The Self Absorbed Man in Isolation: Act IV

A vision of the past is only as clear as the years in between then and now. I have imbibed in many a substance in my day and the clouds of intoxication have wiped many a situation from recollection. But the defining moments are never erased, only the low times in between. Those first hours in the house in Manchester were a defining moment for me.

Lack of grass or yard was the first of many changes I would need to accept into my new reality. The second was the house itself. The grand entrance and high ceilings of our Home in Woodstock was now replaced with a choked doorway and small dark rooms. It was a unique house, clean and with many architectural oddities - a narrow spiraling staircase, a large round three-panel picture window - and although I would eventually be familiar with all its corners and crevices, it never earned my love as a Home should. But as I said, I accepted it as a place to hang my hat and as the setting for the tragic events that would ultimately define the man I have become.

My new room was nothing more than an exaggerated closet, a narrow space between my bed and "Odd Rods" sticker covered dresser. A large desk was squeezed into the space at the end of my bed and blocked the door from fully opening. The door had a metal post that extended into my room, designed for clothes hangers to be held - my new closet. I hung the posters from my previous room but here they looked childish and immature, innocent throwbacks to a soon forgotten time.
After a near sleepless night due to unaccustomed house-settling creaks and moans I decided to check out the landscape of the surrounding neighborhood. I set out on my bike. I soon learned that "banana" seats and large U-shaped handlebars would not be an acceptable form of transportation in my new surroundings. But on day two, I innocently and confidently set off. The scenery of suburbia leaves something to be desired, especially when you have spent your life in a postcard worthy corner of New England. The duplex and triplex housing, the acres of asphalt and the traffic congestion were all new to me, not to mention the startlingly gruff attitude of the local inhabitants. To be honest, I had barely had a conversation with a black person let alone been a neighbor or gone to school with one. I had seen my fair share during visits to the city with my grandparents, but my grandparents had lived in their house since the beginning of time and were respected members of their community. I had never encountered intimidation before, especially from other races. And honestly, I was so inexperienced that I may not have recognized it when it happened. I must have been a sight - the country hick nerd boy with glasses on the retro 70's bike riding along the sidewalk, gawking at the people walking and figuring out how to use a cross-walk button.

In the weeks before my first day of school, I ventured outside and learned the area pretty well. I learned where to get comics and where to get gum and fountain drinks. I learned where the library was and where the local kids my age hung out. I learned the streets where people would confront you and ask you for money or if you "needed something." All this I learned alone.

The only major positive advancement that came with this relocation was the availability of CABLE TELEVISION. Cable was not available out in Woodstock. Matter of fact, it was another two or three years before it would be offered there. But here it was for me - a frenzied blur of MTV and Captain USA, ESPN and CNN. And all the networks with gorgeous reception (without having to adjust the "rabbit ears" for each new channel). This really was something of a breakthrough for me. It would eventually change my world and how I saw myself in it. The possibilities held in 30 channels (as opposed to the 4 I had in Woodstock) were endless. And for those first few years it lived up to its promise. The late 80's were my Golden Age of television and in my mind have yet to be repeated in the amazing diversity of programming available to me. Yes, today I have like 200 channels (many in glorious HD) but many of those channels are duplicates. At any one time I can find 7 or 8 separate shows devoted to renovating houses either for resale or luxurious surprise (for example). Again, future posts will illustrate my views on television, so I won't go on now. But let's just say again that TV was (and is) a huge part of my generation and skewed us a certain way. Today's kids are skewed another way due to the differences in the TV programming available. It's amazing that TV has this kind of power over society, but it does and we all know it.

I think I can wrap this up and get to the point by the end of Act V. I know this is long-winded and I hope those following along are getting something from it. It's a huge release for me and I find myself re-reading the posts for my own insight into the man who is me. Again, I've come this far and must finish it, so expect the grand finale within a week.

The Self Absorbed Man in Isolation: Act III

If you met me now you would never guess my backwoods upbringing. I can recall endless hours spent tromping around the woods building forts, finding new trails, swords and arrows - all that shit. I would come home FILTHY. Mom would have me strip down to my undies (or less) outside so I didn't track mud and dirt through the house. I would be marched straight to the shower and hosed down.

Nowadays, I'm seen as something of a city guy. Those around me are surprised when I speak of weekend camping trips with the family and cutting down tress in the yard and stuff. I'm like a closet hick. You can take the boy out of the country but you can't take the country out of the boy and all that.

So up until the age of 12, I lived in the woods. It was during this twelfth year that my father got himself a 16-year itch and moved out - presumably to bigger and better things. See, Dad (much as the man I have become) was a work-a-holic. He did the 60+ hour weeks and was driven by work primarily. Yes, he said his motivation was family (this is the mental justification for the work-a-holic) but ultimately he was out for himself.

