you knew he was just blowing off steam.

Roger had a fondness for Sherry up in that old house on the hill. He wasn’t what most would call a handsome man-- nothing, it seemed to him, compared to Sherry’s beauty in his eyes. He was truly a weak man in her presence in contrast to the strength and character he possessed when dealing with other people. Roger had a way of bending everything to his will without so much as a word. We call this charisma. Roger called it "the glass". Sherry was the only person Roger (and his friends and familiars) that could melt his glass.

Roger had known Sherry for only a few short months, but in that time he had quickly fallen for her in almost every way. Roger wasn’t sure, but he felt that perhaps he had fallen in love with Sherry. They had taken part in many conversations with one another only to realize that they had much in common with one another. Sherry would always smile in his presence, her eyes would dance in his and make Roger’s glass melt and his heart burn with quiet eagerness to talk to her-- to--- now...hold her in his arms.

Roger, as we know now, was much too polite to do any such thing and felt that perhaps this was a passing fancy, and their contact had been much too brief over the months that they had known one another to call this any such thing as love, right? But those eyes... he was transfixed by them, carried away by them. She was beautiful to him... more beautiful than any woman he had ever seen. And as he looked at other beautiful women, they all were measured against her. And none could measure up.

"Stop being silly," Roger muttered to himself, "to think that in reality you barely know this girl." He tried to put her out of his mind, but found that the women all around him, the women in the shops the women walking by his office, the women in magazines and trade rags-- if at all attractive in any way would whisk him back to Sherry.

If we do, even but this one time, a small experiment and I pull us out of this story as a simple narrator and take a look at the relationship of these two people, we know that Roger is not a handsome man in the respect that women down fawn all over him. We know that Roger isn’t the kind of man that women naturally fall for. But what about Sherry? What do we know of the world’s perception of her?

She’s an attractive woman, yes. But put under the microscope of the populous, Roger truly elevates her. Her beauty comes from places unseen by the eye. To a fashion model, she doesn’t measure up. She’s not a rocket scientist, although very intelligent. She’s not a comedian, though very funny. To Roger, however, she is everything. And that scares him.

Roger feels honest pain that he cannot hold her and whisper to her. Pain that he cannot be there to share her pain and to help heal it. He feels honest pain that he cannot be there for her when times get tough. He feels honest pain that he cannot tell her how he feels because she melts him and his strength is gone, lost in her eyes.

Roger got up from his desk and walked to the window where he stared up the street to the house on the cliffline and looked at the door, hoping to see her once more. He hoped above hope that she would come down and pass by his door so that they could meet for coffee. This is the one thing that Roger had figure out how to do-- meet up for a friendly coffee. Their chats over the months that Roger had lived in the small town had been enriched by their chats.

Roger took in a deep breath and let it out in a quick sigh. This is how he reacted to the pain when he thought about it. Whether she was in his presence or not. It’s all he knew how to do. She would often ask Roger if everything was alright, and Roger would blame it on stress, or say that he was thinking or that he wasn’t feeling well-- anything to keep from stating the seemingly darkly obvious truth.

*****

It's been almost 6 months since my last entry in my blog. Since then I have started a great new job with great people and a great management team. Perhaps I'll talk about that at some point.

However, I've been wanting to get back into writing poetry. It seems like now might be the time since the stress of a divorce and financial pressures seem to be alleviating themselves, opening me to being creative again. This is something I've been kicking around in my head for a while... and with me, I don't write the poems, they write themselves. So while I have a very rough idea, you're going to see it as I finish it. So we'll both be surprised!

Dark King of the Forest

The Dark King watches, commands, and whistles from his chair
His crown turned upside down, legs crossed with the agony of ages
Tree trunks tossed asunder into piles of millions of long-dead minions
Oranges, greens, and deadly greys of their deaths pile up and whirl
The whispers of the wind moving thier souls through the darkness

The Dark King watches, solemnly and silently only nodding his head
To command his armies which fall or break or cede to the wind
He sits with rarely a smile or a creak to bemoan his trials
The knotted bones of age and of long past wars and the forage of man
He wrestles with the ground as well as the air and pulls towards the light
But never finds the satisfaction that he seeks.

