I washed my running shoes today.

How is that blog worthy?  Here in the southeastern part of the country, we have had 14 straight days of rain.  Flash flooding is all around us, yards and fields are saturated, the crops are suffering and it is SO humid and cool.  You know how uncomfortable it is to be cold and clammy?  That has been our air for 2 weeks.

It has primarily been rain, thankfully.  We have no storms or tornadoes, no high winds, just monsoons.  During the 2 weeks, I had the pleasure of jetting off to Boston on a business trip.  The weather those few days was just perfect!  No clouds, sunshine, in the 70’s and no humidity.  Oh how I didn’t want to come back!  The plane landed in Memphis, the door opened and a cool damp blanket was thrown over the passengers as we exited.

For the past two weeks I have felt the lack of adequate sunshine in my mood.  I am akin to snakes, I need to lay on hot rocks in the sun from time to time to stay alive.  Just before the rain set in, my new replacement hammock came. I was so excited to finally get it!  I envisioned myself basking and napping in the sun in the back yard.  Sigh.  It is still in the box as no one can use the hammock in the rain.

Rain stops me from doing many things like laying on my ass in a hammock in the yard and hanging my clothes out on the clothesline to dry.  The off-site airport parking lot where my car lives gives me coupons for free car washes after so many paid parking days.   I have two in my possession right now that I will not use while we are under the monsoon season. The weeds in my flower beds just love all this rain and there is nothing I can do about them right now.

But there are things the rain will not stop me from doing.  It does not stop me from running.

For the past 2 weeks, I have been out on my routes in the mornings every chance I had.  That meant having my neighbors and passersby question and discuss my sanity amongst themselves.  All of my routes had standing water at times and puddles everywhere.  The route to town and back had flooded sidewalks with underlayers of mud.  I ran through it all anyway.

My shoes got nasty.  But why wash them if I was just going to get out and do it again tomorrow?  Even if I did wash them, the humid air would prevent them from drying overnight, so I’d have wet shoes the next morning.

I knocked the mud off when I needed to and just wore them dirty and wet.  But today – TODAY is supposed to be the last day of rain for at least a week!  Yes!

For once I am completely believing in the lying-ass weatherpeople.  I am believing them because I want to.  I want it to stop raining.  I want some sun.

Yesterday I had the radio on in my office.  The radio stations were giving the lying-ass weathermen all the air time they wanted to yell and scream about how the rain is leaving!  Sunshine is on its way!  We promise this time!  I thought it was ironic that every so often during one of their proclamations, they would be cut off by the severe weather warning and the national weather service giving the flash flood warnings for counties getting 3 inches of rain in an hour.

My husband and I run together on Saturday mornings.  We got out today and we could look really hard and see maybe a square foot of blue sky here and there.  We were hopeful.  However, the national weather service had flash flood warnings out for adjacent counties, so we were trying not to get our hopes up too much.  Sure enough, during our 5 miles, the pregnant gray clouds rolled in and the rain started.  We kept running anyway.

Tomorrow is the official day of sunshine according to the lying-ass weathermen that I really have faith and hope in this week.  When I cleaned up from my run, I looked at my now gray, nasty wet running shoes and thought tomorrow would be the new beginning….sunshine….no more standing water to get through.  I have hope!

So I washed my running shoes.

Dear Alexandria Louisiana Airport:

Don’t yall have child labor laws in Louisiana?  Why are all your employees under the age of 16?  Don’t you have adults down there?  When the 12 year gate agent couldn’t get me checked in for my flight, I asked to speak to her mother.  Yall need some grown ups at your airport.

Hugs,

Donlyn

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Dear Budget Car Rental:

Please let your employees pick their own clothes.  I feel uncomfortable seeing your people in those front-butt enhancing belted navy blue pants and  golf shirt tucked in and bunched up  their asscracks.  I promise you that your valuable customers, like me, would prefer to see employees in normal clothes, not those outdated and unflattering-on-everyone uniforms you force them to wear.

Hugs,

Donlyn

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Dear DeltaNorthwest:

I hate you with a whitehot hate rivaled only by my hatred for leather seats on 6 hour car ride in the summer in the south.  I have not done ANYTHING to you and yet you look for ways to jack with me at every turn.  I want a divorce.  You disgust me.  You don’t have the courage to tell me you don’t want me, you just keep doing shit to me hoping I will break up with you.  I am about ready to do just that.

I am not in the logistics business but I have common sense.  Common sense tells me that if you have to cancel shipments of people due to your vehicles breaking down, you might want to have a spare vehicle nearby.  It is incredible to me that when one plane breaks down, you have no spare. 

Which reminds me.  Do you know what year it is?  It is 2009.  Why are you still flying itty bitty propeller planes from the 50’s? 

When I purchase a plane ticket to my destination, I expect to ride on an AIRPLANE.  I applaud you for your quick thinking yesterday, but I had a ticket for an AIRPLANE, not a freaking Greyhound bus.  See above paragraph – why don’t you have a spare airplane somewhere?   

Perhaps you should consider stealing some bus drivers and replacing your rude and unfriendly pilots.  Even though you shoved us all on a bus to get us to our destination when your airplane wouldn’t work, the jovial, engaging and fun bus driver made things a bit better by being nice and friendly.  Perhaps you should have Greyhound drivers train your staff on how to be nice to passengars.

This is the second week in a row you’ve sent me to travel Hell, DeltaNorthwest.  I hate you. I hope you get eat up by Southwest Airlines.

No hugs for you,

Donlyn

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Dear Highway Department

Would you mind posting a sign stating the main ramp of the interstate is closed BEFORE people get on the damn closed ramp?  Seriously, just move the damn sign to the interstate so we can see it BEFORE we get on the ramp.  I’m sure the 18 wheeler trying to make a u-turn on the ramp would have appreciated this warning as well.

Idiots.

Hugs,

Donlyn

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Dear Motorola phone makers,

Do you make any phone, at all, whatsoever, that will operate for at least a year before it dies while your customer is on a business trip from hell?  And why do my phones always die when I’m out of town and can’t do shit about it?  Why can’t they die while I’m at home and can run to the Verizon store and start the long stressful unproductive process of getting the phone fixed or replaced?

You do this on purpose, don’t you?  You’re friends with DeltaNorthwest, don’t deny it.

No hugs for you,

Donlyn

Just a few months ago, I recieved a call from my emotionally out of control, no boundaries whatsoever manager telling me that I would lose my job in a matter of weeks.  She was crying hysterically during this conversation and although it knocked me out of my chair, she was so upset I was more concerned for her at that time than myself.

I did appreciate the heads up.  It allowed me to put an OH SHIT plan in place that included a budget I hate and some financial goals I have not needed in the past.  Like a COBRA fund. 

We’ve been clunking along since.  Good news came shortly after that call and from what she told  “just in time.”  Our company reorged and the big bad boss who wanted to get rid of her and her entire team had been moved to the cesspool of our company.  She was giddy!  She was happy!  She was now reporting to a new, nice, manager and all would be lovely going forward.

If I took the time to chronicle the issues my dear boss has, I would clog the internet with volumes of information.  I tell the stories of my interactions with her to just a small number of confidantes as those stories are so bizarre I am afraid of being called a bullshitter.  I have confidantes who (with my best interest at heart) get angry and insist that I go to HR.  Going to HR gets you no where, people.  No where.  If you really don’t like something that much, find another job. 

There are confidantes who laugh their asses off and are envious of my ability to think quickly and respond to her leudness and inappropriateness.  Some tell me I am crazy for sticking with the company because of her.  She is unresponsive in business issues, but will call me (and others) crying with her personal issues.  She tries to bully and manipulate by saying she is “taking care” of you/me/the team and that she should be trusted.   She scares her direct reports into being loyal to her.  She demands that no one call anyone over her head.  Only speak to her.  Trust her, she is looking out for YOU.

She is younger than me by 10 years.  It is clear I have more experience and abilities in our field than she does.  She has skills that I do not have – she can data mine to beat the band and find trends, upticks and declines no one else even thought about.  She produces wonderful user friendly pie charts and graphs of her data.  She has value, I don’t want to imply that she doesn’t.

Once I heard this term applied to a out of control young woman and it so fits my manager – she is a “hot mess.”  I have learned over the past several months how to interact with her, how to deal with her and how to get answers I need without involving her.  I have become skilled at managing my manager. 

Back to work –  no one was getting fired.  I took myself off that damned budget, well, not all the way, but a little bit.  I got a couple of manicures.  And I bought flowers for my yard.  Well, and I bought the grandkids a few things – but just a few.

All the employees in my division are remote.  We work in our home offices and travel most of the time.  I happened to be in the city where my boss lives last week so she and I went out for dinner.  This was the first time I’d seen her since the reorg and her new found happiness with a new manager.

We had a great dinner.  Talked a little business and then just talked like girlfriends.  With no boundaries, my boss tells me (and everyone else) things we should not know, nor do we WANT to know. 

I traveled home the next day.  It was after 5 when my cell phone rang and I was at a point that I could take the call, just an hour from my house.  It was my boss.  She was crying hysterically.  Just like she was the day she called to tell me we were all getting fired.  My heart sank.  For the few seconds it took her to find her voice, I thought this was it for me.

But it wasn’t.  It was “it” for her.  She was fired. 

My heart was still in my stomach.  Were they letting her entire team go?  I didn’t think so as I had just been assigned new responsibilities.  Surely they would not give me these key relationships and then let me go? 

I had to think through the situation as I tried to say comforting things to the woman who sounded as if she was having an emotional breakdown on the phone.  As I kept driving, dodging tractors and farm animals on narrow curving back roads with no lines,  I listened to her.  This is the person, the “boss”, whom I was supposed to look to for guidance, support, approval, pay raises, etc and she was blubbering like an idiot on the phone.

I know how it feels to be fired.  I’ve been fired before.  It hurts.  I cried just like she did, but I did not cry to my former staff or colleagues.  I went home and cried to my family and maintained my professional pride.

Although I feel bad for her personally, I understand why she was let go.  If I were queen of the company, I would have terminated her a long time ago.  Out of control emotional employees are a liability to a company.  Put that person in management and you are begging for lawsuits, lost business and staff turnover.

A few months ago she and I were talking about various things and I made a passing remark about Facebook.  I have a Facebook account but I am very selective about it.  I only have 55 friends and that is about all I want.  Those 55 friends are really my friends and family, people I want to keep up with and keep informed.  I don’t “friend” people I don’t talk to on a regular basis, that is not my purpose on Facebook.  I share pictures and stories with my family and friends, not the whole world wide web. 

When my boss found out I had a Facebook account, she had me “friend” her right there in the car on our mobile phones at a redlight.  No boundaries, remember?

Now I need to “unfriend” her but I know she logs on every day to count her friends to see who unfriended her.  So I may leave it alone for a while.  I do feel for her as a person, but I have a job that I like very much, thank you, and do not want it jeopardized by someone I feel is unstable. 

What a hot mess.

