Reports from the Bunker

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Posts Tagged ‘Work

Cursing work

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and the days when it is crazy busy for both of us. Proud of her and all that she manages to accomplish at a high volume, high pressure job..but I really miss my wife today and in spite of it being my 4 year anniversary and a day that should be celebrated.; All I want to do right now is have her hold me while I cry and tell me that everything is going to be okay. I miss her so much.

I suspect my grief and the way I have been off lately is all about my mother. Seeing the nephew that caused me so much trouble with his betrayals this morning probably didn’t help either. I felt spiritually sick because I had no forgiveness in my heart for him. I wanted to leap up and beat him bloody. I don’t like feeling that way anymore, but I am not ready or able to let it go.

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Written by jamesjanus

July 27, 2012 at 3:45 pm

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Really Struggling with Social Stuff

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Recently, interacting with other people has become so laborious, anxiety inducing and frankly depressing. I just don’t feel like talking to and interacting with most people, not even my friends, outside of my wife and kids in fact, I am starting to dread and loathe having to interact with people. I simply have no desire to have conversations or listen to people or really be around them. Even at my meetings, I tend to sit or stand apart and alone before and after and not talk much and at work I started timing my breaks so that I go smoke alone instead of with anyone else.

This is an old problem, I hate it and I do not really understand where it is coming from.  It makes it difficult to want to go anywhere, the gym or work or gatherings. Work is the worst, not just because of the inherent social nature of offices, but because I ride into work and back home with another co-worker and I hate the entire idea of the car ride, feeling obligated to make conversation when I am really not into it. I hope this passes soon. I will pray on it and continue my step work with the hope that that will help it pass.

Written by jamesjanus

June 13, 2012 at 5:52 pm

Just bitching

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It’s good mornin y’all time to get up and go to work!

I am finding it difficult to get up at the ungodly early hour that I am supposed to for work; this hour is necessary if I am to put in a full 8 hours and get back in time to greet the boys when they come home from school. While I do find that I am exhausted in the mornings, this has always been true, so I do not think it is lack of sleep. It is true that I find it hard to leave the woman in my bed, that is I find it much more appealing to wrap myself around her and hold her or, is in the case of this morning, have wonderful sex with her. That said, I typically have had the discipline to force myself out of bed and start my day in spite of tiredness or notions of pleasure. I blame instead a dissatisfaction with my job and more to the point the commute, which is 45 minutes at best and often well over an hour. Today I fought to keep my eyes open and remain alert as I hurled myself along the freeways to work. I feel as though I am stuck in thankless position that is typically unchallenging and will bring no greater reward than a paycheck, that it is unecessary to be in the office everyday and I am wasting time, energy and massive amounts of gas to appease boss’s at a place where I am under-appreciated. It gets harder all of the time to keep coming here and it is exaggerating my already acute dissatisfaction with my career in general. I am praying that I get a call from IBM asking me for an interview at the very least.