The Dark King watches as his soldiers and minions die silently
Falling to their eternal beds to rot and fray and mold
Wanderers pass but never look up to the Dark King in his own home
To identify his rule or that the incessant pattern is his own
His orders come too slowly to punish them for their insolence
So he sits on his throne, watching and waiting for battle
For this is what kings do, when they are all alone.

There's a song by Chris Rock. "No Sex In The Champagne Room". I was thinking about that song tonight.

I've been working for an ISP in Iowa for 2 years now. It had been a long time previous to that that I was in a job that I loved as much as I loved this one. When I got my divorce, I got the bills. 1/2 the income, all the same bills. I trimmed as much fat as I could, keeping only my XM radio as my "Splurge". It's $9 a month. I would spend more than that on beers on one night at a mid-range bar. Anyway, I'm all over the place. I asked for a meager raise. I just wanted to be where others in the department were. "Cutbacks" was the reply. Other things went down. I won't get into them here.

Today was my last day at the company. I got a new job in Cedar Rapids, working for a great company at a SUBSTANTIAL pay increase. When I say substantial, I don't mean 20% or 50%. I mean TWICE as much as what I'm making now. I start on Monday. It was a good parting from my company. I left on good terms and put in my full effort up until the very last moment. The last moment I spent packing the last of my belongings. You may or may not believe how much stuff one can accumulate on their desks in that amount of time. I even had an extra PC of my own there.

I met a lot of great people at that job. Some people are just acquaintances.... but most of the people in my department are true friends. I got wonderful compliments today about how I deserved the job and that they really wished the best for me and that they were going to miss me. I can smell a lie like a fart in a car-- and these people were serious. It wasn't until I got home that it really hit me that I was actually going to miss that place and being with those people every day and sharing what I could of my life with them. I have NEVER in my life met a more talented and genuine bunch than the people that I worked with. Never.

I had just returned home, and was sitting on the couch when it hit me. I had made some sort of an impact on more than one person in that department, and had truly deeply affected more than one. One person almost cried. It was touching to me to see that I had personally and professionally made that sort of change in someone's life. Sometimes-- rarely... but it does happen-- I have a hard time comprehending how it is that I deserve the wonderful friends that I have. Some of them go back more than half of my lifetime. And in 2 years, several of these people joined my "inner circle" of people that I have let into my life and into my heart.

After a couple of hours, I was picked up by 3 other guys that worked with me.... the closest of my friends there. They decided to take me out for a nice celebration and a night on the town (so to speak.) So we went to have some good food at Daytona's.... it's a little wing joint supposedly owned by the same people that do Hooters, but the waitresses don't act like strippers whose boob jobs had gone wrong. No offense to the girls that work there. Seriously. I love Hooters, and I love my wait staff, and I tip VERY well... but when I'm having dinner, I came to eat. And I can EAT some chicken wings. You'll lose a finger if you get too close. The point is, however, don't come to the table calling me sugar, or rubbing all over me or trying to give me a lap dance to increase your tip. It's not going to work. I tip WELL when I'm served well. You'll get at least 25%, and sometimes as much as 50%. You can EVEN sit down at my table. You can have a conversation with me. I'm not an asshole, and never turn down good company, but you have to hold up your end of the bargain. So anyway... we went to Daytonas. Had great service, my drink was kept filled, and so were my guests. I bought dinner tonight. When you get a raise, YOU pay. I have been fiscally blessed lately. Not that I don't deserve it, it's been a long year. Anyway, Daytona's was good. The waitress got 30%.