It is too early to know how our company will restructure, but I do know my new responsibilities are growing and I have the opportunity to do some really good stuff for my company and my clients.  I am excited about that! 

However, it is time to get myself back on that OH SHIT budget I hate and remember that no job is a guarantee.  I could still get the call any time, but maybe the person on the other end won’t be crying hysterically in an emotional breakdown.  Maybe that call will be handled professionally.

Today is not my day.  I know that.  I’ve been reminded of it all day long.

It started last night, Sunday.  My husband and I had plans for an early movie with friends.  I thought we would be home in time for me to pack for my trip today.  We were not. 

I set the alarm for 5:30 this morning so I could go for a run before kicking it into high gear to get everything done before I rushed to the airport.

I walked my warm up laps and my hypochondria began yelling at me.  I knew a run was out of the question if I planned to stand upright the rest of the day.  Instead of running, I did my resistance training.  I watered all my flowers and plants and called it a morning.

Quickly showered and attempted to put my contacts in.  I am still not good at this.  It takes a lot of time and tears for me to get them in properly.  On a trip to the kitchen, I realized I couldn’t see and noticed one I worked so hard to get in my eye was missing.  I started over.

I hurriedly packed up my stuff.  I pack for business trips so frequently that I rarely forget anything.  I know what has to be packed and where it fits in the suitcase.  I got out of sync on one tiny thing this morning:  I was out of toothpaste in my travel bag.  This meat I had to leave the toothpaste out until after breakfast.

I got my work done and due to required errands, left my house at 11 am.  My first stop was to drop off suits at the cleaners.  The next stop was the post office to get a box out to my nephew in Iraq.  Did you know you don’t just pop into the post office with a box going to Iraq?  Oh no you don’t!  I did not know that.  After filling out forms and waiting in a line a second time, I had the ZIP code wrong.  I had to get out of line again and call my brother, who had to then call his wife who had to tell him where the correct address was so he could find it and bark it out to me over the phone and THEN get back in line.  What I thought was a 5 minute stop turned into 20.

On my one hour drive to the airport, I knew I left something undone.  I thought and thought….Dang it!  Our car tags expired yesterday!  I forgot to get the new sticker for the tags!  Oh well, my husband drives that car so I kept driving.  I went back over my rush out of the house and realized I did not make that last trip into the bathroom to make sure I had everything – the toothpaste!  Oh, no!  Not only did I leave the toothpaste, I forgot to brush my teeth…ewwewewewewe…..

I stopped at the bank and checked my suitcase to make sure I put my Rx’s in my travel bag.  I just wasn’t sure of myself any more.

I arrived at the airport with no boarding pass thanks to the Delta/Northwest fiasco.  The lines were long to check in.  I looked longingly over at the Elite/First Class check in line.  No one was there.  That used to be my line.  I used to be Elite until Northwest broke up with me.  I wondered….

I walked over to the Elite check in line and checked myself in.  The desk agent was not a nice a woman, she had just sent Mr. Infrequent Flyer over to the cattle drive line of regular check in.  I acted like I was supposed to be there and she just checked me right on through.

I made a pit stop by the ATM only to discover it didn’t work.  “Unable to dispense cash at this time.”  Shit!  I went through security and broke a nail.

I arrived at the gate where very annoying Infrequent Flyers were holding an Amway rally.  Aisles were blocked with bags of airport shopping crap and numerous carry ons.  I made sure I ran over a few items with my rolling briefcase as I said “excuse me” really loud.

The air conditioning system on the plane was not working.  It was damn hot.  We got a “technical” explanation by the pilot.  It was still damn hot.

Our flying time was 1 hour 7 minutes.  However, the wind was strong and our actual flying time was less than 45 minutes.  That is good, however, that was not good for landing.  In all my years of flying, I can only think of one other time I have been that damned scared landing.  It was bad.  People were screaming and crying.  I was hyperventilating. 

The plane was wobbling from side to side in the strong wind.  I could feel the plane’s automatic whatever-they-are stablizers jerking the plane as we came closer to the runway.  I could sense we were coming in way too fast, but I think we had to because of the 30 mph wind gusts.  We were still wobbling side to side when we hit the runway, first with the left wheels, then we seemed to bounce up and both wheels hit hard.  I was doing the yoga breathing thinking of clover and cottonwood trees because if I was going to die, I wanted to be doing something I enjoyed. 

Once we felt the front wheels hit, the pilot immediate reversed the engines and I was sure the plane would break apart before we got to the end of the runway.

But we did not.  We pulled into the gate in silence other than a few whimpers here and there.

I took my time getting to the car rental counter as I needed to de-stress from that landing.  My rental car was a nice SUV.  I had easy directions, straight up I-71 about 20 miles.  I was cruising along, enjoying the satellite radio and thinking bad thoughts about Budget Car Rental because this SUV had leather seats.  They know better than that.  But I was in too big of a hurry to make them change the vehicle for me so I took it.

I was in the left lane, singing along to Reba on a classic country station when I heard a pop and OH MY GOD, the damn hood popped open on the damn vehicle! 

My autopilot kicked in.  I did not panic.  I looked out my driver’s window and fixed my eyes on the edge of the shoulder.  I didn’t slam on my brakes.  I stopped as quickly as I could, pulling over until I could barely see the edge of the shoulder, hoping I was out of traffic.  When the vehicle came to a stop, I quickly looked in the rear view mirror and judged that I was out of the traffic lane.  I couldn’t find the emergency flashers.  I got out of the vehicle and just stood there.  Then I panicked.

The world still has Good Samaritans and at times like these I believe the King James Version is the literal truth, even the “wives submit” part.  Not one, but two cars pulled over to help me. A woman stood with me asking me if I was Ok and if I needed to call someone while two men shut the hood.  There is a nice dent in it, but it is shut, beat down and will not pop open again. 

I didn’t want to hold these nice people from saving the rest of the world so I said I was OK and we all left.  My heart was racing.  My legs were shaking. 

I thought about how the day had unfolded so far and deduced that maybe I am supposed to meet my untimely demise on this trip and I keep cheating death.  I thought about this for a few minutes and I became very afraid to eat dinner.  Surely I would choke to death. 

I found my exit, number 131. I believe it is the largest truck stop exit in the entire state of Ohio.  And there, just across from the Pilot Travel Center -  is my Hampton Inn.  It is a good thing I developed a fear of dinner because my choices were Arby’s, White Castle and/or McDonald’s.  Determined to make this day get better, I headed toward the nearest “city” 10 miles away.  Surely a city that size would have a Chili’s, Applebees, maybe even a Subway.

I drove and drove.  I found a Taco Bell,  Wendy’s, two Kingdom Hall of Jehovah Witnesses, a Goodwill donation center, a run down Walmart and a Sears hardware.  Turned around and drove 10 miles back and ate at Cracker Barrel.

As I sat at my table, awaiting my Chicken -n- Dumplins platter, I knew that my heart could not take another hit today.  I had used up all my adrenaline and I was still shaking from the events of the day.   I ate slowly and tried to enjoy my meal after all, it could be my last.  I still had to cross the highway in truck traffic to get back to the hotel.

Back at my hotel, there is no room service, no bar for a glass of wine, however, the frumpy desk clerk offered me a chocolate chip cookie.  I now sit in my room, yoga breathing and trying to relax as a violet thunderstorm rages outsideThe lightening is hitting all around and the thunder shakes the walls.  When will this day be over?

Yesterday my husband and I went for a two mile run.  The temperature was in the low 80’s, it was humid and a light drizzle fell.  I thought it felt like a tepid sauna.  I was determined to give this short run all my energy and see if I could break through a wall I’ve hit recently.  Unfortunately, I had no luck.

Last year around this time, I discovered the “chi” posture in running.  I started running using the posture as much as I could.  It takes a little more effort and although it cut a minute off my 10 minute mile, I had to build up to do it and could only run a mile in that posture.  I wanted to do more!  I wanted to do 5K in 27 minutes.  How awesome would that be? I love finishing in first half of 5K race!  With a 9 minute mile, I could finish in the top half quite a bit!

Things happen.  Poopoo occurs.  The hypochondria kept nagging me, at times knocking me out of exercise completely.  I tried everything to get past it and finally, when the hypochondria kept me from working, I went to the doctor.

After just one test, the problem was found.  I know WHAT is wrong and that helps me mentally, but it has knocked me backwards in my exercise and physical activity.  I know the doc doesn’t want me to run but he would not come out and tell me to stop.  He said being out of shape and overweight would be worse on my back than running.  He advised me not to increase the number of days I run each week and not to increase my miles.

Ok, fine.  My goal of running a 10K is no longer a goal.

So why have I gone from a 9 minute mile to a 12.5 minute mile?  That is all I can do.  I track my running and for the past 8 weeks, all I can manage is 12.5 minute miles whatever  my distance.

My glass is always half full, no matter what, so I don’t berate myself and kick my own ass over this decline in abilities.  I do believe I can get better if I just work at it.  I believe if I lost a few pounds, it would be easier to run.  I have a BMI that the internet says is the high end of “normal” so I know I can lose a few pounds and still be normal.  There’s no worry about me ever being underweight, I love chocolate and BBQ tater chips too much for that.

I need to push myself more.  I get a little winded on the route and I walk for a minute or two.  See, not only do I have the issue with my back, my hypochondria is more involved.  I am anemic.  So I have a good excuse to walk, my cells aren’t getting enough oxygen.  Don’t forget the arthritis in my feet.

So I have all these medical reasons for not running a 9 mile mile, hell, I’ve got enough doctor’s notes to file for disability and take to the bed.

I really want to get back to where I was last year.  But part of me knows that if I don’t, I have to accept the 12.5 minute mile and be thankful I can even do that.  I really don’t want to accept it, but I may have to.

I think every aspect of running is like life in general.  There are things in our lives that we enjoy, that we want, that mean a lot to us.  But what if something happens to take that away or diminish it?  You can beat yourself up over it, bang your head against the wall to change it or accept it and be happy.

There are some that would argue we should never accept less, we shouldn’t settle, we should never be complacent.  I’m not doing any of those things.  I want to do better, but the fact is s you can’t “think positive” your way out of the absolutes in life.   I have friends who have been happily married and then blindsided with a divorce.  What then?  Do your best to make it work, but if it doesn’t, accept it and move on.  What about losing your job?  You have a job you love, coworkers you adore and boom!  You’re laid off.   You have to move forward, but you have to accept your loss.

I’m not really happy about that 12.5 minute mile.  I don’t want to accept it and by George I’ll do my best to do better.  But there are things worse than a 12.5 minute mile that I am not facing right now and for that, I’ll be happy. If I must, I will accept my 12.5 minute mile and just be happy I finished the 5K, no matter what half I’m in.  After all, I still have my glass and it is always AT LEAST half full.

How else can I respond to people who tell me just how lucky I am to get to travel to fun places with work?

I don’t talk to people about where I go and what  I do.  Primarily because I want to be a normal person, just a peep in the hood.  I don’t want people to be intimidated by me or like me for what I “do.”  There is so much more to me that what I do for a living.  I want my friends to know the real me, not the me that dresses up in my work costumes and jets off to foreign places, like Florida.

My neighbor, Mrs. Cravitz, always asks if I’m going out of town.  My theory is that she plans her spy activities for the week and if I’m out of town, that frees her  to spy on other neighbors.  So she checks in with me.  She asked me last weekend if I was going to be home this week.  No, I replied, I would be gone through Thursday.

Of course she wanted to know where I was going and what I would be doing.  I always have snappy answers to questions like this, but since I strive not be a heartless snark, I refrain from answering “to hell to cavort with your momma.”

I told her I was going to Florida on business.  She wanted to know where.  I said south Florida but that was not good enough.  So I told her Naples.

Oh, she was ecstatic!  She’s been there this year!  She started asking me if I would go to this restaurant or that shop and when would I go to Sanibel.   I gave her a pitiful smile and said never as I would be working and would not likely leave the hotel property.

I will admit that it is nice to stay in five star hotels and resorts on business.  But how lucky am I?

I set the alarm for 3:30 am Sunday.  I drug my sleeping ass out of bed and got in the shower.  I quickly got ready so I could finish packing.  At 4:30, I drug my heavy suitcase out of the house and with all my might and my bad back, I slung it into my trunk.  I drove to the airport, it was still dark when I got to the parking lot.

At the check in counter, I endured the stress of trying to check in with Delta for a flight originally booked on Northwest (see previous post).  I hurried through security to the gate to (not) spend just a few minutes before boarding (see yet another previous post).

Arrived in Atlanta, I don’t even remember what I did during that short layover.  Arrived in Fort Myers, hopped in the car and drove fast.  I had to set up a trade show booth by 4 pm and then rush to shower, wash my hair and get all dolled up for the reception that started at 5:30.  No time to do anything other than rush.

The reception lasted until 8:30.  My coworker, the damnyankee, offered to buy my dinner but I was exhausted.  I had been up 16 hours and had consumed 2 glasses of wine by that time.  He acted offended that I said no but he is a damnyankee so I didn’t care.

Monday morning I set the wake up call for 5:30.  Showered, got ready and rushed to the breakfast meeting.  Attended a business meeting and break, schmoozing the whole time.  My email was filling up, I had 4 voice mails and I needed to get to work.  I went back to my room where I worked until 1 pm returning calls and answering emails.  At 1, I slapped on sunscreen and bathing suit and ran out to the beach.  I found a chair, pulled out a book and tried to enjoy the sunshine.

The wind was blowing so hard it kept blowing my hat off.  I choose the novel, Sarum, a story of ancient England, as my beach read.  Dear God, what was I thinking?  Who the hell reads books about human sacrifice practices of the ancient Druids on the damn beach?  Apparently I do.

I didn’t eat lunch, there wasn’t time.  At 3 pm, I went back to my room, reapplied sunscreen, put on running clothes and went for a run on the beach.  Or should I say an attempted run?  The wind whipped sand and salt in my face and contacts.  I’ve never worn contacts on the beach so I didn’t know the salty sweat would cause them to dry out, shrink and suction their dry selves to my eyeballs.  I know now.

My run last all of 20 minutes because that was all I could take.  I grabbed a $25 sandwich to go at the tiki bar and went back to my room.  I showered, washed my hair and took bites of my sandwich as I put on my makeup.  I reported back to the conference for the 5:30 reception, followed by dinner.   At 10:30 I was falling asleep in my chair as my coworker kept poking me with his damnyankee elbow.

I got back to my room at 11 and didn’t have th energy to wash my face.  I set the alarm for 5:15 and went to bed.

Tuesday morning I rose, showered, dressed and gussied up for the 7:15 breakfast meeting.  Followed by a business session and break as my email piled up and 6 voice mail messages registered on my phone.  I left the conference, went back to my room and worked until 3 pm.  I slathered on sunscreen and a bathing suit and headed to the pool with my novel of Druid murder and blood.  I found a nice pool chair in the shade, got situated and promptly fell asleep.

At 4 pm I had to make a decision:  go for a run or a strawberry daiquiris, made with real strawberries.  After a short deliberation, I choose the daiquiris.  I rushed back to the room at 6, showered, washed my hair, got all dolled up and met my damnyankee coworker and 2 clients at the tiki bar for “scooby snacks” and to watch the sunset.  How nice is that?  A gorgeous sunset in a beautiful locale and I’m with clients?

I excused myself at 9, faking swine flu symptons and went back to my room where I set the alarm for 5:15 and went to bed.  I had a break out session the next morning, so once again, shower, get the professional costume on and stand in front of a class of 50 men and tell them what to do.  And while I was doing that, my email box kept growing and so did my voice mail box.

That afternoon there was more work.  Phone calls, conference calls, research, etc.  At 4 pm, I had to stop working.  I was out of deodorant, I had actually used my fingernails to dig out the last morsel of my Dove solid that morning to have enough to get me through the morning.  I still had another conference function and the trip home to get through and I needed deodorant.  My 5-star room had shoe polish, woolite, make up remover, a comb and a loofah, but no deodorant.

Another dilemma was my valet parked car.  It would cost me $10 in tips to get my car and drive a couple of miles to the nearest Walgreens for deodorant.  So I thought about possible solutions.  I believe my ability to be creative with issues and come up with solutions outside the box is what makes me the successful person I am.

I remembered passing a Walgreens just before I turned on the road to get to the hotel.  It didn’t seem to be that far.  I put on my running clothes, put my room key and my debit card in my bra and literally ran to Walgreens.  It took about 12 minutes to get there, so I’m guessing it was just over a mile.  On this particular run, the stress incontinance hit me pretty hard, all the way into my shoes.  I smelled like a sweaty piss pond.  But I had to have deodorant.  I took a few yoga breaths and reminded myself that no one here knows me and I’ll never see these people again.  I marched into Walgreens, sweaty and pissy and bought my deodorant.  Then I ran back.

I showered, got dressed to the nines and descending the stairs for the “formal” banquet  only to see I was one of the few people who took “formal gala closing banquet” to mean “formal gala closing banquet.”  I had on my fabulous black dress and Cole Haan shoes, a velvet wrap and my expensive jewelry.  Most woman had on sundresses and embellished flip flops.  I sat through a very long dinner making small talk with clients and doing my best to be cheerful, entertaining, and engaging.  The banquet just drug on and on…..

At 11 pm, we called it a night and I sprinted to my room.  I still had to pack.  I crawled into bed at midnight and set the alarm for 6.

I got up that morning and quickly got ready.  I drug my 47.5 pound suitcase, rolling briefcase and travel bag down to retrieve my car and speed to the airport.  I left the hotel at 8 am EST that morning.  I traveled all day, pulling up in my driveway at 4 pm CST.  During the travel, the rush to make the connection, the delayed flight and boarding process, I returned calls, answered emails, found time to pee and fill my water bottle at the water fountain. While pulling my rolling briefcase through Concourse A, I felt it.  That deep slow agony in the base of my spine.  THE backache.  Oh shit.  Not now!  I put myself in the positions I learned in physical therapy to relieve the pressure on my protruding disc.  Yes, I looked like an idiot sitting at the gate with my lower back curved inward and my chest poking out and up to my chin.  But I didn’t care.  If people didn’t like that, I could always piss in my pants and see if they like that better.

I was exhausted when I got home.  I could have laid in my hammock and slept for days in the back yard.

But no rest for the weary.  My dear husband was happy to see me and I believe he wanted an attentive wife, not one nodding off while cooking dinner.  So I smiled and kept going.

Yes.  I’m lucky.   I just can’t wait to do this again.  I could just about pee my pants waiting for yet another lucky trip like this.

Dear Northwest Airlines,
After years of a tumultuous relationship, we have learned that even though we sometimes hurt each other for no reason, we do need each other.  It is that need, you for my money and me for your transportation, that we have stuck together through thick and thin. 

You’ve always had the upper hand, you know that, Northwest.  I have been at your mercy.  You have a permanent authorization on my Amercian Express Gold Card.  You have me by the purse.  You have run off many suitors I might pursue by hogging all the gates in Terminal B at the Memphis airport.  With you taking up all the space, no one else could easily get in.  You had me captive and you know it.

I’ve overlooked so many of your mistreatments.  When I have the really bad experiences in our interactions, I look for others to blame, like Infrequent Flyers or Barney Fife TSA agents.  Even though I know deep down that YOU are responsible for so many of my air travel misfortunes, my loyalty to you forced me to look for others to blame.

I realized last month that it was over between us.  I am disappointed that after all the years you called me your Platinum Elite Best Flyer, that you couldn’t even call me to tell me in person that we were done.  No, you took the passive agressive hurtful coward’s way out of breaking up with me.  You know how I found out don’t you, you spineless ass?  I tried to check a bag and was told I had to pay. 

What?  We had a deal, Northwest!  I was your Platinum Elite Best Flyer!  I do not pay for checked bags!  I was shocked when  the gate agent told me to pony up $15!  Surely this was a mistake!  She pulled up my records and broke the news to me, my heart sank.  I am off your elite list, Northwest.  You ditched me, you threw away the past 14 years of our relationship.  You said, through the gate agent, that I was no longer good enough for you.

How devastating for me to find out this way!  I looked painfully into the gate agent’s eyes, she could see my distress and she had pity on me.  She waived the fee that day to make me feel better but told me we were done.

I spent that flight to Omaha contemplating all we’ve been through, Northwest.  I can’t believe you dumped me like that.  I told you I was willing to stick with you through your merger with Delta.  I did not approve of this merger and I tried to talk you out of it, but you would not listen.  I was still by your side, using only nwa.com for my reservations and giving you that freedom to charge my AmEx card at your whim. 

And this is how you thank me.

I got past it, Northwest.  I reconciled in my mind that we were over, but we should remain cordial to each other.  After all, we still had confirmed plans together and we need to get along so that we both remain professional and unemotional about this break up. 

So, why Northwest, do you continue to treat me like shit? 

I can no longer check in on line.  You tell me in your nasty internet messages “itinerary not found.”  Why, Northwest? 

I tried to check in at your counter and you rebuff me, sending me along to Delta as you no longer wish to deal with me.  What have I done to deserve this, Northwest?

Apparently you have trashed talked me to Delta.  Why?  You send me to Delta for check in at the airport and then you purposefully don’t tell them I’m coming.  They can’t find my reservations.  You have punished me enough!

What used to take 5 minutes is now a battle of 30 minutes in getting checked in.  And you know this, and you know this is just pouring salt into the wound:  my seat assignments are in the back of plane, next to the lavratory where I get to look at and sniff every ass that passes me going to the toilet.  Why, Northwest? 

You could made this easier.  You could have told Delta of my million miles with you, of my Platinum Elite Best Flyer status, of my preference for aisle seats in the front of the plane, but no.  You have chosen not just to break up with me, but make my life hard.

Northwest, I hate you.  You are shitty.  I am glad you are going away and will be eaten by Delta.  Go ahead, trash talk me!  Destroy my confirmed tickets!  I don’t care!  I will rise above your pettiness.  I will build a new relationship, find a new partner and move on.  My life will be better without you in it.

I am moving on.  Although my reputation is shot with Delta, thanks to that creep, Northwest, Southwest wants me.  They have asked me to join them.  I will come out on top.

I wish I could read people better.  My manager can sit through a meeting and pick up on body language and nuances that I just don’t see and figure out people.  I can do this to some extent, but not to the extent I’d like to. 

I can pick up the obvious cues, when someone is a an asshole and I’ve got a nice accurate gaydar.  My inability to accurately and completely read people has not served me well in the past as indicated by more than average divorce decrees in my permanent files.

But today I think I did pretty good at reading people and wanted to share my observations.

The place:  Memphis Airport, 6 am, Gate B11, Delta flight to Atlanta departing at 7:05. 

I won’t muss up my clever post with the hassle of getting to the airport that early, you know, the fact I had to get up at 3:30 am and my suitcase was too fat to squeeze into the truck of my new car.  I’ll save that for later.

I sat watching the people arrive at the gate and kept up my eagle eye investigations through our landing in Atlanta at 8:45 EST.

I identified the Infrequent Flyers.  Here they are:

The 60-something man in the patchwork, quilted, seer sucker golf pants in red, orange and pink.  No one wears pants like that in public.  He is either recently single or he played flute in the junior high band and recalls those days as the best times of his life.

The 30-something chick who just crawled out of bed and still had on pajama pants.  Yes, I know 7 am is early for a flight.  If you don’t think you can get your ass out of bed in time to at least put pants on, then just sleep in your clothes.

The 30-somthing chick traveling with her bed pillow as her carry-on.

The older (than me) lady who kept reading her boarding pass as if it were a suspense novel.  She seriously could not put it down.  If she did take her eyes off of it to look up and listen to the pre-recorded announcements, she went right back to reading it as soon as the announcement was over.

The group of women carrying bags of foul smelling food and juggling jumbo cups of coffee from the Lenny’s counter onto the plane along with three carry-ons and recent eidtions of National Enquirer.

The tall nice looking 30-something man who sat in the window seat next to me.  I figured this out when he would not let me get up and let him in his seat, instead he tried to crawl over me, stepped on my feet and nearly kneed me in the chest.

The 40-something lady one row behind and across the aisle from me.  Her ipod was on so loud I could hear it over the engine noise. She was bobbing her head as if in a club trying to draw the attention of a dance partner and her ipod was so loud she could not hear the flight attendant’s announcement to turn off and stow all portable electronic devices.  Either that or she thought she was too cool for the rules to apply to her.

The lady across the aisle from me who pulled out her medium sized carry-on, put it on her arm rest and held it there after the flight attendant told her to put it away.  Perhaps the flight attendant only wanted her to put it away for a minute?  Although whether a person follows the rules or not is not my business,  I recognize unsecured carry-on shit as a danger to my safety in the event of a bad landing or wind shear.  Even something as lame a book becomes a deadly missile in just the right unfortunate airlanding event.

There were numerous infrequently flyers I didn’t single out, but they were all obvious when it was time to deplane.  Instead of following the protocol of allowing those in front of you to get up and go down the aisle first, there was a mad push of people barreeling down the aisle not letting anyone out of their seats.

The 60-something cocky man who blocked everyone else from picking up their valet checked bags off the cart because he couldn’t find his.  He fondled and pulled out every black bag on the cart, and due to his size, blocked the rest of us from getting ours.  I pushed to the front to grab mine and as soon as I got my hand on it, Mr. Obivilous decided to head butt me in the crotch while he wrestled a bag from the bottom shelf.   I hope he enjoyed that.  If I were not deathly afriad of the NO FLY LIST, I would have done something horrible to him in return.  Especially since he didn’t even acknowledge he hit me.

See? I’m doing better reading people.  I picked them all this morning. 

49 years, 1 week and 3 days old.

Degenerative Disc Disease

Protruding disc in lower back pressing into nerves

Constant, consistent low back pain

Arthritis in feet

Anemic

Stress incontinance

Wind

Rain

Traffic

Two miles in 25 minutes and 2 seconds

I’ll take it.

“You are married to this job, Donlyn, you need to step back and get some perspective.”  I barely heard the board member’s compassion as she tried to help me understand why I was being let go.   That was 1993 and I was completely blindsided by my dismissal as the executive director of a non-profit agency.  In my four years at the agency, I took the budget from  $100,000 year to $400,000.  Under my tenacity and leadership, we expanded from a 3 county service area with one facility to a 9 county service area with 3 fully funded facilities.

My position and my work in the cities and towns the agency served was high profile.  I was well known, my speaking calendar was full, I was called for commentary any time a story pertaining to my field was in the news.  How could I be dimissed, *poof* with no warning? I was devastated.

The board sent 3 members, the “personnel posse” to break the news.  I was in my office on a sunny February day.  When I saw the board members come in the front office, I was pleasantly surprised.  Board members seldom took an interest in the day to day operations of our agency.  But I soon picked up  that this was not to be a pleasant visit.

No reason was given. I was told I was no longer needed.  I knew that was not true at that particular moment as our state and federal audit was scheduled in the next 2 weeks and our United Way grant application was due in a month.  With that information, I pointed out that they did, in fact, need me at least another 6 weeks.  Of course I asked why.  I got no answer other than I was no longer needed.

I sensed that the 3 women sent to do this deed were not comfortable or happy about what they were doing.  They were just messengers.  It took a while – maybe 30 minutes – for me to shut up and let it sink in.  Yes, I was crying. One of the personnel posse  stayed in the outer office as I packed up my personal belongings.  It took several trips from the office to my car to get everything loaded.  Since we were a non profit, I brought many personal items to use in my office to save precious dollars of the agency’s money.  My typewriter, the coffee pot and small microwave, a side table, and other items had to go with me.

Being devastated is not a good emotion to carry with you into a new job hunt.  The financial position of my family  was in the desperate, barely making it paycheck to paycheck realm.  I could not afford to go without a paycheck for long.  Unemployment benefits were a very small help,  not enough to replace my paycheck.  In my confusion and distressed emotional condition, I had to put on the big girl panties and a smile and go find a job.  Fast.

When someone close to you dies, you are encouraged to give yourself time to grieve.  Most widows aren’t dating the day after their husband’s funeral.  Well, OK, some are, but they were probably dating before his funeral as well.  When someone gets divorced, they are encouraged to wait a respectable period of time before they date again.

I’m not a psychologist, although I love to hand out assvice, but I’m thinking primary relationships we all have are families, jobs and social groups we belong to.  My job loss felt like a divorce.  I was trying to figure out what happened but yet I had to move on quickly.  There was no time for reflection or wondering what I would do next.  I had to get going.  To me it was like trying to find a new husband in 2 weeks.  Although I have friends who have actually accomplished that feat, I wasn’t up to it.

It took 5 weeks  to find my next job.  I took a 20% pay cut, but I was offered medical insurance. I went from a high profile executive director, well known in 9 counties, to an administrative assistant for a VP.  I was not  embarrassed with my backwards move on the career path.  Reality was reality.  I HAD to have a job and I took the best thing offered to me.

My self esteem took a savage beating in my firing.  I painted a smile on my face every day I walked into that office but on the inside I was holding back tears.  I was trying to make new friends but it was hard. I had no confidence, I was emotionally distressed and most of the women in my office were single and sophisticated.  I had two kids at home and my husband at the time was a farmer.  They got off work and went to sunset  parties, I went home and busted clods with a breaking plow.

I spent a lot of time observing my new coworkers.  I realized I did not have the right clothes.  I did not have $10 a day to go out to lunch.  I didn’t get to socialize with them during the week or weekends for that matter.  They seemed to be a close bunch, but welcoming at the same time.

Just 3 weeks after I started working there, it was my 33rd birthday.  No one knew and I didn’t tell anyone.  I was still struggling inside and out with all I had experienced in the past couple of months.  Birthdays are reflective times and I was reflecting hard.  My marriage was shit, my husband was shit, I had worked my way up and I was knocked down so fast and without warning.  I was in a job I had to have but couldn’t bond with.  It was my birthday, I was 33 and life was too short to be this miserable.  I was sad about where I was and I didn’t see how I would ever get beyond the gloom and doom that had become my life.

Then the worst thing that could possibly happen happened.  The receptionist was coming toward my desk with roses and a big smile.  At first the site of the roses perked me up.  I thought nice things of my shit husband and considered if he sent those, he would move up a few notches on my list.  He had not acknowledged my birthday that morning,  there had been no happy birthday call from him and it was 2 pm.

I looked at the card and felt disappointment again.  The roses were from my mother.  OK, let’s give my mom points for trying to cheer me up, but I didn’t feel appreciative on that day.  All of the sudden everyone in the office knew it was my birthday and I did not want that attention.  I wanted to blend into the cube walls, I didn’t fit in, I didn’t want any attention.  I had to go to the bathroom and fight to stop the tears.  I could have made it OK if those stupid roses had not arrived!

I tried to stay busy and acknowledge the random birthday wishes with a smile.  I was fighting harder to hold back the tears of sadness and frustration.

Just before 3 pm,I was asked me to come to the conference room.  I walked in with my notebook and there they all were…my new coworkers.  They had a birthday cake and balloons for me.  Yes, I cried.  That day started a change in me.

It took a lot of encouragement from my new coworkers.  It took my manager telling me to be the confident, poised woman he interviewed again, It took being handed responsibility and told “I know you can do this” and it took months, but I finally got my confidence back.  I found out that summer why I was fired from the non profit agency.  It was a politically motivated move on the part of an attorney on the board who had aspirations to be elected judge.  She needed the right people on her side and part of that was helping the right people get the right jobs.  I was not the only victim of her politically motivated shake ups in the community.  I laughed when she was defeated in that election in the fall.

I got to know my new coworkers and I am still friends with many of them, although it has been years since we all worked together.  As I became myself at work, I accomplished many things.  I was employee of the year for our division in my second year.  I was promoted to VP right after my four year anniversary with the company.  I continued to move up in my career.  When I left after 12 years with the company, I was an SVP.  Mycompensation the last year I worked there was 10 times my starting salary.  And along the way, I divorced the shit husband and sent my mom flowers on her birthday.

When I think back on being fired that first time, it was devastating.  It beat my self esteem to a pulp.  I felt hopeless for a while, driven forward only by my need to survive.  Going back to work in a job that was so far beneath what I had done and excelled in was hard.  I didn’t fit in, I was scared, I needed to work and although I wanted better for myself, I was damned grateful for what I had.  It was one of the top 10 most stressful times of my life.

But getting fired was the single best thing that ever happened to me in my career.  And I am not afraid for it to happen again.