It's been 3 1/2 weeks since my daughter died. Life has been going on fairly normally. At least the world around me has. I started back at work yesterday. I purposefully started on a Thursday so I wouldn't have to work a full week before I had a break. I couldn't handle it. So I've had two days. It hasn't been fun. I've been in a daze to say the least. When actual
real" phone calls come in, I have to focus for quite a bit before I can grasp what the client is saying and before I can appropriately respond. I had a frantic phone call at 4:30 this afternoon from my boss asking me to take care of a problem that a colleague created over the past six weeks I've been gone. I had planned to leave at 5 P.M. instead of the usual 6. I needed a break. And I thought the regular "40-hour work week" would have been plenty considering what I'd been through. I wanted to tell my boss, my colleague, and the client to go fuck themselves. Nothing is that important to get all that worked up about. But I went ahead and took care of it as our entire team will be indisposed until the following Friday due to a bank-wide annual sales meeting. What I really want to say to the client is, "Really? REALLY?! Are you that god-damned concerned about your fucking problem that you want me to stay late on a Friday? It can't wait to be done until Tuesday morning? (Monday is a federal holiday) And to my colleague - "Are you fucking serious? You stopped by my office 20 minutes before a proposal is due to drop off the documents 15 minutes before the lady wants a proposal? Impossible!" I told my boss I'd do my best. It took a lot not to say to my boss, "You have got to be kidding me. It can wait. So-and-so has had six weeks to take care of this. I am not going out of my way to take care of this problem because I am not the one who created it. Go fuck yourself."
real" phone calls come in, I have to focus for quite a bit before I can grasp what the client is saying and before I can appropriately respond. I had a frantic phone call at 4:30 this afternoon from my boss asking me to take care of a problem that a colleague created over the past six weeks I've been gone. I had planned to leave at 5 P.M. instead of the usual 6. I needed a break. And I thought the regular "40-hour work week" would have been plenty considering what I'd been through. I wanted to tell my boss, my colleague, and the client to go fuck themselves. Nothing is that important to get all that worked up about. But I went ahead and took care of it as our entire team will be indisposed until the following Friday due to a bank-wide annual sales meeting. What I really want to say to the client is, "Really? REALLY?! Are you that god-damned concerned about your fucking problem that you want me to stay late on a Friday? It can't wait to be done until Tuesday morning? (Monday is a federal holiday) And to my colleague - "Are you fucking serious? You stopped by my office 20 minutes before a proposal is due to drop off the documents 15 minutes before the lady wants a proposal? Impossible!" I told my boss I'd do my best. It took a lot not to say to my boss, "You have got to be kidding me. It can wait. So-and-so has had six weeks to take care of this. I am not going out of my way to take care of this problem because I am not the one who created it. Go fuck yourself."
I enjoy my job, but only time will determine if I like it enough to continue doing it. Today showed me that people get very worked up over nothing. So you don't get the proposal you wanted on time. Shit happens. Why do you think you're so fucking perfect? You must never have been through a sudden tragedy like I have. Because if you had, you wouldn't get so worked up over nothing. Just call up and see what happened. But sometimes I think I'm not supposed to bring my personal life into the job. I can't help it. I don't think I can do my job the same way any more. I tried to today. But it seemed to take quite a bit out of me to mimic the person I was. I kind of got there in bits and pieces, enough to make me think I was the same person. But then I'd hang up the phone, and I'd go back to where I was in la-la land.
I had a good idea this evening. Would you call up a taxi service that will deliver booze, beer, and wine to your door? It would certainly save on DUI's and human fatalities. I wonder what the requirements and risks are. I'd check ID at the door before I'd deliver it. I bet there would be quite a bit of risk with that. What if I sold to someone underage? Would I be liable if they got into an accident and killed someone? Or no because they bought it? Things to think about. I really want to be a stay-at-home mom for a while until our kids are in school.
We underestimated how great kids are (your own). We never thought we wanted them, but Francesca changed our mind. We love her so much. We feel very cheated to not have spent much time with her and helped raise her. Some people say it's because she's an angel that came into our lives for just a short period. Maybe so. But right now I don't understand why. That doesn't make me feel better. So she was an angel. So what? Am I supposed to feel honored she came into our lives, even for a short time? To the people that answer yes, I say to them, "Let me take your son, Derrick, kill him at 2 years old, and see how you feel. Do you feel honored? Do you feel blessed? No. You feel fucking angry, depressed, cheated, and sad. You want to punch something." No. I do not sit here and want to praise God for taking our daughter out of our lives. Absolutely not. Screw that. I am mad at God right now, and I'm not even sure He exists. There is no child, alive or dead, that had more people praying for her than Francesca did. He lied to me, He cheated me, He doesn't love me. I cannot think of ANY reason greater than Francesca's life itself to warrant letting her die. The day I realize the "greater good" of letting her die will be the day I die. I don't think I can comprehend or agree with it any other way. Fuck that.
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