Then we made a couple of stops and picked up some beer. Long story short (too late) we ended up at "John's Gold Claim". I'm witholding the real name. It's a strip club. I was NO fan of strip clubs. My take on strip clubs is that it's an exercise in futility. It's like ordering a pizza, and then the pizza guy shows up, shows you the pizza and then runs away. You get to look at the pizza, smell the pizza-- maybe (if you're lucky) even TOUCH the pizza. But you never get to seal the deal. I'm not saying that I prefer HOOKERS any more, because I don't. Hookers-- call girls, whatever you want to call them-- they have their place. But it's not my style. I like a woman that likes me because I'm funny, intellectual and sensitive. She wants to be with me because of who I am and not the size of my money roll. The first time I was ever at a strip club was when I was 30 years old. A few good friends took me there. It was okay at best. There are those that say that strip clubs are a place to go and objectify women. I'm on the fence. Despite my negativity towards such places... these women can make a pretty decent living doing it. They are comfortable with their jobs and many of them absolutely love it. To make it clear, I didn't have a great time on my first experience at a strip joint. I was pretty well opposed to the idea of going tonight. The others sounded like they really wanted to go, and anyone that knows me knows that I have the most fun when others are too. My take is "Laugh with me or laugh AT me... as long as you're laughing." So, I reluctantly gave in.

John's Gold Claim was actually a nice place. It was clean, but rather warm inside. I guess it's because the women aren't wearing much. ::shrug:: Anyway, people are smoking and drinking (you have to bring your own) and having a good time. The women are attractive-- quite a change from my first visit to a strip club. The music was loud and they had a good selection. The women get to chose their own music, and I must say that they did have impeccable taste.

It wasn't long before one of my friends said "C'mon," and dragged me up to the stage. Of course all of the women had fake names like "Alexis" and "Tori" and "Paris" and "Champagne" and shit like that. But it didn't bother me, really. It was just kinda stereotypical. One thing I instantly noticed was that there were 2 plasma screen TV's on either side of the stage, each with its own programming going on. I said, "Who the hell comes to a strip joint to watch TV? How does that make any sense?" My friend replied, "There are no kids, no interruptions." He was only half true. There were PLENTY of interruptions that night. He threw a dollar up on the stage in front of me. It didn't take long before the woman came to the edge of the stage where I was sitting and showed me everything nature gave her. Then she turned around to face me, and motioned for me to stand up. I'd heard stories about how the strippers like to make fools of the men that get too close. A friend of mine was beaten senseless with his own belt by a stripper once. He enjoyed every minute of it... but if I had wanted any of that, I would have stayed home and watched weekend television. Any way I started to kind of back away in my seat a little bit when she grabbed my head and thrust it into her breasts.

Now to be honest, she had great soft skin, and it wasn't totally unpleasant. I didn't have any illusions that I now had a stripper girlfriend. At least I still had SOME dignity left. This happened twice with the next dancer. My friend seemed to be getting quite a kick out of my statue-like poise. When I'm with a woman that I care about, I know what to do. But I was out of my environment, and it was evident. He just lauged. I went back to my seat in the back corner and sat there-- and watched some TV. I felt somewhat-- guilty? about watching these women. I just felt like it wasn't my place. After about 10 minutes, one of the women walked up to me and she sat on my lap and nestled her head on my shoulder. It was strange. It actually felt kind of normal. I still had no delusions that I now had a stripper girlfriend. She asked me some questions-- where I was from, what my name was, what brought me to the club, and so on. Then she just got up and left. I was okay with that. 2 minutes later, she was back again. Before I knew it, I was getting what is referred to at this club (at least) as a "dollar dance" It's basically like a 1-minute lap dance. It's much like simulated sex, but with all of your clothes on.... all of YOUR clothes on. She had some on, but not much. I didn't know what to do. I basically would glance at her and then look around... I would look at anything... other people, beer bottles, the TV. What the hell did I know about this little section of the world? When it was done, they said to me, "You know, you're supposed to LOOK at her when she does that." She sat down on my lap and just said "Look, it's okay. It's my job, I love it. I'm here for you to look at. I'm here for you to touch. Loosen up. You look like someone kicked your dog." Everyone lauged and she left.

