In The Time of Coronavirus…

Resigning after working 3 years at a job I thought I would retire from. Moved up the ladder every year but alas, through internal transitions, resignations and new hires, I hit the glass ceiling of the most uncomfortable kind. The glass is thick and stunts my growth.

My wings are clipped like a bird trying to fly as its’ owner tries to bend self-determination into submission. I would like to blame this on the time of Coronavirus, but no, it was happening long before.images.jpeg

So, I’ll be unemployed like millions right now trying to survive financially in financial uncertainty. My unemployment is of my choosing, for at times it is better to be sane than having anxiety control your life and taking meds to undo the control. Those who are unemployed due to business closures in the time of the Coronavirus had no choice.

It makes me laugh at times how I planned to do some soul (alma) searching after the resignation to find my new path in life but, “life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans”. In the time of Coronavirus with isolation and working remote from home, I have plenty of time for alma (soul) searching.    

Unknown.png

Daily routines, like the gym, trotting in Prospect Park, taking long walks with Katie (greyhound) no longer exists. Instead the routines are replaced by unhealthy eating, Doritos, Chardonnay and…BACON!!!

If we make it through this, I will reap the rewards of gaining unwanted pounds of fat. This I will blame on the time of Coronavirus.

As there is always positives in negatives, I picked up my knitting needles, got frustration and picked up my crochet needle. I am reading while eating, watching CNN as if I own stock and breaking up daily cat fights.

As the Game of Thrones, cat style has yet to be resolved. I wonder which of my four cat owners will sit on the throne?

Unknown-1.jpeg

Is it okay to go just a bit crazy in the time of the Coronavirus?

Home bound in the time of Coronavirus or…Bored.

How Fate looks like.                                                   What Fate looks like to me.Unknown.jpeg

IMG_1421

What Tara-Habby looks like.                         What Tara-Habby truly is.

Unknown-1.jpegIMG_1408.JPG

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What Winnie looks like.                               What Winnie looks like to me.

Unknown-2.jpeg

RenderedImage.jpeg

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Who Big E thinks he is.                                                        Who Big E is.IMG_0918

Unknown-3.jpeg

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Who Katie thinks she is.                                                         Who Katie really is.IMG_2335.jpeg

images-1.jpeg

 

How I think my furs see me.                                      How they really see meUnknown-4 12.57.45 PM.jpeg.

Unknown-5.jpeg

 

 

 

 

Once or…one time only.

Once,

I dated a Boy who loved me and whom I loved.

This sensitive Boy was a poet who composed songs with fragile words on a guitar.

I,

was the girl who recorded black and white visuals of everyday life on an Olympus camera.

Alas,

the Boy needed care in ways which depleted my heavily guarded plethora of emotions.

Drained,

the guard broke, and I left, taking my reserve with me.

The Boy,

recovered, found strength in his songs with fragile words on guitar and now tours all around the states.

His followers,

follow him in awe of the songs with fragile words on guitar.

Once,

I dated a boy who looked like Sting.

This boy,

was an aspiring editor who cut through slices of life with no remorse.

I,

was the girl who recorded black and white visuals of everyday life on a Nikon F3.

I,

married the boy who didn’t love me but loved what I offered in terms of him moving ahead.

Sycophant,         Image result for sycophants

is what a co-worker once called him.

I,

did not know what the word meant and looked it up in hardcover bound dictionary.

Sycophant,

suited him well for he used people for his own benefit.

The Boy,

who composed songs with fragile words on guitar was far more truer to himself.

He,

reached for the stars when they were out of reach and grasped a bunch that paved the way for his travels.

I,

self-sacrificed my recorded black and white visuals of life on a Horseman 4×5. For no one said I was good enough and I was not true to myself.

The boy,

moved on, to a sycophants’ ultimate dream of scoring one who had connections that would propel his self to a lucrative outcome.

Pity the boy could never relied on his own strength and worth.

