Still at work
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
I put in two hours of overtime today, and lo and behold, I'm still hanging around. Amazing, how quiet it is, sitting in the middle of an ocean of empty cubicles. Got a lot accomplished, too. Didn't think about sneaking down to the cafeteria more than about seven dozen times. Easy peasy. So easy, I'm going to do it tomorrow too.
I'd be on my way home right now, but to tell the truth, I'm relishing the peace. Chaos is not my friend. And it's been a constant in my life, in one form or another. If it's true that we choose our lives ahead of time for the lessons to be learned in them, I suspect this is the bear I need to wrestle and overcome.
Truth is, I'm a codependent. Of course, back in old days, they had much nicer labels for people like me. We were fixers. That doesn't sound so bad. We were the beloved aunties everyone brought their sad stories to, the sweet old ladies with a ready ear, shoulder, and lace-trimmed hankie. We were the parents who were there for their children no matter what, and we were the lower middle class working schlumps who invited strangers to their table because they looked hungry. Isn't heaven supposed to be made up of people like that? Yeah. Well. Guess not.
The thing about being fixers is, the people who want fixing will fix themselves, the ones who don't will resent our efforts, and then there's that woefully large group of people who recognize our fixerishness (codependency just sounds so nasty) and milk it for all it's worth. And, in the end, we're the ones who need fixing, and we just don't have any energy left for it.
Why do you suppose Sonnyboy still lives in my house at 23, without a job, without an education, and without the slightest intention of doing anything except playing Peter Pan, getting drunk, and conning me out of money? Why do you suppose I've bailed Princess out of jams time and time again, and settled her financial woes at the cost of creating my own? Why do you suppose I always wind up in the middle of arguments between the two of them, and between them and the Silver Fox too, and thereby experience three times the stress of any one of them?
Yeah, I allow it. They may be the ones who put me there, but it's only because they can.
I've got to wonder what's turned me into such a pleaser. Face it, that's what I am, at work too. Good for getting ahead and influencing people, but bad, very bad for a person's emotional health. It could be the legacy of a childhood in which I never quite measured up. It could be a subconscious attempt to keep myself safe and out of the crosshairs. Who the hell knows.
At any rate, it's doing me no good. And I don't want to run away. So I guess I've got some self-fixing to do. Again.
God isn't done with me yet, it would appear.