I feel strange this time of year.
Nervous, full of apprehension. I love the pumpkins, the leaves, the sweets. Other things scare me; the fake gore, the spooking, the decorations meant to mimic death.
I have a hard time with it.
I associate this time of year with the melancholy that always haunted my father on the holiday, after my grandmother died on October 31st.
I also cannot separate myself from the memories of being raped this time of year. That fear that other people desire and pursue by going to haunted attractions follows me as I walk down a dark street this time of year.
I don’t notice it once November really gets going, or much before the second week of October. I wish I wasn’t aware of it at all.
My bosses are coming down to meet with me and my staff tomorrow. For several weeks now, they’re supposed to have met with me to go over things, make some decisions and so on. They have neglected to do so, regardless of my pleas. Communication is an issue, both between them and between them and myself. I joke that if we were married, we’d get divorced over the fact that they never return calls or texts or emails.
They wanted to come by last week, they said. They sent a text Tuesday morning and when I didn’t respond (because I don’t check my phone constantly at work) they didn’t come by. They could have called, but chose not to. I called them to meet with all of us later in the week, but they were headed out of town for the weekend.
They’re supposed to try again tomorrow, and my stomach sinks at the thought. I’m not sure if they’re coming to give us the proverbial shot in the arm, or to deliver the bad news.
For a while now, the numbers haven’t been good, and no amount of work on my part has made a significant dent, since I’m limited by their willingness to invest more funds into this. The logical part of my brain thinks this place needs to close. The emotional part doesn’t want to have to look for another job, especially this time of year. I’m trying to be open to whatever happens, but the feeling in my gut doesn’t make that easy.
I think about where my life has gone, the path it has taken. How different would things be if certain things hadn’t changed.
I think about what’s ahead, where I’m going, wondering if there’s any rhyme or reason to the direction.
Happiness is here, and yet elusive. What keeps me from more is part of what keeps me happy in the first place. Is it possible to have more? It is normal to want it. I still ache for something, then resent that I do. I want that carefree soul, but I’m not willing to let go enough to get it.