And for the flip side, I woke up this morning and none of the cats wanted anything to do with snuggles. Wallace gave a perfunctory sniff and was off. Emmaline wanted me please to let her the freak go so that she could wander around a bit, and the vet okayed it, okay and maybe not for her to run wild and flying about the house but could I please talk to the paw and stop gripping her and just let her roam in the pre-dawn magic because there might be wiggly things or at least Malcolm's head to bite? And Malcom? Malcolm downloaded a floppy disc so fierce that there is no question that his bung channels the power of the Incas.
And once I survived the morning it was off to Hiveworld for a monitoring audit. By a major big Hiveworld minion out of the state capitol. Everyone tells me not to worry. It's a leadin to a federal audit coming sometime soon down the road, many many months. My hilarious coworker is a bit worried too, but not as much as me. It isn't as if we aren't doing a good job, a job that folks aren't pleased with. This is a new program we're doing. All they gave us back in July were a few quota numbers per month and a manual that hadn't been updated in, no shit, 2001. And by November we had created the top program in the state, using social media and all sorts of normal technological whatnot but for the state? Innovative. And one of the governor's folks issuing an email to all the offices to follow our lead was a bit weird. As has been the gleaming smiles of our bosses. Because my hilarious coworker and I just laugh and cut up and do stuff for our folks and the social workers and everyone gets taken care of the best we can in this f*cked up economy and the quotas get met and what's the big deal?
The job is a cakewalk. If they give us another state sponsored headf*ck we just laugh, roll our eyes, get down to bidness, get creative, crack that walnut, solve it, and as the hilarious coworker says "done and done". But these audits? Pure administrative stoopid ass-itchy un-fun cliche-state-job-hell seriously not phun.
After the audit, I went and got a burger and fries minus the bun. Then Cadbury eggs to bring back to the hilarious worker to celebrate with in lieu of champagne (cmon, caramel creme is a bit champagne like). And then after work I stop by the coop and buy cheese and bread and wine and I come home and eat bread and cheese, drink wine, insinuate myself into kitty hijinks and watch The Good Wife and Southland and it's nearing my bedtime. and all I want is to befriend the greenery if you know what I mean.
And I'm grateful for this job, for this thing that pays my bills and allows me to go to the doctor to get an antibiotic for an earache and take a comp hour to go and do it. But really? I hate that I have to know the difference between a BR459 and a BR549A and that the procedure is so outdated it no longer works and that if you want to help folks you have to circumvent procedure which can get you fired but since no one trained you anyway you just had to figure this sh*t out but it's the cliche, that you can be fired for not following procedure and not getting trained is no excuse and why didn't you follow the manual? And I think: you mean the manual that the hilarious coworker and I covered in mock hieroglyphics and faux Sumerian symbols and which we forgot to remove and the auditor saw today and his eyes widened?
But really, besides this job being a cakewalk when it isn't horrifyingly state-like and stultifying? It's about being with folks. I can get on the phone and make things happen for folks who are poor and uneducated and out of the loop. With a phone call I can offer someone the opportunity to change their trajectory. Most blow it. Most don't care. And I don't blame them. Sometimes I envy their lives of liquor and weed and hollering and what the frak. But some do care. Some want a life of less pain and don't know how to get to it. I hope I don't lie to them. I hope they get it's a raw deal on all levels, but that it really, truly is less raw with the rent paid and a fridge of food and a vehicle in the driveway, and that as far as I know, work is the way to get that. But maybe I'm wrong. Who knows?
But regardless of whether I really lend folks my slightly higher perspective, or whether it's all a shellgame, whether the fiver I slipped the guy to get to a job interview will actually go towards a pack of smokes, whether I get called 'my boo' and 'my girl' really means anything, 'whether we passed the audit or launched a big fat fail whale, or whether any of it really truly matters, it matters not. In the moment I follow the energy, and it all feels true. This is what Life has brought to me and every day I face it with Yes.
Especially tonight with with KEXP songs of the day playing, kitties squeeking, and red wine telling me how very much it loves me.