Tomorrow will be day ten in a row at work. I got "promoted", which of course meant working ten days in a row, switching shifts abruptly, and taking a paycut.
Woo! America! But it's been good really. I'm basically an intern learning to be a supervisor right now. Which means I only have to take 100 calls a month, instead of about 40 calls a day. I'm quite happy with that. So far my new job has mostly consisted of being support staff for new agents. I answer questions, explain policy, assist with performing account changes, and basically help them out when they don't know how to do something. Which is often.
The new schedule has me working from 1:30pm - 11pm, sometimes 11:30 if my agents are not off the phones in time. Switching from a mid-day schedule to a night shift schedule has completely fucked the semblance of a sleeping pattern I'd managed to muster. Plus it means I can't share a car with Lawrence, so I've been catching a bus as near to work as I can get and walking a mile to actually get there. Going from a job where you sit the majority of the time, to being on my feet + walking a mile before I even start has wreaked a bit of havoc with the pain management routine. I was down to just one or two tylenol every other day for pain and my daily NSAID to prevent swelling. I'm gonna have to get back on a bit more strict regimen if I'm gonna survive this first month of so transitioning back into a job where I actually get to move all the time.
In the meantime, quite a few of my suggestions got accepted for DDs in the last couple weeks. That makes me super happy, so I'm gonna feature them here again in case you missed any. I've also participated in quite a few interviews. I haven't been very busy with posting work simply because I haven't had time to write anything. Hell, barely had time to think anything!
Hopefully once I settle into the routine at work I'll get back to writing/keeping up on group duties here. You can expect nothing from me this weekend though. On Sunday I'll be cheering for the Seahawks in the superbowl (REPETE BABY) and on Monday I actually have to take care of things like blood draws, grocery shopping, rent-paying, and actually getting to spend time with my husband.
Hope you're all well!
Dear Parents:Strike the soft skin of your children; leave marks.
Go on: show them how hard they must become
to be like you.
Mold them to be mindless: coach them to react
with fists; make them believe that words have
Shape them into an almighty monster: modern man.
Destroy their purity and imagination by damning them
with absurd words of a god who previous men
Teach children to follow a leader, and to not ever
break the circle they belong to, so society never
Above all: train them to question love, even your own.
I.My bones were glass blown:
Crafted to curve lowly -
(un)beautifully - furling like
Imagine me transmuted, bursting through
desquamated skin. Picture my
clay-molded contours liquified
and awakened, shifted:
But I am unseasoned - grape-shelled,
guileless. Esotericism is overflowing
in my veins:
This path is as smudged as
its traveler (skidding yet
never slowed), clotted
Watch my fingers splay, breaking
from my tendons to
grasp tangible air
You can neither scorch nor
whittle me into
nail-sized hopelessness, only
Steeled, my jaw is set -
diffident, not shattered.
BreakingOne day, you will open the cupboard
to find a wine glass or some Tupperware
and the world will, without warning
or alarm, roll off the edge of the shelf
and coming crashing down.
The oceans will splash onto the linoleum,
onto the rug. All the dust in all the deserts
will rain down onto the couch and coffee table,
the hills will crumble, the mountains will break,
all the windows in all the cities will shatter
and fall, a thousand dangerous miles of glass
glittering on your kitchen floor.
Everything will hush.
Exhale the breath you are holding,
and go look for a dust pan, for a broom.
Dear SonThis is what I want you to know:
I am still afraid
of being the wrong sort of man,
for those who would teach me
the rules of quelling voice paid
no heed to the sestinas of boyhood.
We sustain our tired
stories past the breaks;
we write through the endstops
the way we speak over
the voices that deny our voice.
My dad never mapped
manhood for me, never told me
of the weight of our words
or the aridity of our gentle
and vacant awareness.
I am glad not
Cancer The plane wades
through cotton corn
seeded by vapour
trails - these clouds swell
as white tumours
gorged by rain.
Like brain scans,
earthly and ghostly
on a death canvas
lit by fluorescent finalities.
to everything there is a seasonI.
as a flower or a man,
i shall burst,
as a corpse, i shall
peel away, and
return to the earth,
the air. i'll be in
your lungs yet.
look, it’s not that i’m not
a little bit charmed
by the concentric circles
of existence, and the love,
the bitter, bright and
it’s not that i don’t like
carrying this body that is a miracle,
a miracle in the sum of its parts.
kahlo got it, she knew what
she was talking about –
but i won’t put words
in a dead woman’s mouth.
and the hot sweat of it here,
the pain, the fuck and the sour wine
of it here,
it isn’t really chaining me
down. i’m thinking of
did i ever tell you
i’d like to die on my back,
looking at the sky?
in one of those faraway places
i saw from the car as a child, the top of a hill
seen from a distance; someone else’s farm,
someone else’s land. someone else’s emptiness,
a thin line of grass between
dirt and the inf
Evidence Against MeToday, I know
how a knife slides from the counter
into a hand,
a flash only;
slips between a man’s ribs
or through thick muscles in his chest
I force my hand to my side,
breathe deep, slice
a beefy red tomato
My heart slows;
the air in the room grows still