Saturday, December 10, 2011

Slow death


I've been hesitant to write this, based on something along the lines of: if you have a hammer, everything looks like a nail and if you have shamanic practice, everything looks like initiation.

My workhouse closed its doors and I was the only one happy with the announcement; it was my opportunity to begin my freelance career. But then a handful of us were asked to continue on as a new company. If I said no then I was saying no for everyone; everyone was needed to get the new company going. I didn't feel I could say no.

My job evolved into something I couldn't handle. I actually melted down at work-- more than once. It was humiliating to fail so publicly in front of people I'd worked with for more than a decade. One day I walked out, spouting to my boss, "This job and I do not get along. This job and I do not get along."

The next day I gave an open-ended notice. When they could manage without me, I'd leave. It was months before I could leave. The process was like a slow death. I was repeatedly presented with my shortcomings-- so many shortcomings! I watched my boss go through the stages of grief: denial, bargaining, anger.

Finally she called me into her office to arrange a termination date: November 18, the day my father died, the day of my one and only paranormal experience that got me into all this psychopomp stuff.