Feast of Stephen

Wow.  Did I forget to mention I've quit my job?

Today is a day off; then three days of work; then I'm free.  I've been going back and forth about writing a letter to the Board of Directors of the organization, pointing out why they have the most incredible rate of turnover of employees (almost entirely by decision of the employees themselves) and mentioning that no one has expressed any curiosity over why I'm the latest addition to the ongoing outflow (my boss asked me what I'm doing next - which is, very deliberately I might add, not the same thing).  But after actually sitting down and writing a letter to the Board president, I came to the realization that I just did not want to have to talk to her and tell her all the things that she's showed no interest in in the past.  I wish I could make things better for the friends I leave behind at the office, but I know by now that that's not something I can accomplish.  But writing the letter did help blow off some of the steam.

On the other hand, they did give us incredibly ugly logo'd golf shirts.  What, not a fair substitute?  Remind me to run out and take up golf immediately.

And so this is Christmas, to coin a phrase.  Or, actually, the Feast of Stephen.  Jerry and I never used to make a huge deal out of Christmas, so the fact that I spent the day alone wasn't that big a deal.  We'd put up a live tree, once I got over my feelings that having a tree in a place I lived in was just too weird (I'm Jewish, y'all - a secular Jew, but still);  Jerry would enjoy the fact that he was allowed to decorate it as he liked without complaint from anyone (his previous life apparently hadn't afforded him that luxury), he'd put the lights on it, I'd put the ornaments on it; we'd do a fancy meal - but that was it.  I'd gotten so tired of the buy-gifts-because-the-calendar-says-so routine that I'd managed to get almost everyone I know that would be someone I'd exchange gifts with to agree not to do it anymore, so Jerry and I never exchanged gifts at the holidays (I love giving gifts to people, don't get me wrong - I just prefer to do it for their own special days, like birthdays, or if I see something on some random day that I think they'll like). He might go off and spend some time with his kids and their families.  But having him not here on Christmas isn't worse for me than not having him here on any other day.

On the other hand...

On the other hand, not having him here on any day at all is causing me to cry a lot these days.  My latest guess is that the antidepressants really were doing something - they were numbing me out, and now that I'm off them, nothing is protecting me from the real grieving.  Maybe.  I just hope this is something I'm going to work my way through and beyond - not, of course, that I'll ever stop missing him, but that I'll be able to come to terms with the fact that he's... well, you know, we've been through this.  Many, many, many times.

In other news, having decided on where I'm going feels so amazingly good.  I loved Jerry more than anything, and I will never, ever regret my decision to move out here to Midwestern suburbia, but oh my God, if there's somewhere I do not belong, it's Midwestern suburbia.  I left my apartment in Manhattan for the last time in tears, and every time we visited there I counted down the time left in each visit with dread, knowing the days were ticking away and soon I'd have to leave it.  The thing that made leaving it bearable was that nothing made me happier than being with Jerry, no matter where he was - but (guess what) he's not here anymore.  And the idea that I can go to New York and not have to leave?  Is it possible?  There are a lot of difficult logistics to figure out... but I'm determined to do it.  Having something clear to look forward to is amazing.

Anyone wanna buy a three-bedroom two-bathroom house with the most beautiful maple woodwork you'll ever see?  It is going to kill me to part with it, to leave this place, to... yeah, blah blah blah.  Said it before.  Said it a million times.  It's still true.  It's still what I have to do - what I want to do.  Yes.  What I want to do.  I could spend the rest of my life sitting here with the reminders of Jerry, with the results of his talent and hard, hard work - and part of me would be glad to have it.  But that wouldn't be a life that would make me happy.  And I have to believe "happy" is a possibility.  Someday.

So that's the view from here on the Feast of Stephen.

And by the way: