Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
employee benefits
8:06 AM: You came in late, and I wonder if you realize it's the third Thursday in a row you've worn the same green shirt.
8:12 AM: I listen as your computer boots up, and I load the GroupWise schedule to view your calendar for the third time this morning.
9:23 AM: I hear a rustle in your cubical as you exit your office chair; my cue to refill my water bottle. As we pass in the hall you greet me, and I mention the Brewer's game, hoping to prolong the conversation.
11:28 AM: I hear the bottom drawer open as you reach for your jacket. I abruptly hang up on a business call and anticipate an invitation to lunch, but you head to the China Buffet without me.
1:23 PM: I enter the Marketing Conference late, pulling up a chair next to yours. The Axe Affect is overwhelming and I take you in like a load of warm towels, fresh from the dryer.
2:56 PM: Your extension blurts half a ring, and my stomach sinks as you whisper your evening plans to her.
3:34 PM: New Mail: Did you know the Virginia Tech shooter was a Creative Writing major? You tease me about writing poems of rainbows and puppy dogs. I'd never tell you that you're my recurring subject.
4:03 PM: The last office has been deserted, and the two of us are left with the middle-ages woman who fills the soap dispensers.
4:12 PM: I print miscellaneous documents, stand at the printer too long pretending to review them. You ask if it's work related.
4:32 PM: In unison we shut down our computers, as I imagine us turning of the lamps on our nightstands. When we head to the parking lot I slow down to be next to you in the exiting traffic.
4:40 PM: We both turn left onto JJ, and I follow you into Oshkosh for the next twenty minuets, to a "doctors appointment" I never had.
8:12 AM: I listen as your computer boots up, and I load the GroupWise schedule to view your calendar for the third time this morning.
9:23 AM: I hear a rustle in your cubical as you exit your office chair; my cue to refill my water bottle. As we pass in the hall you greet me, and I mention the Brewer's game, hoping to prolong the conversation.
11:28 AM: I hear the bottom drawer open as you reach for your jacket. I abruptly hang up on a business call and anticipate an invitation to lunch, but you head to the China Buffet without me.
1:23 PM: I enter the Marketing Conference late, pulling up a chair next to yours. The Axe Affect is overwhelming and I take you in like a load of warm towels, fresh from the dryer.
2:56 PM: Your extension blurts half a ring, and my stomach sinks as you whisper your evening plans to her.
3:34 PM: New Mail: Did you know the Virginia Tech shooter was a Creative Writing major? You tease me about writing poems of rainbows and puppy dogs. I'd never tell you that you're my recurring subject.
4:03 PM: The last office has been deserted, and the two of us are left with the middle-ages woman who fills the soap dispensers.
4:12 PM: I print miscellaneous documents, stand at the printer too long pretending to review them. You ask if it's work related.
4:32 PM: In unison we shut down our computers, as I imagine us turning of the lamps on our nightstands. When we head to the parking lot I slow down to be next to you in the exiting traffic.
4:40 PM: We both turn left onto JJ, and I follow you into Oshkosh for the next twenty minuets, to a "doctors appointment" I never had.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
to let go
To “let go” does not mean to stop caring,
it means I can’t do it for someone else.
To “let go” is not to cut myself off,
it’s the realization I can not control another.
To “let go” is not to enable,
but to allow learning from natural consequences.
To “let go” is to admit powerlessness,
which means the outcome is not in my hands.
To “let go” is not to try to change or blame another,
it’s to make the most of myself.
To “let go” is not to “care for”,
but to “care about”.
To “let go” is not to fix,
but to be supportive.
To “let go” is not to judge,
but to allow another to be a human being.
To “let go” is not to be in the middle arranging all outcomes,
but to allow others to affect their own destinies.
To “let go” is not to be protective,
it’s to permit another to face reality.
To “let go” is not to deny,
but to accept.
To “let go” is not to nag, scold or argue,
but instead to search out my own shortcomings
and correct them
To “let go” is not to adjust everything to my desires,
but to take each day as it comes, and cherish myself in it.
To “let go” is not to regret the past,
but to grow and live for the future.
To “let go” is to fear less,
and to love more.
it means I can’t do it for someone else.
To “let go” is not to cut myself off,
it’s the realization I can not control another.
To “let go” is not to enable,
but to allow learning from natural consequences.
To “let go” is to admit powerlessness,
which means the outcome is not in my hands.
To “let go” is not to try to change or blame another,
it’s to make the most of myself.
To “let go” is not to “care for”,
but to “care about”.
To “let go” is not to fix,
but to be supportive.
To “let go” is not to judge,
but to allow another to be a human being.
To “let go” is not to be in the middle arranging all outcomes,
but to allow others to affect their own destinies.
To “let go” is not to be protective,
it’s to permit another to face reality.
To “let go” is not to deny,
but to accept.
To “let go” is not to nag, scold or argue,
but instead to search out my own shortcomings
and correct them
To “let go” is not to adjust everything to my desires,
but to take each day as it comes, and cherish myself in it.
To “let go” is not to regret the past,
but to grow and live for the future.
To “let go” is to fear less,
and to love more.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
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