Started raining not long after I got home. I love it when it does that – waits for me to get home. Traffic goes nuts in the rain, and I’m not too fond of riding soaking wet. It had been hot and humid today; unusual for this dry desert-like climate to be humid. So the rain cooled things off, and sounded good coming down, hitting the roof, pouring down the walls, splattering on the sidewalk and patio from the canales. It stopped for awhile, and I hadn’t given it much thought until it started in again. Not too hard. Pleasant. Soothing. I got to thinking that I don’t know what to write about anymore, at least as far as my life. The obsessive infatuation I had at least gave me a focus!
I don’t see Karen anymore. She avoids me. She’s always busy. Once she told me she’d be busy throughout May, but she’s still busy now. I’ve asked a couple times if she wanted to continue having lunch, and she said she did, but she was just so busy. It’s a good indication, I think, of her immaturity. Can’t say outright she doesn’t want to have lunch, even when I give her an opening. Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. I like her still, without the infatuation, and would have liked to continue the friendship, but her interest in me, whatever it was, seems to have evaporated.
Still I’m taking an antidepressant, something I thought I’d never do. Lacking any zest for life, or feelings for anyone, any reason to continue living, seemed incentive enough to try something. I am still practicing guitar, and hiking in the mountains. I have a pretty and intelligent friend I hike with, and we both like sushi and salsa dancing and hiking. I have every reason to be hopeful.
Still, I get into rages. I nearly blew up at the Parking Services clerk. I had visions of coming back at night to destroy the building, or at least break the windows. I even thought about seeing which car was his and coming back to break his windows. Such a pitiful excuse for a human being. Him, or me. I was angry so long over that, but the director apologized, gave me my money back, and trained her staff on how to do things the right way for motorcycle permits. Over and done with. I sure was angry for awhile there though.
Generally, I’m improving. Life does not appear so pointless and empty anymore. I think less of dying. I still think about moving to Afghanistan to help them rebuild schools and infrastructure. Might still do that. Retirement from my current job looms ahead. I look forward to it, but fear the loss of income and shaky future of it. My plan had been to pay off the house my wife and I had and retire without any house payments. Our divorce screwed that up royally. She got to keep what she’s always thought of as her house, even though we’d borrowed money to pay off her ex, and it was in both our names, and I’d made all the payments myself, including the extra money. I’d had my own house when I met her. It would almost be paid off now too, but I sold it at a loss to pay off debts, debts we both had. I never dreamed that I’d end up with nothing for all that. Well, I have my pension, but that’s all. Rents are high. I won’t have money to travel as I’d planned. I really don’t know what the fuck I am going to do. I’ll probably end up working part time at something. The chances of making a living at writing or photography seem slim, but I’m going to try. Maybe I’ll end up playing bad guitar on the street for spare change.
I did have a real surge in my life recently. Rarely do I go out to dinner or anywhere much anymore. I’d been trying to get together with my step-daughter for awhile, ever since she had her last brain operation, and we found out she was cancer free after all. It hadn’t come back. I wanted to celebrate so much when I heard that. I’d have bought champagne for my ex and partied, but she was in Texas, and hadn’t wanted me there. She had a pleasant dinner with her daughter and the first husband, Maya’s dad, who she hadn’t spoken with in 25 years, but we could have gone out to celebrate if I’d been there. Even after telling me she didn’t want me there, she called, at Maya’s insistence, to tell me how it went, and how she wanted to celebrate, maybe find a bottle of champagne. Well, anyway, I took my step-daughter Maya to a very nice fondue place in the Old Town part of Albuquerque. We had a great time. We didn’t eat too much, or drink a lot, but we laughed and talked for three hours. It was the best time I’d had in two years. Maya said it was the best date she’d had in a long time. It was fun, and we reconnected. Always had a good relationship with her. We opened up to each other more than usual, and it felt comfortable. A wonderful boost to my morale!
Things at work, however, are deteriorating. The loss of gas and oil revenue the State of New Mexico depended on has meant less money coming down from Santa Fe. Everyone is cutting corners, cutting operations, looking for things to cut, purge, or lay off to make ends meet. My lab may be next, before I even get a chance to retire. The bean counters are king now. Regulations require that I not overcharge anyone for the work I do. The Dean of the Medical School is slowly cutting me off of the tobacco settlement money they’d used to pay my salary, which meant my lab went into deficit for the first time ever. I can cut costs, raise prices some, but the crazy people there don’t understand what it is I do exactly, so they have come up with outrageous calculations of costs, based on a spreadsheet that is badly thought out. One example is raising the price of one service by 15 cents, but increasing a similar service, that actually costs less in supplies, and takes less time and effort, by over 30 times the current rate. Unreal. They don’t even think it’s a big deal, but it means there will be no more revenue from that service ever. I can’t get them to understand. I accept we have to raise rates, but it has to be based on real data, not numbers plugged into a hilariously inventive spreadsheet, just to satisfy auditors. Gotta have a paper trail to prove we are charging the right amount! Even when the premises of the spreadsheet are insanely wrong. Doesn’t seem to matter that we cannot long operate under those conditions. We need more business, more efficiency, not less income. Idiots! I’ve worked so long and hard at this job, and now pencil pushers are going to ruin it. It makes me furious. I see red, feel violent. It attacks my own efficiency all these years in maintaining a tight budget, in helping scores of researchers, and contributing to dozens of their research papers. My knowledge is suddenly inferior to a paper-trail spreadsheet. It must be right – how could it be wrong? Haha. Idiots. Little tiny minds, desperately trying to feel important, destroying everything they touch. Fuck the assholes. I may be depressed, but I don’t have to let them destroy all this when they don’t even understand the basic fallacies behind their calculations.
So, I don’t know if I’m improving or not. On the one hand, I have good days every once in a while. On the other hand, my bad days seem worse. I will be lucky to survive the next few months without killing someone.