The Apple of My Eye

If You See Her, Say Hello

I know I ended the previous chapter with a "Next," but that's getting old fast, isn't it? Plus, that's really not the point anymore. It's not a question of who's next now, but rather a question of who's left.

The amount and intensity of all the fooling around I had done in the year and a half since Star and I went our separate ways led me to a level of cynicism that was premature for my age. But I kind of learned to appreciate that, too. I take enormous pride in my coherence, so I know what I'm talking about when I tell you I have not turned into your typical skeptic by any means. Or a misanthropist. No way. I love people. I love observing them and, on occasion, interacting with them, as long as I don't have to give away too much. While I am not particularly crazy about groups of people, I find individuals fascinating, and I love hearing their stories and getting a taste of life through their eyes.

At work I have been doing reasonably well, too. I mean, I can't really complain without sounding spoiled. I have been promoted another couple of times, nothing of much significance, granted, but good enough to make sure my daughters get to go to good schools and I get to give them nice presents on their birthdays and on Christmas Day.

I don't hate what I do. Neither do I love it. I don't like the fact that I've accepted it, but there comes a time, you know? I am not my job, that is for sure, and the more I feel surrounded by individuals who let their jobs define who they are, the more I am convinced my approach is by far the best. It keeps me healthy and it keeps me sane, and that's just the way I intend to keep things. I am old enough now to understand that work doesn't mean anything. Work is but an instrument to get the money you need to make sure the things that really mean something to you are taken care of and can continue to exist. While in the past I would have felt sorely disappointed by what I thought was the undermining of my knowledge and my abilities, now I just let it be. My superiors, people I do not admire in the least and do not deem capable of assessing my work fairly, insult my intelligence systematically, but I've learned to not let it get to me. I know I have reached my threshold as far as chances of professional growth are concerned, but even that I can just learn to live with. At my age, and considering I got my job in the advertising industry without any sort of proper education or training, changing jobs could be tantamount to professional suicide. Positions in this field have always been scarce, and I make a decent amount of money, so I can go on doing my work without turning into a cantankerous old fuck. Because I can't just up and quit, see? I have become quite good at swallowing my pride and serving up the platitudes my superiors and coworkers expect of me at meetings and conferences and the like.

What I care about is the money I make and what I can do with that money and what that money can do for my daughters and how much fun we get to have. If I had to wear a clown suit and play the tuba to get to that end—and it's not like I'm too far from that, really—I'd still do it just the same. Long and short of it, Victoria and Rebecca are the only two creatures that matter to me in the whole world, and I am thankful for having them in my life. (As opposed to feeling that, if they weren't around, I'd be free to just flip everybody off and leave yet another godforsaken job behind. Victoria and Rebecca not being around, however, is a thought I can honestly say I have never entertained. Cross my heart and hope to die. Leaving the job, well, that's a different story.)

Danielle Peazer passed away at around the same time I was swapping bodily juices with Crazy Carrie. With her gone, I lost a lot of the passion that I had once nurtured for my job. Maybe I had just been trying to impress Peazer all along, I don't know, but if that was the case, then that was a good thing, because it was what fueled my accomplishments. Peazer had been one heck of a motivational influence on me, like no boss ever, before or after. But it was so unexpected, and there was so little time between her falling ill and the big C taking her away, I couldn't even make much sense of it all. With Peazer out of the picture, I gradually lost much of my love of the job and became somewhat disengaged—though not to the point where I'd start acting apathetically and put my livelihood in jeopardy. At least not in any more jeopardy than entertaining female visitors in my office could put it, anyway.