A Calling

Yesterday The Big Cheese gave me a quasi-ultimatum, but it was all friendly and well-dressed, as in your options are to remain here and be tossed, or to go graciously. And all so sorry about the circumstances, etc etc, it is a bum deal, that murdered brother thing. Ach! I'm too sensitive. In all fairness, she had not been prepared for the nuts and bolts of screwing people, if you'll pardon the mixed-tools metaphor. I was absolutely exhilarated. I neither burst into song, however, nor did I 'tell her off.' I held my mental state in, and shined with the veneer of contained professionalism. The extra Klonopin may have helped. Sitting in my cozy chair, gazing out onto the plaza where the children would soon mount the steps of the bus, I articulately spoke of my plans to focus on my teaching. I imagined my brother when he was all 'I'm a union man,' working for a pizza joint. My whole class identity is utterly fucked up since I am granddaughter and grand-neice to immigrant mechanics and butchers turned car-salesmen, and daughter of a doctor. I went to a crappy provincial public school and an elite prep school. I'm thinking that bitch better not fuck with me, and simultaneously, why must women drag each other down? I have relatives who have millions and others who rent apartments in little towns. Are we all like that?

Oh I'm drifting. The point is, I gathered up all of my poise - actually it's not mine, it was a loaner from my mother, I shook The Boss Lady's hand, and I walked out thinking hallelujah. I can finally spend time with Rugelah (Teen Boy wants very little to do with me and Ball & Chain can wait a bit), with no thought a'tall about money. I can't miss a paycheck, but in my heart I know that somehow, somewhere, there's a big fat wad of dough waiting for me. I was raised with the knowledge that, despite my father's protestations that we were using too much Worcestershire sauce, costing the family a bundle, we actually had infinite amounts of cash - no worries!

When I hear about my financial limits, and I know Ball & Chain works with truly poor people, and I see the numbers, it is sobering until I have a symbolic shot of budget amnesia. Between visiting my parents at The Big House (and it is big), and being partially delusional, I am quite sure that I am loaded. Not in the "we are rich compared to most of the world" sense (and of course we are); but rich in the "I think I'll go to Asia next year" sense. I'd rather prefer to sail, and perhaps ride an elephant. When I arrive back home, I'll consider finding another job, but only because teaching is a calling, and I think Ball & Chain may start calling, rather loudly.