It didn't really stop there. There were at LEAST 4 other girls that came up asking if they could get a dollar.... they would come up and sit on your lap and ask all of the requisite questions and call you names like "baby", "sugar" and "sweetie", etc. Others would just come up and say "Want a dollar dance?" and then leave. When I looked around, I didn't notice that any other men were getting that much attention. I'm a people watcher, it's what I do. I didn't see ANYONE getting nearly that much attention. I didn't know that I was quite that handsome or mysteriously intriguing. Truthfully, I probably just looked needy, or was the kind of mark they can recognize as someone that doesn't do these things much. Now I don't know why, but I actually PREFERRED when they would sit down and talk a bit. I can't really figure out (even when being honest with myself) if it was just the company of an attractive woman, getting to ask some interesting questions to satisfy my insatiable curiosity, or both. Maybe it was both, and maybe I am trying to rationalize all the dollar dances I got tonight. And I didn't get just one or two. I got at least a dozen. And I didn't spend a dime. My friends bought me SO many dollar dances, it was practically one right after the other for the entire time I was there. I got lap dances from every dancer in the place, save two.... yeah... it was two. There was "Paris" who had really huge breasts. She was very popular on stage. Made a lot of money. There was some other girl, but she looked very young and was very popular for that reason. She made even more money than "Paris".

About half way through the night, one of the ladies came up to me and said "Follow me for a second." And my friend just grinned from ear-to-ear. He was loving it. She took me behind this partition and for a whole song, basically gave me a topless dance. I was instructed, "You can do anything you like-- except touch my pussy or bite my nipples." Well, that told me all I needed to know. I was a rank amatuer. She was a beautiful girl. There's no denying that. She had made me feel quite a lot more comfortable after our first meeting-- the first "dollar dance". I just went with my instincts. I just treated her like she WAS someone I cared about. Just for the moment. Just like she was doing to me. She did it for the money, I did it BECAUSE of the money. Someone spent 25 bucks on that shit, and so I wanted to have a good time. Yeah... I didn't pay for that one, either.

The seemingly never-ending stream of dollar dances continued, and later on, my old familiar dancer came back over to me. She sat on my lap, and we started chatting again. After touching just about every single one of the dancers in the place, I had decided that she really was my favorite. The reason why is quite hilarious. She had great skin. That's it. She was pleasant to look at, and she had great, soft skin. Anyway, we chatted for about a minute. They're like salespeople, those dancers. They know exactly what to ask and what to say and they get RIGHT to the heart of the matter. She whispered in my ear.

So here we are. The old Chris Rock song. It's from back in the mid 90's, I think. Something like that. Anyway, Chris says, "No matter what a stripper tells you There’s no sex in the Champagne Room.. NONE! Oh there’s CHAMPAGNE in the Champagne Room But you don’t want champagne.. you want sex And there’s NO sex.. in the Champagne Room." So I guess technically he's right. There's no sex in the champagne room. We could pull Bill Clinton into this and argue all day long... but what line must be crossed in order for it to be called sex? I'm wondering. There's NO sex in the Champagne Room at John's Gold Claim, either. There's HAND JOBS in the Champagne room. There's you and a dancer completely naked and a happy ending for you in the champagne room. There's a "Cumming good time" (according to the dancer) in the Champagne room. There's "No fucking or sucking" (according to the dancer) in the champagne room. Also, I don't know where the $200 a pop (pun intended) sex is, but it's apparently not in the champagne room. I tell NO lies here. Not even an embelishment.

Well, that part of the story has come to a climax (pun intended again) so fast forward to the end of the night, we leave. As we're driving the hour home, one of the friends is sitting on the driver's side back seat, and we're talking. He's going on and on about some of the problems he is having in the job. Because he's so drunk, he's repeating the same things over and over again. All of a sudden he says "You know, I hope that when you start your new job on Monday, it just scares the shit out of you.....because that would mean that it's a challenge... and you deserve a job like that." Wow. I thought that was pretty amazing. He continued, "Your marriage went bad, you had a job that you loved most of the time and couldn't stay at because they wouldn't pay you. I've never seen you TRULY happy. You've never been sad, but I know that I've never seen you TRULY happy since I've known you. I hope that this job opens the door for you so that you can pursue and secure your true happiness." I was stunned. This started at 10-minute ORGY of perfect clarity. He said some very nice things. It made me feel good.