Written by jamesjanus

October 7, 2010 at 6:56 pm

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Explosive Thought Poo

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Before any of my other friends, I knew what my path was; I knew what I wanted to do with my life, at least in a general framework. I had not yet started high-school when I realized I wanted to be a writer and poet. Ill-equipped for learning within the confines of any institution, I assumed I would not make it through college, so starting in middle school and continuing beyond high school I set about a rigorous study and practice of literature, language, philosophy and communication. In all humility, I would come in time to discover that my cirriculum was much more intense than any school would have been. I took the hard road one could say. By the time I was 20, I had written (and thrown away) two novels, had poetry published and was giving readings all over Detroit and in little bohemian galleries and cafes as far away as the Irish Hills. I read constantly and wrote for hours a day, I always had a notebook with me and even if I was occupied all day and found myself at a party, I would dissappear for at least 30 minutes to write for a while.
There are certain truths and realities to this kind of life, the life of a dedicated poet and freelance writer and chief among them are that accomplishment and reward come slowly, if they come at all. In my early twenties, some 13 years ago, I found growing in me a lack of patience, a material desire and a yearning for more immediate accomplishment than my choice could provide. Thus, I found my way to my career as a business and technical writer. At first, given the instant rewards and more swiftly and easily won accomplishments, I was elated and felt victorious. I told myself, whatever they are intended for and produce, all words are words and all writing was writing and  I was getting paid to do it.
Yet, there was a sacrifice it seems. For ten years now, I have struggled to read, to write and to enjoy writing, anything not related to my occupation and it has made the job itself sour to me. I lost the discipline and the joy of it somewhere. What I do write is now so clinical and lacking in soul, emotional honesty and full expression that it reads like a grocery list or a technical manual. It is in fact seldom that I can contact that energy that enables me to write in a very personal way and most of what I write is about topics, subjects, events (in a deeply clinical fashion).
When I write anything now, I am obsessed and anxious about it being useful, being a usable, purposeful excercise and with it being praise-worthy. Kim and I had a discussion last night about how I should write daily if I want to get back into the discipline. Sounds simple and honestly this is not the first time it was suggested, not the first time I will have attempted it, but she said several things that make it different and multiple realizations last night during our discussion and today in my head make it different.
– What to Write
When I practiced writing daily and when the love and joy were there, what I wrote hardly mattered – sometimes I would just write stream of consciousness lists of word, write a word, then the next word after it that entered my head and on and on. Sometimes, lists of favorite words, words I loved because of how they sounded. I wrote essays, journals, none-sense, fragments of poems and dreams and just anything without concern for quality, or purpose. I did it to write, I did it to feel the pen in my hand and the paper under it; also to type, just to feel my fingers hit the keys, often closing my eyes and just languishing in the feeling of my fingers on the keys, the music of the typewriter hammers or the more quiet clacking of keyboard keys on the computer. To feel connected to the ancient practice of wordsmithing and to the spirit and ghosts of those who have done it before me and the divine spirit of inspiration that has driven us. Usually, there was no drive to accomplish anything, so when I did decide to accomplish something it came easy.
– Make it personal, honest (when it must be a cohesive thing)
Comparatively, one could examine my life today against my life 15 years ago and find that it has grown dull. I am sober, in no great danger from myself, my lifestyle choices or anyone else. My time is not spent amongst the self important or the intellectually elite anymore and such is my perspective that I don’t really want to be. More and more of my friends are clean, sober or both and are, for the most part pretty mellow with lives as simple as mine.
This would not really be my perspective though. I would instead point out that I have more going on now and more of it enables me to relate to other people and allow them to contact the things that I write about. I am sober for the first time since I was a pre-teen, my whole life and person has and continue to change dramatically. I feel human for the first time ever, happy and hopeful are also new. I have two kids in my life whose anecdotes, antics and victories and struggles I can write about. I can write about my struggles having gone from childless to having two kids in grade school and trying to figure out how to be not just a parent, but more delicately, a step-parent. I have their mother, Kim, the love of my life and our relationship which while exuberant and loving is challenged by the ghosts of our relationships past and my own alcoholic personality challenges that rear their head sometimes. Learning to balance work, home, health and AA is another big thing for me to address.
In a way, not much has changed, the more exciting part of my writing has always been the inward struggles and thoughts of my life. For sure, many of those struggles and thoughts are different now.
– Try doing it at the end of the day
Typically, like today, I write my blog entries at work with fragmented effort through the day as I am able to sneek them. it would be better to have the day behind me and write about or whatever I am going to write and do it all at once.
– That I need particular conditions, things etc to really be able to do it
Excuses, nothing more. I don’t need anything except the conviction to re-obtain the discipline.
There are some things that will be helpful however
It is time for an new copy of Letters to A Young Poet
Reading one of my literary hero’s
Dig out and play with drafts and poem fragments
Though I need to try and be careful not to make the entries anything but what my fingers determine needs typed and must forget that there is a potential audience, I still think that for ease the blog is the best way to do my daily writing. So, this blog will change yet again to some degree and if it is not interesting to anyone who reads it regularly, or the entires have no cohesive themes either among or within them, you have my apologies.

