Thursday, June 08, 2006

Life On Mute

(No poker content today, so advert your eyes if you're coming here to listen to an inane brag about cashing in a dime tourney again)

I celebrated my ten years of servitude to my company yesterday with a fine luncheon at Buffalo Wild Wings. Granted I’m sure others would have gone for something a little more refined but I’ve never dined at a restaurant before that requires a Miss Manners book of instruction on how to use the cache of silverware, plates, and glasses.

Fancy I am not.

After my supervisor named off the jobs that I’ve had the pleasure of performing over the years, I wondered “have I accomplished anything?” Jobs, not career type positions she named to my college-instructed co-workers that will more then likely be moving on to bigger and better things, climbing relentlessly up the corporate ladder in the next couple of years. The jobs she named sounded more like a guy who doesn’t mind the glass ceiling of management/salaried position even though he’s been told to just go back to school and study things in overpriced textbooks to earn a sheepskin with fancy writing and break thru that invisible line between job and career.

Why would I?

I like my job, I like the people around me, and I can stand the somewhat monotonous work. Since I cannot drive and may never be able to, I cannot be on-call to attend a meeting in Eagan or go downtown to meet with vendors at a moment’s notice. Basically the only position I can hold is one with set, yet flexible hours for times that my ride needs to vary how and when I get to and from work.

It’s taken a long while to come to peace with the road I’m traveling. Scrapping my knees several times from fighting within myself to figure out why I was here and not there. The scabs have been picked at relentlessly over the years, as I’m a motivated person in an inhospitable body, not unlike a former world-class athlete trying to pick up his/her sport again after being told after their 7th knee surgery its time to hang up the skates/gloves/running shoes. I'm sure people have stories about their friend/uncle/co-worker who has no arms, no legs, no face that became the CEO of Wal-Mart or something, I'm not THAT motivated. Many introverted nights were spent pondering “if this would have happened I’d be a lot better off” “why why why me!?!?!?” “why the hell is American Idol so popular?”.

Maybe I should watch sometime.

My hearing problem among other things hold me back, it always has, but until recently I fought and fought against it causing nothing more then stress and undue grief towards friends and family. I get laughed at often, mocked for conversations I try to take a part of only to realize the subject matter was about something totally different. I live in a world of context; I hear some words and piece together the conversation in order to contribute to banter. Often I’ll miss more then a bad comic’s improv routine. The internet has been a blessing in this regards, the ability to converse semi-intelligently without misunderstanding (except the ever elusive internet sarcasm). I can put my two cents in about poker, baseball, and bOObs without worrying that the subject matter was actually how to cook a pork roast properly.

(Overused quote alert, advert your eyes!!!) I can’t change who am I, or the cards I’ve been dealt but I can choose how I play the cards and whether or not I fold. After ten years, I’m ready for the next ten, and the ten after that, and after that I’m going off to play golf and be a crusty old nit in an Arizona Cardroom.

I see the life I have ahead of me, getting there will be the fun part, even if the TV is on mute.

Thanks for dropping by, now I know I promised a picture post but a certain woman in the household has decided to shower us this week with mood swings that go against all the “I’m a Princess!” in bright pink sparkly type oneies (sp??) she wears. Hopefully I’ll have time tonight to figure out the new camera’s software and have the pics up before I head to the cabin for the weekend and determine a winner when I get back.

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