Que Sera, Sera…or, What the Bejesus Just Happened?!!!!!

Four days in a week turned out to be four days of

Stress, Drama and Conflict.

The results of my reacting to situations instead of choosing not to react.

Stress, Drama and Conflict

greeted me when the New Year kicked in along with some outright, down home-grown rudeness from others bent on hurting those crossing their paths.

I chose not to react.

A lovely staycation week from a toxic place of employment followed.

And, it was peaceful.

Until I returned, one week later.

Stress, Drama and Conflict

greeted me as I passed through the entrance door of the place called work.

And continued to linger around like Pig Pen’s dust and dirt.Pigpen

Two weeks later I started out on a birthday escapepation (escape + vacation) journey to another State.

But…

Stress, Drama and Conflict

 had no intention of leaving me alone.

On the MTA to the Amtrak station, I was shoved by an Emotional Disturbed Person on the #2 train heading to Penn Station.

Why?

Well, my backpack was rubbing against him and I, the little gnat in his scheme of the world was crushable.

Stress, Drama and Conflict

followed me as I exited the train at Penn Station and made me way through the throngs of people locked in their New York Minute rushing to whatever destinations meant to reach.

As I made my way to the Amtrak station with tears streaming down my face with no Kleenex, my intent was to leave all this behind, as it was my birthday weekend, with much to look forward to.

No,

Stress, Drama and Conflict

came along for the ride as the train rolled out with me sitting in the ‘Quiet Car’. They say, “You can’t take it with you…” but I did, as the mofo (mother f***er) hid away in the side pocket of my cheap Amazon roll along luggage.

Stress, Drama and Conflict…
Stress, Drama and Conflict…
Stress, Drama and Conflictimages

was January’s contribution to my birth month.

My birthday escapation (escape + vacation) was not what, it intended to be, but rather a hard knock into what truly is and my avoidance at seeing what was in front of me.

Stress, Drama and Conflict.

A necessary part of life that counterbalances all the good feely great days in between. When everything groovy, smoothy and loveable falls into balance. A euphoric high, bliss for hours on end. images-1

Until…

the time arrives welcoming,

Stress, Drama and Conflict.

 

**Photos courtesy of the WWW

 

After the glory…or Marathon Blues 101

Wowza.

So, I did a little something on November 3rd, 2019.

That little something transpired from 6 months of training runs breezing through Spring, suffering through Summer and damn right anxious to get it over with by Fall.

I completed my 2nd TCS NYC Marathon and crossed that finish line 30 minutes faster than last years’ time at the same marathon when it was my 1st. 989336_297160320_XLarge

Oh my…

The glory is truly mine!!!

Actually, the glory will always be mom, my mom, who encouraged me to trot (run) the marathon in the first place.

So yeah.

The glory is mine anyway!!

But…

After the marathon is done, the pain in the hips and knees linger for a few days. The ravenous appetite, the rampant endorphins, Facebook pages blowing up with “Congratulations” and other accolades galore—the glory gradually dissapates.

Glory, Glory…hallelujah!

0038.jpg

Yesterday the doldrums came and took the place of glory, sometime after midnight, while I was trying to sleep, fighting with my greyhound over bed space she feels entitled to. Today the doldrums left and I’m back to reality.

No guts…no glory!

989336_295800907_XLarge.jpg

Back to a schedule, back to work, back to crowded subways, back to garbage pick-up days, back to life back to reality.      

 Glory be.

 In three weeks, (God willing) I’ll be running another marathon on another Sunday, November 24, 2019 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Got to keep chasing Glory!!!

 

 

 

“I’m just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round”…or Boredom is a b…h.

This week…
I’m grateful to have had the opportunity to experience each day as most were not.

This week…
Has not been the greatest, in terms of my living through each day.

This week…
Was filled with drama, angst and all bad things I’d like to drink away which one knows doesn’t work.  Once the drunken haze dissapates, reality kicks in big time and not always on the butt.