My days now…
Before any of my other friends, I knew what my path was; I knew what I wanted to do with my life, at least in a general framework. I had not yet started high-school when I realized I wanted to be a writer and poet. Ill-equipped for learning within the confines of any institution, I assumed I would not make it through college, so starting in middle school and continuing beyond high school I set about a rigorous study and practice of literature, language, philosophy and communication. In all humility, I would come in time to discover that my cirriculum was much more intense than any school would have been. I took the hard road one could say. By the time I was 20, I had written (and thrown away) two novels, had poetry published and was giving readings all over Detroit and in little bohemian galleries and cafes as far away as the Irish Hills. I read constantly and wrote for hours a day, I always had a notebook with me and even if I was occupied all day and found myself at a party, I would dissappear for at least 30 minutes to write for a while.
There are certain truths and realities to this kind of life, the life of a dedicated poet and freelance writer and chief among them are that accomplishment and reward come slowly, if they come at all. In my early twenties, some 13 years ago, I found growing in me a lack of patience, a material desire and a yearning for more immediate accomplishment than my choice could provide. Thus, I found my way to my career as a business and technical writer. At first, given the instant rewards and more swiftly and easily won accomplishments, I was elated and felt victorious. I told myself, whatever they are intended for and produce, all words are words and all writing was writing.
Yet, there was a sacrifice it seems. For ten years now, I have struggled to read, to write and to enjoy writing, anything not related to my occupation and it has made the job itself sour to me. I lost the discipline and the joy of it somewhere. What I do write is now so clinical and lacking in soul, emotional honesty and full expression that it reads like a grocery list or a technical manual. It is in fact seldom that I can contact that energy that enables me to write in a very personal way and most of what I write is about topics, subjects, events (in a deeply clinical fashion).
When I write anything now, I am obsessed and anxious about it being useful, being a usable, purposeful excercise and with it being praise-worthy. Kim and I had a discussion last night about how I should write daily if I want to get back into the discipline. Sounds simple and honestly this is not the first time it was suggested, not the first time I will have attempted it, but she said several things that make it different and multiple realizations last night during our discussion and today in my head make it different.
– What to WriteWhen I practiced writing daily and when the love and joy were there, what I wrote hardly mattered – sometimes I would just write stream of consciousness lists of word, write a word, then the next word after it that entered my head and on and on. Sometimes, lists of favorite words, words I loved because of how they sounded. I wrote essays, journals, none-sense, fragments of poems and dreams and just anything without concern for quality, or purpose. I did it to write, I did it to feel the pen in my hand and the paper under it; also to type, just to feel my fingers hit the keys, often closing my eyes and just languishing in the feeling of my fingers on the keys, the music of the typewriter hammers or the more quiet clacking of keyboard keys on the computer. To feel connected to the ancient practice of wordsmithing and to the spirit and ghosts of those who have done it before me and the divine spirit of inspiration that has driven us. Usually, there was no drive to accomplish anything, so when I did decide to accomplish something it came easy.
– Make it personal, honest (when it must be a cohesive thing)Comparatively, one could examine my life today against my life 15 years ago and find that it has grown dull. I am sober, in no great danger from myself, my lifestyle choices or anyone else. My time is not spent amongst the self important or the intellectually elite anymore and such is my perspective that I don’t really want to be. More and more of my friends are clean, sober or both and are, for the most part pretty mellow with lives as simple as mine.
This would not really be my perspective though. I would instead point out that I have more going on now and more of it enables me to relate to other people and allow them to contact the things that I write about. I am sober for the first time since I was a pre-teen, my whole life and person has and continue to change dramatically. I feel human for the first time ever, happy and hopeful are also new. I have two kids in my life whose anecdotes, antics and victories and struggles I can write about. I can write about my struggles having gone from childless to having two kids in grade school and trying to figure out how to be not just a parent, but more delicately, a step-parent. I have their mother, Kim, the love of my life and our relationship which while exuberant and loving is challenged by the ghosts of our relationships past and my own alcoholic personality challenges that rear their head sometimes. Learning to balance work, home, health and AA is another big thing for me to address.
In a way, not much has changed, the more exciting part of my writing has always been the inward struggles and thoughts of my life. For sure, many of those struggles and thoughts are different now.
– Try doing it at the end of the dayTypically, like today, I write my blog entries at work with fragmented effort through the day as I am able to sneek them. it would be better to have the day behind me and write about or whatever I am going to write and do it all at once.
– That I need particular conditions, things etc to really be able to do itExcuses, nothing more. I don’t need anything except the conviction to re-obtain the discipline.
There are some things that will be helpful howeverIt is time for an new copy of Letters to A Young PoetReading one of my literary hero’sDig out and play with drafts and poem fragments
Though I need to try and be careful not to make the entries anything but what my fingers determine needs typed and must forget that there is a potential audience, I still think that for ease the blog is the best way to do my daily writing. So, this blog will change yet again to some degree and if it is not interesting to anyone who reads it regularly, or the entires have no cohesive themes either among or within them, you have my apologies.

Written by jamesjanus

September 30, 2010 at 5:45 pm

Posted in Writing

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and the pain goes on…

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5 days now, solid and uninterrupted pain in my shoulder and neck, safe to say this really blows! I have missed both of my personal training sessions this week and had to postpone the next session for my tattoo.  Dr. Rose says I might need many weeks of physical therapy before I return to weight training, which is also pretty irritating.

All is not misfortune though, I continue to be very productive at work and Kim and I get another weekend without the young fellas, which great as they are will be very nice for us. She wants to get out and do something, I am in agreement with that, but what? I wonder, with my shoulder all torn up. I suppose we could try to catch a band or something. I guess we will figure it out.

Well, in horrendous pain, so ciao!

Written by jamesjanus

April 30, 2010 at 2:50 pm

Blerg

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In spite of a massive shake up at work and plenty of things to be nervous and excited about, 2pm found me falling asleep at my desk again yesterday. The VP was fired which was a bag of mixed emotions for me since he was the one that was supposed to be extending me a job offer to go full time with the company. It was announced during a morning breakfast meeting and the President then proceeded to hammer all of us about the terrible working culture we had created for ourselves, complaining that we are not respectful and professional enough with one another. He again urged us not to get so stressed and try to find the humor in how totally fucked things are operationally. From a profit perspective we are doing great.

That sense of doom crept up on me again for a bit, but I found a nice project to work on and managed to co-author an important paper with our chief architect.  For reasons still unknown to me there was a permeating smell of acetone or kerosene coming from the ventilation system, perhaps the bastards down in the factory trying to kill us? Who knows, but it was more than unpleasant.

Eventually I cruised home (to Kim and the boys, not the basement), fielding a call from my mother on the way. My mother who is convinced that I have no life to keep me busy so I must just be resentfully ignoring her. We have a complex relationship. There is no single human being on the planet for whom I have less patience and sometimes the most mundane of conversations with her can leave me feeling irritable. She is mostly deaf, has been for the better part of my life but has never learned to read lips or comprehend through context. Years of smoking and drinking have left my throat badly scarred and one of my least favorite things in the world to do is raise my voice, which I have to do with her for every conversation. Then there is her need to give advice and argue, which she loves to combine. When she is convinced that she is right about something she becomes in her stalwart defense of her position, like a dumb and savage animal, impossible to reason with. So her calling to ask for my help, turned into an argument about whether or not I should change jobs should the opportunity arise.

After the mild irritation of speaking with Mom, I arrived back at the farmhouse to find Young Farmer in the yard with a mess of chicken wire and some tools, he ran to me to explain that he was  going to “put a fence so the chickens don’t leave the property” in the event that they escape one of the coops. I looked down at the small spool of chicken wire, box of nails and hammer, then at the length of the property along the road, which may be as long as two football fields. I simply smiled at the boy, thinking to myself that while I admired his ambition the chances of success were desperately slim.

It was my intention to come in and get started on dinner, some Pesto with Fettuccine. Kim was passed out on the couch with the Senator sprawled on top of her happily watching Indiana Jones. I started gathering supplies to cook when I got a most pleasant surprise when I took the lid off of the big pot. There in the pot was a copy of Shantaram the Gregory David Roberts novel about his escape from prison and subsequent adventures in India. I had been reading it online and mentioned that I wanted to get it; the gesture made me very happy.

Then it was dinner and a long discussion about how to get me moving on catching up on my debts, I was a very stupid monkey last year and will spend a few years making up for that.  Of course the entire time I was glad for the help but mostly thinking about sex, which I was certain was coming as soon as the kids went to bed.

Unfortunately by the time she put them down, staying with YF for a bit to talk about a problem at school, exhaustion had overtaken me and I passed out on the couch five minutes into watching an episode of Caprica. Aside from lack of sleep, I cannot figure out why I am so damn tired all of the time these days.

It is once gain two o clock and my eyes are trying to close on me.

Written by jamesjanus

April 21, 2010 at 6:12 pm

Posted in Kids, Love, Rural Living, Work

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The First Disptach is Always the Hardest

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This last seven days, while civil rights leaders were dying, Congress drew lines in the sand on major issues and a plume of volcanic ash blanketed the better part of Europe with all gratitude to Iceland,  my own life reflected the apocalyptic but hopeful state of the worlds current state of flux.

I have been struggling at work and an ever-present sense of doom has been keeping my anxiety levels way up high. I believe however that in spite of having to punch upward and overcome obstacles placed in my way by management and the sheer chaos of this environment, I have turned things around at work.  Of course that was not without headaches and the damn sense of doom has yet to fully subside, but I do feel hopeful that it soon will.

Spent the weekend with my girlfriend and her two boys which was lovely, until Sunday morning. She has tried to be civil and operate with a co-parenting strategy with her ex-husband that had him living part time with her and the kids, saving on the cost of childcare because he hasn’t had a job in forever. She has not dated to speak of since the divorce some 6 years ago. Once things got serious with us she started telling him he needed to get out. So, Sunday morning he comes home and I am there, he is pissed off that I am spending time at the house while the children are present and mayhem ensues. He spent the night in jail, but is out there somewhere now and we are concerned about whether or not he is going to comply with the no contact order that was issued the next morning.  Messy, Messy and not so good for the kids.

That said, while he whiled away the hours in a cell at the Hackel Hilton, we went to a BBQ with members of my tribe (family and friends close enough to be family). That was actually very pleasant and my bunch of crazies was in a rare mood to be on good behavior.

Written by jamesjanus

April 20, 2010 at 5:39 pm