So few people really know what a friend truly is. Even fewer, I fear, have a true friend. I am blessed with MANY such friends....TRUE honest-to-goodness friends. When I reach a point in my relationship with someone that I would die in their stead, I know that this person is my friend. When I find out that they would never let me, I know that I am theirs.

The waves crashed against the cliffs with the type of rhythmic veracity that you see in the movies. You chould actually see the tiny particles of sand being washed away with the waves if you used your imagination. The house was set not too far from the cliffs in its own little nook in the rock, a long-dead tree in the front yard-- swaying with the wind and creaking like an old door spring. The lighthouse beamed its bright light in both directions, bright even in the middle of the day. It warned the coming ships of the dark rocks sleeping dangerously close to the water's surface. The smell of burning leaves and the scent of fall wafted across the air, beckoning the cold air to mix in a whipping dance with the warm air from the sea. Clouds were forming out at sea, a wall of cotton-like warning that the rain was coming in.

Sherry sat on the front porch of the old home, reading her book. She gathered her scarf and coat closer to her body as the cool wind whipped by, fluttering the pages of the book that she was reading. It became increasingly harder to read the book as the winds whipped up around her. The leaves caressed her legs and arms as they jumped the steps and flew into the air, taking the small paint chips from the aged steps with them. The house let out a short sigh as the wind pushed against it, like an older person might sigh as they worked their tired body down a long hallway. Sherry looked up from her book and out to the sea as the wind pushed her hair from behind and over her eyes, making her look like a slender sheep dog.

She closed her book, prestidigitating the bookmark quickly into place as the book closed, with one quick movement. It was almost as she had practiced the maneuver... or had done it a million times before. Sherry got up and walked towards the cliff, the dry leaves crunching under her feet. As she approached the edge of the cliff, the waves greeted her like an old friend, crashing and mixing upon the rocks. The mist climbed the cliff and into her face, salty in her nose, cool on her skin. She held her hand up to her eyes and looked out to sea as the sun reflected off of the water. There were strangely no boats on the water today.

"Must be in ahead of the storm," she quipped to herself, as she pulled her coat in closer and folded her arms.

She watched for a little while longer and finally sighed relaxation. She dropped her arms to her side and turned-- and ran smack into an old man. The old man was wearing a long black coat, with several large, round black buttons holding it closed and sheer to his body. His gray hair wisped in the wind below the black fedora he wore, a throwback from the last century.

"Storm's comin' in," he said politely and tipped his cap.

"Yes, it appears so," Sherry returned with a quizzical look on her face.

The man stepped back from Sherry's personal space and held out his hand, "Sam Johnston, ma'am," he said with a smile and continued, "I just bought the next house to the North of here."

"Oh, my, yes!", Sherry said with a sudden gleam of recognition, "we've heard you were coming, but just didn't know when.... I had actually forgotten all about it," she said with an embarrassing grin, and swept the stray hairs from her face. She shook his hand and crossed her arms again.

Sam rocked on his heels a bit before continuing, "No boats on the water today....ma'am?"

"I'm so rude!", Sherry said with a laugh, "I'm Sherry. Sherry Dowell."

"Nice to meet you, Sherry," Sam said.

"No... the boaters and fishermen around here seem to know more than many of our top-paid meteorologists.... they're never on the water when a storm is coming in... better than a barometer," Sherry said to Sam.

"It was nice to meet you, Sherry," Sam stood at attention. Years of military training became quickly evident, "I shall see you again soon!"

Sam crunched his way quickly across the yard. The short conversation struck Sherry as a bit odd. It was good to meet the rugged old man, but their conversation wasn't very productive. She watched him with interest as he strode away and back on to the street, north to his new home. Sherry clutched the book under her arm and walked slowly towards her home. In the background, she could hear distant thunder. The storm would be there soon.

To be continued...

It's been quite some time since I have put anything here. And I have a few excuses you don't care about. However, I did finally quit my second job. They were very upset to see me go. It appears that in contrast to my day job, they offered everything they could to get me to stay. They said that I was their star and that they just couldn't bear to see me go.... an interesting contrast to whe treatment that I got at my first job.

It seems that at my first job, I'm perceived as "normal... average". Those were my boss' words. I wanted to see what other people thought, so I asked them honestly what my coworkers thought of my performance in the department. Many of them stated that I was the person that they went to when they had a question. They described me as a "killer" because I responded to and closed so many network trouble tickets. Some just said that they only had numbers to go on and didn't know me that well and that based on the numbers, I should be running the department.

I felt that my perception that the boss has of me must be skewed by something. I had to ask him what. I didn't mention my little informal poll that I did. I just went and asked how he formed his perception of my abilities and how he came to the conclusion that I was just an average employee. The answer surprised me. Apparently, customers spend a lot of time worrying whether or not you're going to feel sorry for them and stroke them and coddle them.... they don't really even care if their problem gets fixed or not. The worst employees in the department. The ones that don't work, the ones that just come here for the check and get as little done as possible... these are the ones getting the kudos from the heads of the department.

That's a battle that I'm not prepared to fight. Apparently, because these people trade off their work ethic for a good word in the ear of department heads, they spend a lot of time nuzzling with the customer so that their names are in the heads of those customers. When the problem eventually really, actually, truly gets fixed by an "average" person such as myself, and then they just hear the words "it's fixed" from me... the person that they remember is not the person that actually got the work done. The person they remember is the person that talked with them about their children, their church, their car-- everything but the circuit that kept their business functioning.

I took a week off before the end of the year. I went on several job interviews and got a couple of offers. I turned them down. Although one put me at quite a respectable salary level... think close to 6 digits... I didn't take it. Apparently I have something left here to prove. I just want-- before I leave-- for someone to recognize how key I am to the place I'm working now. For some reason, it's more important for me to be happy where I am, and NOTICED for the work that I do than it is for me to get paid. So I'm still struggling to make ends meet.... and nothing here has changed. For the last month, I've still been busting my ass to provide top-notch SERVICE to customers, while others here provide the stroking and blow-jobs that it takes to make them REMEMBER their names.

I refuse to be one of those people. I refuse to spend so much time on the phone making the customer feel big and good that I don't have time to do the job. It seems like in this department of 16 people, there are 3 or 4 key players that get all of the work done. The rest play with themselves all day long. Take this morning for example. For the weekend, we got 56 new tickets. 16 people, 56 tickets. I got 11. The tickets were closed before 9am. Out of 16 people, that's a fairly high percentage. Now I'm just sitting here answering queue calls as they come in, handling things as they happen.

I'm looking through some of the other coworkers ticket queues... I see one person that has 32 tickets backed up since middle-november. This is a person that is still suffering from an outage on a circuit that has an SLA (Service Level Agreement). Just think if you had a T1 to your building that your business used day in and day out. How long would you suffer with the outage before you went to another company? 2 days? 3 days? 1 day? Think about it.... these people have been down for almost THREE MONTHS and haven't been given anything but the run-around by this guy. However, there must be SOMETHING keeping him here.

At first, I tried to figure out what *I* am doing wrong that places me in the category of "average" whle this guy can keep tickets open for months and never get so much as a stern talking-to. I wanted to make sure that I had figured out what *I* was doing before I tried to take a look at those around me. I've come to the conclusion (obviously) that it has nothing to do with how WELL you do the job. It has everything to do with how you make the customers feel when you talk to them. Getting it fixed isn't enough. You have to tell the customer that it's okay, that they didn't do anything wrong, and rub them and give them their bottle. If you treat the customer like a spoiled child, you win as an employee.

I applied for and interviewed for another job last week. If I get offered the position, I'm not going to think twice about leaving. I've put myself on the line just about enough for a job that doesn't recognize my WORK.

What do you do when you love your job but you can't SURVIVE in your job? A few months ago, before I was divorced (or about to be) I talked with my boss about a raise. I cited many different reasons why I thought that I deserved the merit. I gave him a list a mile long, not to mention the fact that we spoke about a "trial" period, after which I would receive a nice raise.

When I was being considered for the position, they were concerned that I would move from one state to another, decide I didn't like the position-- and then leave. I countered that I would come on at the company for less than what a normal person would make... prove myself, proved that this was the position I wanted and we would talk.

I mean... I was married and we had the income of two professionals coming into the household. After a while, the pay was starting to make a mark-- we noticed we were getting behind very easily. If emergencies came up, we were quickly behind. When that reality finally set in after months of struggling, I approached my boss with my review in hand and a laundry list of items that set me above and apart from each and every one of my co-workers.

In most companies, the strategy for what would get you a good pay raise is a hand that is held extremely close to the vest. It's a very intricate dance that can take days or even weeks to complete-- with no guarantee of getting anywhere. The normal approach for many that are asking for a raise is to come in with a list of reasons why you're worth more to them than what you are getting paid.... and usually, you come in with a condition of what may happen if your needs aren't met. Most "advice" online tells you that you should be prepared to walk.

I only had the list. The list of how I am a beneficial element to the company. I had no threats. I had no other job. I had nothing but facts and the word that the boss gave me when he hired me that the salary would be revisited. I quickly layed all my cards on the table and pushed the chips to the center with a hearty "all-in" like you see on TV. I told him that I had no demands, no other prospects, no threats. I just told him that we had talked about it when I was hired, and that I have a long list of ways in which I am much more valuable to the company.

This seemed to be a huge mistake. I was given a quick explanation of how the company was going to be reviewing all salaries in the next month and making adjustments to put everyone on an even playing field. That was 3 months ago. Nothing else has been mentioned to me. I KNOW that I'm not on a level playing field. I KNOW that I'm the lowest paid person in my department based on the fact that I took the position below the lowest salary in the pay grade of my department. There are other things that I know... but I won't get into them here.

Now... flash forward to me living alone. I'm in my own place now. I eat poorly (if at all) and generally rely on the kindness of others for food. I'm not making ends meet, the bills are piling up and I've taken a second full time job in order to try to work it out. I know I'm not the first person to take a second job. I won't be the last. But my day job is extremely mentally challenging and taxing. I love it. However, when I leave at night, I don't want to go to another job... it's just too tough. However, I have little choice but to do it.

My problem? My problem is, they want to keep me. They'd do anything but spend another dime to make it happen. They acknowledge that I'm technically superior to everyone in the department. They recognize that I go through twice as much work in half the time it takes one person to work a normal load. They recognize that I consistantly ask for more work to do and finish it. They recognize that I volunteer for ALL projects and complete them satisfactorily and on-time. However, they say that their hands are tied.

I let them know that I don't want to work anywhere else, and that I wouldn't leave if I didn't get a raise. Perhaps that was my mistake-- letting them know that I didn't want to dance or play any games, I just wanted to let them know simply that I was worth it, and that everything that they had ever told me proves it.

I just feel that because I put all of my cards on the table, they don't feel like they have to play at all. As much as I love my job, I'm not going to die because of it. I just don't know what to do.

Did you ever have the feeling that you were just waiting around for something... even though you were doing everything in your power to make it happen? I don't even know what it is that I'm waiting for. But I feel like there's something that is going to happen... something that is big-- the type of thing that you can feel in your bones and deep down into your soul. It's like a blank page in a book that should contain the ending, but was left conspicuously blank.

That's how I feel right now. I feel crowded and like there's more to do and so little time to do it in. I feel like my work needs to be finished before there's no more time to do it. What hurts the worst about this feeling is that I haven't gotten to where I want to be. The timeframe that I feel it has to be done in isn't nearly enough time to get done what I want to. Multiplied by 10, I still don't have enough time.

Perhaps this is a burden that we all face but don't talk about. Do we all hear that little voice inside that pushes us to go a bit farther, stay up a bit later, work a little faster and enjoy things a bit less? Do some of us go blissfully unaware of the voice and drone through our existance?

I'm sure some of you are wondering why all of a sudden I've decided to talk about it. Break the code of silence. Make you aware of that voice. Some of you are probably already thinking that I'm going to start a ministry right here and now. Don't worry... I'm not. But there is a reason why I bring it up.

I've had the voice for a long time. I chose to ignore it. I drank it under, I robbed and plundered it under, I banged it furiously under, I slept it under. And now here I am at 33 years old and now the voice has decided that I can't fight it anymore.

A couple weeks ago, I had many phone calls and visits from friends that now live afar. Not that far, but the closest one is 4 hours. I had a great time. The whole time I was with them the voice was screaming at me. I talked fast. I talked loud. I was both exactly what they expected and I was also someone else all at the same time. They didn't say that, but I could feel it. I wondered what was causing it. At the time I didn't know.

I'm no closer to figuring out what it is that is bothering me so much. I talk about this "voice". It's not a voice. Well... it is. It's MY voice. That voice in your head that's YOUR OWN voice that says "I need to pick up my dry cleaning," or, "I need a vacation." But my voice is triggered by the feeling that I'm waiting for something. I keep copious notes about the things that I need to get accomplished for the day, for the week, for the month. Not goals, really... just tasks. I internalize my goals-- I don't need lists for those.

None of these lists contain the thing that I'm waiting for. At the end of the day when everything is marked off of the list, I still feel like I'm forgetting something. I don't feel dread.. like the world will end suddenly. I don't feel elation.. as though I were preparing for a journey to some great destination. It's just a pulling.... and "you're not done yet" kind of feeling.

As usual, I didn't intend to come here and make a long entry. If you're reading, you're probably just a close friend that reads out of simple obligation. You see me come here once a month or once every two months and ramble on about something or other.... and if I'd just make what I had to say a bit smaller, I might post more often.

Hey. We all want what we want. And when I have something to say, I don't feel better until I get it off of my chest-- however vague and meaningless. When you're done with this, you're going to think I'm crazy. I haven't said much of anything, drawn any conclusions or created a plan to come to any conclusions. But that's me. I do what I do and sometimes it makes sense. Sometimes it doesn't. So far, it's worked out just fine.

Maybe that's it. Perhaps if there's fate, I'm not working according to the plan of that fate. Perhaps that "voice" or "feeling" that I have is telling me what I'm supposed to do based on the fate written for me.... and I ignore it. Perhaps I've grown beyond what fate is supposed to be and have started writing my own story... and the price I have to pay is that I'll feel like I'm waiting for something for the rest of my life. But, as long as I get to write my own story, I'll deal with that.

However, I don't believe in fate. I believe that we make choices and microchoices each and every day that, like the wings of a butterfly, affect everything around us. They affect those close to us more than anything. We make choices that each and every second define the direction that our friends and co-workers take-- forever. Do we pick up the cup and take a sip now, or later? What does that decision do to influence the decisions of others around me? Will it make a difference?

What I do now, today, will affect those around me and change their course in history forever. Once their choices have affected others, the others will go on their new course and make changes that affect others... and so on. So how can fate possibly ever stand in control? If I deviate from that fate even for a second, the fates of others are changed.

Saying that, the fate people say "Oh, but you didn't deviate... it was WRITTEN." Bah. One time, a long time ago-- when I was much younger.... very young... I worked for a screen printing company... I screen printed sunglasses. I was 14 years old.. maybe younger... and worked for a friend. I was to screen print the glasses and put them into a box. Another person was screen printing another order and putting them into another box. We had somewhat of a conversation about this same thing. The fate of a SINGLE pair of sunglasses kept the whole world in balance. Had someone else been working that day, a pair of sunglasses would have been in its own box. But on THAT day, a pair of the sunglasses that I made went into the wrong box. I had changed history forever.

The universe is most infinite. Most of us can never grasp the concept of infinite. With that amount of infinity (which you can't measure)... how can one person or a group of people or a single being contemplate and plot the course of each individual, every molecule, every atom, every sub-particle? It's impractical, at best.

So (in a very roundabout way) we're back to the "voice". Why am I waiting? What am I waiting for? Or have I deviated from the course that was laid out for me-- way back when I put that pair of sunglasses in the wrong box?