When did tact become a lost art? I’m sick of brutal honesty and would really rather have a little gentle pat on the head. Tact. If telling someone everything you think is hurtful to them, why do it? I believe in telling the truth, but that doesn’t mean you have to make it mean.

I spend a few hours a week at the daycare where my son and daughter went for many years. I help with the data and the bookkeeping. It doesn’t take much time, because it’s only a database of 40-50 constituents. That’s hardly anything. But now that my state disability has ended and I don’t have to worry about keeping my hours down, I let them know that if they need me more often, I’m available. They currently have the church secretary spending part of her time there, and that isn’t very convenient for anyone.

Today, the pastor came down to talk to me about it. He had “reservations”. First of all, he said that Arlene was there because they needed a friendly personable person to interact with parents and prospective clients. Second, Arlene was there so that he had someone he trusts to keep an eye on things. Third, he felt that I wouldn’t be able to give full concentration to things with the trial coming up. And he asked if I “really” feel I know how to do everything on the computer. I’m sure that he had the kindest intentions, but that speech sucked. Because in stressing why he needs it to be Arlene in the office, he leaves one to infer that my skills and qualities aren’t the ones that she has. Perhaps I’m being paranoid or overly sensitive, but it made me feel that I am seen as unfriendly and morose, untrustworthy, on the verge of a breakdown, and overreaching for something that I am just too stupid get the hang of. How on earth did I manage a database of more than 25,000 active constitutents or keep my itchy fingers away from the millions of dollars in contributions that flowed through my hands? And to think, that facebook quiz claimed that the hidden qualities of my name proved that I am “popular”. That, or I’m an Irish fertility goddess, take your pick.

Read in the church newsletter this evening, that the WVCC has hired a consultant to write grant proposals. Hello! Fundraiser in the house! Asked several times for a chance to talk about their needs and develop a plan. Former colleague was going to go partners in a consulting firm. But, no one wants to pay me for my services. Free, they can’t get enough of them. Paid, I can’t even get an interview – not even in my own church or at the college where I worked for 25 years.

I never did understand the point of the story of Job and I still don’t. Why keep loading sorrow onto the same people, one thing after another? If the point is to see when we will cave, I throw in the towel. Caving! Giving up, here. Lovely game, but I don’t want to be greedy – let’s give someone else a turn. And the next person who tells me something like, “God never gives you more than you can handle” is going to get punched in the nose. I’m WAY over that threshhold. Tried to tell my frustrations to my mom and she told me that it’s probably all because of my weight. Well, great. That makes me feel so much better. And of course, she said that I’m also too old. Swell. At dinner my cousin went on and on about how religion is a crock and when you’re dead you’re dead. I tried to inject the thought that someone who has recently experienced the loss of children might have a need to lean on a crutch or two. I can’t handle the thought that there is nothing at all after death, because that would mean that everything that was my beautiful boys is gone forever and that I will never be with them again, even just as energy particles. But, he just plowed on ahead and he just kept on, with my mother chiming in to say that she doesn’t believe there’s anything after death either. Lovely. This has been a really crummy day. There is nothing worse than sobbing by yourself. I don’t count the cat, because rubbing his tooth against my nose and biting my chin isn’t as comforting as he probably means it to be.

So, tact. I’ve had bloggers tell me in the last couple of weeks that I am narrow minded, prejudiced, scary, bizarre, and a professional victim. Now I can add so many more things to my list, like fat, and old, and not to be trusted. I’m feeling better already. Such a boost to my self esteem. Huzzah! Life is good.


About griefsjourney

Neal's mom. Devon's and Ian's Oma.
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