This week…
Should I break it down? I guess.

Work
At times it can be a mindless job with no mental or creative stimulation. At times the work reminds me of an assembly line production with an oversize stamp freshly dipped in a way too small ink pad primed to stamp ‘accept’ or ‘reject’ on a pale beige Staples office envelope. (ok bit of exaggeration on the assembly line thingy)
Work
Is where I go to make the Benjamins.
Working 35 hours at a place filled with drama, angst and all bad things or how about having my mind on autopilot reciting Nie mój cyrk, nie moje małpy. As paperwork piles up only to realize on the 3rd round of chanting— I AM the monkeys!

Work
It can be a job where your strengths and creativity are appreciated and used to the best of your potential. It can also be a job where your strengths and creativity are stifled, squashed and thrown out the back door.-oh well.

Work
If you don’t own your own business, you are subject to the rules of others, sought of living the life of a peasant on a lord’s land (the lord being your boss and the land, well that depends where you work).

Work 
Is all the wonderful stuff that makes most of those who work only working for a the Benjamins at the end of the day.

*John Lennon 

 

Not sure where this came from but worth the read:
A father before he died said to his son: “This is a watch your grandfather gave me, and it is more than 100 years old. But before I give it to you, go to the watch shop on the first street, and tell him I want to sell it, and see how much he offers you”.  He went, and then came back to his father, and said, “the watchmaker offered 5 dollars because it’s old”. He said to his son: “go to the coffee shop”. He went and then came back and said: “He offered $5 father”.  “Go to the museum and show the watch”. He went then came back and said to his father “They offered me a million dollars for this piece”. The father said: “I wanted to let you know that the right place values you in the right way. Don’t find yourself in the wrong place and get angry if you are not valued. 

Those that know your value are those who appreciate you, don’t stay in a place where nobody sees your value”.

 

 


—images from the WWW

 

Time waits for no one…or, Mom is 100% right.

Time waits for no one…

Procrastination and I were once best buds. We’d hold hands preventing me from moving one step forward, relishing in the here and now and not getting what needs to be done, done. I’d bitched to mom about the consequence of not getting it done and she’d sing song, “Time waits for no one. It passes you by and it goes on forever like the sun in the sky”. Annoyed with her singing I would repeat the song and insert the “sun in the sky” with “a bird in the sky”. Mom replied with, “Birds don’t fly forever” and we would lapse into back and forth retorts ending with hysterical laughter.

Faith move mountains…

“My second interview with them, do you think I’ll get it?”, me to mom.

“Que será, será…”, mom to me.

“What!?, me to mom.

“Faith move mountains”, mom to me.

“You mean Faith moves mountains”, me to mom.

“No. Faith move mountains”, mom to me.

***Me-throws eyes up to the sky while leaving the room

Elenita or Boobie

Almost everyone in this family has a nickname.

Judy

Nina

Peggy

Bobby

Dinero

Tub of Lard

Aggie

Fatee

I’ll…

No nickname.

Just plain ole Elena from most in the family and those ‘most’ not even pronouncing it correctly. (Thank you, my uncle, for naming me after Tia Peggy’s middle name!). 

But…

Not mom, my mom. 

I was “Elenita” and most especially when she was so happy with me, “Boobie”. 

Boobie, to me, means love, a mother’s love, unique and so only bestowed to the child mom truly loves, her undisclosed favourite. 

Yes.

I am/was my mom’s favourite and no shame in that.

Not all have a blessed mom for whatever reasons and, 

You know what?…

That’s more than okay as you don’t need a maternal figure to get that special feeling or nickname from: some fathers, friends, uncles, aunts, cousins-relationships period- that make you feel so special, unique and loved for who you are.

If there is no one for you, I will be that someone for you!!!! 

(As being alone right now with no mom or support from family, I know, cannot always be so good).

Previous Older Entries

%d bloggers like this: