How I Got Here

I have a lot of anniversaries coming up, recently passed, etc and it's so hard to believe that I'm where I am today. I look at where I was a year ago, two years ago, five years ago, ten years ago, and there's a part of me that wonders how so much time has passed, and, more importantly, who I have become over the course of the last however many years. I hate to be cliché (no I don't), but it's been a journey. I've faced a lot of stuff, made some really hard choices, and muscled through whatever came my way. That, however, is not even marginally specific, so I figure I'll add a few things to that list.

The turning point for me was a year ago when I finally moved out of the apartment I was sharing with my psychotic roommate (See Becca and the tale of the psychotic roommate). Though I'd made the decision to move before he completely went off the deep end, it was that final act of signing the new lease earlier than expected and getting my crap out of there as soon as was humanly possible that brought me great peace and joy. This was the first in a series of events/decisions/what have you, where I advocated for myself and decided that I deserved more than sheer, unyielding misery. Several months later, I left the job that was making me very unhappy (though I learned and gained a tremendous amount from it) and started a job where I wasn't constantly in a position of proving myself. I wanted so badly for that other job to work, convincing myself it was the perfect company and position, that I was blinded to the fact that it was destroying me.

In short, I said enough already and took charge of my life. I realized that if I didn't believe in myself and decide that I was worth it - no one else had any reason to think differently. It was simple, but it sure as hell wasn't easy. I had to challenge fifteen+ years of self-hatred, often kicking and screaming that it wasn't fair and why should I have to change? Didn't I work hard enough already? I had to say to myself, Becca, put on your big girl pants (thanks Heidi!) and decide if this is what you want. I had to come to peace with the fact that it was okay if I wanted nothing more than the life I was living, but that took away my right to complain about it. I was incredibly bitter that all the people who told me that I teach other people how to treat me were totally right (I mean really, really bitter). There were a lot of tears, a lot of really hard conversations with people who forced me to face the truth and deal with, and a lot of decisions on my part that I would keep going, no matter how much I wanted to give up.


I say the same thing I heard so many times - if I can do it, trust me, dude - anyone can do it. How did I finish the first semester after my Mom died with straight A's? I put all my grief and energy into school. How did I cut ties with people in my family who were causing me pain and lose some of the people I grew up with? I found other people who made me feel valuable and taken care of. How did I graduate from college (the only one in my immediate family to do so) with no financial support and some serious health issues?  I worked five jobs (not something I'd recommend, just for the record), changed some plans, dropped some classes, and turned in papers I wasn't happy with just so I could finish. I thought I'd put out there - I still haven't looked at my final grades and I graduated almost six years ago - apparently there are some truths I'm not ready to face yet. 


Basically, I worked my ass off and realized that the only other option was not to survive, and that didn't seem like a viable alternative. People ask me all the time how I did it. They say they never could have made it through so much. Well - you'd be amazed what you're able to do when you have no other options. You'd be amazed what options you can find when you think it's completely impossible. I found that I had to be really clear with myself about what I was willing to sacrifice and what I wasn't. I had a lot of people with very different values who often thought I was making the wrong decision. No matter what, I always made the decision that was right for me and dealt with the good and bad things that came with it. I went with my instincts and learned to change them when they led me in the wrong direction. None of this was any miracle. Though I can look back and see when the changes happened, there were no 'a-ha moments'. Every choice and decision built on top of another one to get me to where I am today. I've got to say, I'm pretty freaking proud of where I am today, and so excited to see where I'll be tomorrow.


Thus ending the sappy post.

Becca and the tale of the psychotic roommate

Synopsis: When last we left our heroine, she was living with a bizarre Indian man in a two bedroom apartment in Buffalo Grove. Little did she know that bizarre would turn into full on crazy and she would have to plan an escape, compromising her safety and her funds. What follows is a harrowing tale of suspense, intrigue, and several trips to Bed Bath & Beyond.

You should know that I never give the short version of events - you've been warned.

This story is not based on actual events - it is a full recounting of actual events. Names have not been changed to protect the innocent, cause it's my blog, damnit, and I can do whatever I want.

I do feel it necessary to add the disclaimer that I am in no way a mean person, and would never consider saying these things to anyone, let alone someone I share a place with - let that be an indicator of my frustration and his psychosis.

Uday came home sometime in October of 2009 having just talked to a friend of mine working at a coffee place. He started his usual bizarre string of words and then asked why she was working at a coffee place when she was supposed to be a teacher. I glared at him and told him to go away. He then asked the fateful words that would change everything.

Uday: Do you hate me or something?

Me: YES! That can't possibly be a surprise!

U: What?!

Me: I asked you to move out months ago and you refused - didn't that give a marginal hint as to my feelings about the situation?

U: But we haven't had any arguments in a long time.

Me: Yes, that's because we didn't talk. And that has been fully intentional. It was the only way I could tolerate your existence.

U: You know, I thought we could be friends, but I'm very angry with you right now.

Me: Friends? Are you out of your f*ing mind?? Let me reiterate - I hate you. Kind of a lot! I've been doing everything in my power to survive until March when you said you would move out as the lease would be up.

U: I never said that.

Me: Hold please. That was the deal. That is the only reason I haven't murdered you or had myself committed. You have GOT to be kidding me . . . 

The rest of that conversation is kind of a blur. There were some key moments over the next few months, including him flashing my lights on my birthday at midnight to wake me up so I could blow out the candles on the cake he got me. He wanted me to smile for a picture, I told him to be incredibly careful because I had a sharp knife, I was tired, and I was angry. He didn't so much get it - that should have been a clue.

He went home to India for a blissful month while I continued my apartment search, basked in the glory of having my own place again, and enjoyed the peace that comes with being free of an annoying five year old. I found a great apartment (where I am still living), with the catch that the rate would only hold if I moved in the next four weeks. I sent Uday an email asking if he would be okay releasing me from the lease a bit earlier than expected. He gave a non-commital answer, but I went with it and signed the document that would free me from the tower of misery. 

Uday came home in late January and asked his normal string of stupid questions, but it was not until Thursday of that week that he eclipsed even his normal level of crazy. He asked what was in a box I had in the hallway. I told him it didn't matter and stop being obnoxious. Over the course of the evening, he told me he thought someone planted something in that box, was convinced that his company had me involved in a reverse interview process (no - I still have no idea what that means), feared that the apartment was bugged, and went ballistic when I told him the reason his bathroom looked marginally different is that the maintenance men tried to fix his sink instead of the kitchen sink because of a miscommunication. He yelled that the maintenance men had planted microphones in the sink, how could I possibly let anyone into the apartment when no one was home, and that nothing was safe anymore. The next morning, he told me to speak very quietly and not to say anything to anyone because my phone was being tapped, his phone was being tapped, and his parent's phones (in India, mind you) were being tapped. 

Given the bizarre people that have come into and out of my life, I have a very low tolerance for crazy. I went to work, immediately called a few people I know who might direct me to appropriate resources, and attempted to figure out the best course of action to deal with a person suffering from schizophrenia (yes, contrary to popular belief, I was qualified to make that diagnosis). After much deliberation, I went home that evening, put a bag together with stuff for the next few days, and high-tailed it out of there - particularly when I ran into Uday and the craziness had seemingly gotten worse. On the way to a karaoke bar in the middle of nowhere Illinois, a deer ran into my car. Yes - a deer ran into my car - not the other way around. It was about 7 degrees out that night - AWESOME! My friends came out to my car, looked at the damage, and joked about the deer-bris - including the tiny tuft of fur in the passenger door. I convinced a friend (conveniently the coffee house aficionado from earlier) to let me spend the night, particularly given the events that transpired in the previous 24 hours.

This time, with even more caution, I went back to my apartment, grabbed a few more things, and tried to make a quiet exit. Conveniently - not so much. Uday went around in a bit of a haze, seemingly looking for food. I told him there was soup in the freezer - take it- I could get more if the need arose. He (again) went ballistic, asking me if I knew the importance of good nutrition and soup, how could I not have told him about this, blah, blah, blah. I told him it was lentil soup (despite his objections) and that he probably would not get cancer by cooking it in the tupperware in which it was encased. He wanted proof of such, and I did my best not to throw the nearest object at him. He asked for the phone number of the friend who made me the soup so he could "thank her". I'm not sure if my response was "Not a chance in hell," but that seems like something I would say. He called several more times over the course of the evening (I didn't answer), thanking me for the soup, confirming that it was lentil soup - though it had more lentils than broth than he would have thought the soup would have, there did not appear to be any other (poisonous) ingredients, and, by the way, am I sure that no one else was in the apartment because the cable was kind of screwed up. 

I went to work the next day, realized that I was completely useless because I was totally preoccupied with my situation, and asked for the rest of the week off so I could pack, move, and figure out how to get the hell out of there as soon as humanly possible. For the record, Thursday night (of the previous week) was the last night I would spend in my apartment. I went into full-on action that week, pushing my move-in date up a week, figuring out a moving company, finding packing materials, procuring funds from my 401k (don't ask), and devising a plan that would allow me to pack covertly so as not to frighten the animals (Uday - not my cats). Throughout all of this - there were the minor details of not being sure whether I could get out of my lease, calling the police only to find that being crazy is not, in itself, a punishable offense, and - oh wait - I'm broke and don't get paid until Friday (move-in day).

I'd like to say that the next few days (and weeks, and months) went off without a hitch - but, seriously people, this is me. My apartment complex is a little confusing, so I spent a full hour driving around a quarter of a mile radius trying to locate my building (in complete darkness) with my cats crying in the back seat. A kindly drunk man pointed me to my apartment, where I tied a (giant) piece of red fabric around the pole of my patio to make it easier to find again. I'm not so much organized, so when the movers came, it was kind of a disaster. I did manage to get more or less everything to my new apartment and slept beautifully on Friday night, finally free of the crazy that was my (soon to be) former roommate. This was the day before Super Bowl Sunday and Uday was quite worried that the TV would not be hooked up, allowing him to watch the precious game. Saturday morning, I called several of my friends (with great power and intimidating demeanors) to help me into the apartment and to protect me from the giant pile of crazy. One friend suggested I call the police if I was truly that afraid, but I decided to chance it and brave it on my own. Thankfully, he was not there the moment that I came in, so I was able to steal to my room pretty quickly to try and gather the last of my things. 

Unfortunately, he came home at some point in the afternoon, but only after going to the leasing office to see his options. In the grand conspiracy theory of the week, the management was now in on the plot and would prey on his naiveté to cheat him out of the money that was rightfully his. No argument to the contrary would alter his opinion (and yes, I was stupid enough to try), so there were several 2 and 4 hour conversations, often consisting of my asking him what it would take for me never to have to see him again (perhaps not the best negotiating technique). Much frustration ensued, and I called on a friend to bring boxes and help me pack faster. We went pretty late into the evening until she had to start heading home, so we began to load my car. Let me also state, the passenger door did not open, thereby making the packing process all the more challenging. Uday kept trying to help, despite my objections. I finally told him that I would call the police if he didn't leave me alone. Surprise, surprise, he took offense and kept trying to help. I kept up my end of the bargain and called the police. A police car came to the scene in about ten minutes. Followed by another police car. Followed by an ambulance. Followed by a fire truck. Ummmm, crap . . . 

I explained that it's probably not a great idea to throw a S.W.A.T team on a paranoid, schizophrenic foreigner, but they assured me that it was procedure, and he would only see them if he put up a fight and it was deemed necessary. I let the two police officers into my building, showed them my apartment, and waited in the hallway (on the opposite side of the door). They knocked on the door and explained that I was worried about him and wanted to make sure he was ok. He exclaimed that he was worried about me and invited them in. He asked them if they wanted to sit down and continuously offered them water. He explained that the main issue was that I said I would setup the TV so he could watch the game tomorrow, and couldn't they make me follow through on that promise. I should mention, Uday was incredibly loud (one of the things that made me particularly crazy when he had phone conversations in rapid Indian with his parents at 3 in the morning), so I heard the whole thing through two doors and a hallway. One of the officers eventually came out, assured me that they had spoken to Uday and he would allow me to get the rest of my things without getting in my way, and let me into my apartment. Uday (being off his rocker) still offered to help me; the cops kindly told him that I was ok and didn't need his help. He then had a hurried conversation with one of the officers, asking what he should do about the flier he'd received from the (immigration office?), and why would any one want him to stay in this God-forsaken country. The officer told Uday he could simply ignore the mailing, or even throw it away, should he choose to do so. Uday was concerned that this was against the law, and the officer assured him that it was not  official government communication, and there would be no repercussions for tossing it. Somehow, I managed to get the rest of my things together as quickly as I could, forfeiting some frozen food and other items that wouldn't fit into my car. Late that evening, I made it home and cried, "Free at last! Thank God almighty, I am free at last!" Little did I know . . . 

The short (ha!) version of the next few months is that Uday went even crazier, was convinced that it was the job of the apartment complex to serve as the mediator for roommate conflicts, and took a full 45 days to go to the leasing office (several times a day) and sign a new lease. Incidentally, at some point shortly thereafter, Uday lost his job (shocking, I know) and was deported - wait, I'm sorry, chose to go back to India where he would attempt to find a second arranged marriage (the first one called off before he came back to the states on the count of him being completely nuts and impossible to deal with). Prior to signing the new lease, there were a dozen phone calls, generally facilitated by the guy at the leasing office telling me he could feel my pain and he had to deal with Uday as well), and I finally told Uday that he could sue me for the rent due for the remainder of the lease. 

Moral of the story - if your initial instinct is 'hey, it's kind of weird that this guy is more interested in CBS' Monday night line-up than seeing the apartment for the first time' - go with it. A lease is a binding document. Unless your co-habitor is violent towards you (in which case, you still need to remain in the residence and kick him out), there's no getting out of the lease. Being crazy is not a reason to be thrown in jail (with and in itself). Craigslist - good for furniture and other inanimate objects, bad for finding people to share a space with for long periods of time.

I end this story on the happy note that I'm pretty sure Uday's still psychotic, I just signed a lease giving me another year in my beautiful one-bedroom haven, and no restraining order was necessary to end my relationship with that great big pile of crazy.

Letters to no one (specific)

Dear Mother Nature:

This serves to acknowledge receipt of the giant can of whoop-ass delivered over the last 60 days. I would like to assure you that your absolute reign and authority over the state of Illinois is understood to be greater than all of the Daleys combined, as indicated by the Lake Shore Drive incident several weeks ago. Texas, California, and New York do not have the storage space required to accept your shipments, and kindly request that you forward their deliveries to Siberia. No further demonstration of your power is necessary, I'm pretty sure the world gets it by now. I request that you cease delivery, or at least provide a good pair of ice skates and a covered garage so I can get to work as required.

Your humble servant,
Becca

Dear druggies down the hall:


Though I am sure the bowl you just smoked was, as you claimed, 'so dope,' it was not my intention to get a contact high while taking my laundry upstairs. You might remember signing a lease that said mari-ju-a-na is bad, Febreze is good. Next time, take it to the wide expanse of land surrounding the complex.


Your (now hungrier) hallmate,

Becca

Dear Apartment Complex:

I propose a compromise that will suit both of our needs quite well. You remove snow from the entire path - not just a half of it - and place salt on the areas formerly occupied by snow, thereby ensuring I do not suffer a concussion from falling backward on the skating rink that was once my sidewalk. 

I, in turn, will be alive, and able to pay my rent.

Is this a suitable arrangement?


Sincerely, 
Becca (the bruised and battered)

Dear State of FL:


It has come to my attention that you have declared a monopoly on "lovely weather" and this serves as legal notice to cease and desist. Additionally, you are hereby forbidden to use the following words or phrases: Cold, Freezing, Chilly, Crappy Weather, Bad Weather, Winter, Coat, Gloves, Mittens, Heater, Frost, Scarf, Polar Fleece." A more comprehensive list will follow. 



Sincerely yours,


The rest of the US

I'm getting married! (To a suitor to be named later)

That's right, folks - I'm getting married in 2012! There is the inconsequential detail that I'm not actually dating someone right now, but I feel that is something that can easily be overcome. I have had a number of people who have told me this goal is unreasonable, and to them I ask - why do you have a pathological need to destroy my dreams, and consequently my future? Need I remind you that it is only February, and that gives me a full 20 months to enter into a relationship, fall madly in love, and have a small, tasteful wedding? If the beginning of 2012 nears and I have yet to find that special someone to spend the rest of my marriage with, I am willing to make an amendment to my goal and instead of being married by 2012, I will be engaged by 2012. To those of you who still find this unreasonable, I no longer wish to associate with you as you clearly wish me nothing but misery forever more, forever more, forever more.

Technophobia

Being in the tech support field, I come across technophobia a lot. People are often afraid of breaking their devices, perhaps even terrified that if they do something wrong, Steve Jobs and Bill Gates will personally come to their homes and berate them. People - this isn't true.

There is no almighty higher power that shuns you if you don't connect your iPhone to your computer. Big Brother is unaware of your anti-virus software (or lack thereof). Contrary to popular belief, the employees at tech-type stores do not openly mock you (though occasionally we will in the back, but that's only if you're an ass hat). There is no need to apologize for your lack of technical knowledge or skill. I know this may come as a surprise, but your devices are not capable of killing you. Perhaps I should add a caveat here: Your devices can electrocute you if you use them in the water or do other stupid things. That is bad. Additionally, if you have a CRT TV or old iMac or eMac(the ones that look like there's a bubble coming out) - dispose of it carefully. I have no desire to call the haz mat team because you thought it would be fun to take it apart or leave it on the curb.

This post was motivated by a recent conversation with someone who shall remain nameless (unless I talked to you personally and already told you who it is while openly mocking him). He received another call while we were talking (on his HOME phone, mind you), and was convinced he'd hung up on me. I assured him that I was still there - paused, and verified that he was at home and not on a cell phone. Yes, indeed, he told me, he was at home. Furthermore, this is the phone he has had for several years. He claimed that he was a 'techno-phobe' and was thus incapable of learning call waiting. Yes folks, I said call waiting. The technology that's been in use for a MINIMUM of 15 years, and is only complicated for 75 and 80 year olds. Granted, there are some phones I have difficulty operating - mostly from lack of knowledge, but I cannot blame my ignorance on being scared of said phone. If you make a mistake, will the phone bite you? Does the procedure involve anything other than pressing a single button? No - then don't blame the issue on being afraid of technology so much as not being interested in learning about it. I'm good with that. I can understand that. I can even relate to that - but if you're capable of operating a motor vehicle, I assure you you are capable of making a phone call. Not sure about that? RTFM!

The problem with iPhones . . .

As an Apple aficionado, this title may strike you as odd. Perhaps I should explain more . . .

In my current tech support role, I am the Apple guru, so iPhone deployment is delegated to me. Normally, this is not a problem. Today, however, there are four iPhones sitting in my cube waiting to go to their respective owners. Each of these phones is activated and has the work email account setup on it. As it takes a 3rd party app to change the mail alert sound, I am hearing the same tone over and over and over again. To further complicate matters, my two partners in crime (in the cubes opposite me) also have iPhones, and one has a Mac. As such, when an email comes into the tech support box, there are alerts going off everywhere. Sometimes this makes things easier, as I know when a ticket is coming in and don't look to my personal email for some magical piece of communication. When we are all in a meeting, however, with three Macs, two iPads, and four iPhones between us - there may as well be a fire alarm going off.

Back to the issue at hand - while composing this post, at least three of the phones waiting to be deployed have received new messages. When hearing that sound, I tend to look to my phone to see what might be coming in. I sit in a confused haze trying to figure out why I have a mail alert and no new mail, until I realize the ridiculous number of iPhones in my vicinity. Oh wait - a message came in that was actually for me! I could only tell because the tone was closer to me and clearer. And since starting that sentence, three more have come in on the other phones. And so - if you call me or email me and I don't answer, it's not that I'm actively ignoring you, it's that I'm banging my head against my desk trying to make all the bells stop ringing.

Weather - a diatribe

Ten years ago, I wrote the following (see amendments below):

Imagine if you will never having seen a snowflake fall. Though I cannot speak from experience, I believe the wonderment of snow fades after the first few encounters. Coming from the sunny state of California, we break out the scarves at the chilly 55 degrees. In one week, I will be eighteen years old and I made my first snow angel this morning. My roommate, somewhat bewildered at my ignorance to all things snow-related, taught me some of the finer points of snow etiquette. For example, I never would have known that you can write in snow with your feet. When she told me we should write something, I took my gloved finger and began to draw. After she got over her initial deep bellied chuckle, she explained that one writes with one's feet in order to save time. I shrugged my shoulders and proceeded to write with my feet.

I am told that the thrill of snow will not last me through an entire Chicago winter, but I highly doubt this assertion. Perhaps by March I will wish for sun again, but at the moment, I am having a ball. I'm sure the vast majority of people are glad that they do not have to room with me, as my wonderment began at approximately 6:00 this morning. Through muttered claims that I have completely lost my mind, my roommate got her boots, scarf, etc. on and joined me for a good hour of play time. I looked in awe at the snow covered trees and buildings, not knowing that this was, indeed, reality.

Those of you who have lived in this all your life have been making fun of me since the day it broke 45 degrees. I have been told that the lack of leaves on trees was just a conspiracy perpetuated by midwesterners. Let us take a moment to remember that I have absolutely no way of knowing anything about a winter. So forgive me if my snowballs are less than perfect. Excuse my haphazard snowmen. Attempt to hide your laughter when you seen a fully grown woman attempting to catch a snowflake on her tongue. I do not know what it feels like to be in temperatures below zero. I have never seen a blizzard on more than the news. I haven't a clue as to what frostbite looks like or feels like. I am, for lack of a better expression, clueless.

Understand one other thing about snow that people often forget once they reach the ripe age of ten. Every snowflake is different and beautiful. I was convinced that the shape of a snowflake was nothing more than the artistic vision of children's illustrators. When I saw that snowflakes were tiny, I was truly in shock. I thought that these flakes were, indeed, the size of a piece of paper. Imagine my surprise to see these gorgeous creations covering my new winter coat. This winter, please take a moment to appreciate the beauty of snow and the glory of winter. Yes, the weather outside is frightful, and I'm sure the fire is delightful, but imagine your life without this yearly puzzlement.

Ok, it has now been more than one winter since I wrote this lovely bit of prose and my attitude has changed just a bit. 

The first snowfall of the year is still quite majestic - particularly before it has been plowed. Thereafter, not so much. Granted - I only had to shovel a driveway in the winter of 2004, but that was definitely enough for me to realize - snow is very cool for kids - not so much for those of us who have to drive/live/work. I am most definitively not in love with brushing snow and ice off of my car, nor the sudden decrease in parking spots. I keep telling myself I'm going to move somewhere with a covered garage - but we all know that hasn't happened yet and isn't looking promising in the near future. I built a few snow-creatures in 2001/2002, and again this past December (2010). I realize why I waited nine years and it's likely I'll be waiting another nine. 

Children are inherently better suited to making snowmen/women/dogs/what have you, as they are short, and therefore closer to the ground. Those snow creatures need to have a base and body, and that starts at the ground - in other words - work those quads or it's going to hurt. Additionally, it takes a ridiculous amount of snow to make a snowman, and that is not always readily available. When it comes to the final shaping/perfecting, it is important to remember that snowflakes are tiny and fragile. It takes forever and a day to get that snow to pack and half a second for it to disintegrate into useless piles of powder. Have patience, wear layers, and ignore the pointing and staring at a grown woman frolicking in the snow.

One final thing - a few weeks ago, Chicago had a massive blizzard. Numbers vary from city to city, but I believe my current residence got 19 inches of snow - in less than a day. Yes kids, it snowed a toddler. I saw snow drifts as tall as I am - but I'm somewhat vertically challenged, so extrapolate what you will. While getting my car towed (in an unrelated incident), I learned that the city of Chicago gets 18 foot trucks to pick up the snow and take it to the nearest empty field - Gary, Indiana - you've been warned.