Being a father of two myself now, I cannot imagine leaving my family under any circumstances. If my wife tomorrow decides she is no longer in love with me or is just up and leaving I would fight for her and my kids to the end. I would win her back one way or another - woo her.

You know, it's fucked up when you go through this argument in your head. Like, WHY DON'T I JUST WOO HER ALL THE TIME??? WHY WAIT FOR HER TO THREATEN TO LEAVE?? Now look, she hasn't threatened to leave. The old marriage is still in pretty good shape and healthy, but ya know... don't take it for granted dumb ass...

OK, back to the story:

So dear old Dad walks and leaves Mom, Sis and me to fend for ourselves. Mom gets a job as a computer programmer (pretty cool for 1985) and we move closer to where she works in Hartford. Welcome to Manchester, Mr. Mungus...

Before I get to Manchester, let me say that Dad DIDN'T quite leave us high and dry. Maybe for the first couple of years. But Dad DID get pretty successful and DID support us (and his eventual new family) pretty well from afar. And from afar I mean that Dad relocated to California - where (in the late '80s) there were big bucks to be made for the right folks in the right places. But yeah, it was pretty lean there when we moved to Manchester. We were semi-poor country folk in a bustling metropolitan suburb. And we got eaten up. All three of us.

It's kinda weird how it happened - it's like a blur: Dad invited me and Sis to stay with him for a few weeks over the summer. We still lived in Woodstock. Dad was already living with another woman - someone we knew from childhood. She was one of Dad's coworkers (he swears to this day there was no affair, but it's pretty likely that was how it went down). Sis and her, they clashed from day one. There was yelling and screaming and the like. Lots of "I hate you"s and "You're not my mother"s. But I got on with her pretty well. She was younger than Mom and a little hipper. We were there for maybe a week and we got the call from Mom. "When you get back to Connecticut, we'll live in a different town. I've enrolled you in a new school."

Sis exploded. Dad and poor new step-Mom had no idea what to do with a 16 year old girl. Slamming doors and hysterical crying was the mode of the day. And it was ugly. I don't recall getting wrapped up in my sister's madness; I was (am) more the brooding, internalizing type of guy who is much more comfortable staring at a wall, drawing a picture of people being chopped up or putting my face on my knees and slowly rocking for a few hours. This is before I really honed in my drawing skills and learned to channel anger and frustration into violent illustration so it was all quiet intensity from me.

Clearly, looking back my parents felt it would be "cleaner" to do the move while we were away - sort of an adolescent "trap." And for me, it was probably the best plan. Had I been there during the move I can imagine myself trying to sabotage the movers - setting up trip wires and piercing foot traps.

Sis and I flew back to Connecticut (I won't say "flew back HOME" - not yet) and were introduced to our new town. I remember the ride into Manchester: the shopping plazas and empty factories, the past-it's-prime Main Street complete with a dozen or so homeless living in the park by the library. We pulled up to a modest two-story house and got out. I was standing on pavement. A small patch of grass was pinched between our parking space and the parking lot of the adjacent flower shop. We had one tree. They officially took the boy out of the country.

I know I wandered a bit from the narrative of the previous posts with this one. But this is what came so this is what is. I do have an ultimate point to make with this, so bear with me. I'll get there. Act IV soon to come.

The Self Absorbed Man in Isolation: Act II

I suspect those who grew up in the American Mid-West were in a similar situation: During winter months I spent endless hours in front of the almighty television. I'll go into further detail in future posts what shows had the biggest impact, but let's just say I ran the gamut from daytime PBS to 80's prime time. There were times my obsession was bad enough I would play sick just to stay home and watch TV. Sad in retrospect.

I was never really comfortable around groups of friends; I've always been a one-on-one kinda guy. And when there was an individual friend who was spending time with me, I was devoted to the one friend unwaveringly. Always been loyal like that. Got me fucked over a few times. I make "best friends" easy.

During summer months when school was out, my parents would send me traveling to visit with family for weeks on end. Looking back now, I suppose they were trying to save me from additional long stretches of solo time. They would plop me on a bus and send me to Brooklyn, New York to spend a few weeks with my Grandparents (on my mother's side) or upstate NY (Monroe to be precise) for my Dad's parents. They did their best to keep me occupied: Both sets of Grandparents had huge gardens. I spent many an afternoon pulling weeds. My Brooklyn Gramps had grape vines growing in his back yard. I was in charge of the annual wine-making. He'd give me loose instructions and once everything was fermenting in sealed bottles, he'd give me a glass of some previous year's vintage (I was too young to know any better, but I hear his wine was like turpentine).

Brooklyn Grampa and my Great Uncle (Dad's Uncle) Sonny (real name: Sylvester) were painters by hobby. They both worked in oils and attempted to pass on the skill. I actually took to it quite well although my patience got the better of me later in life. I do pen-and-ink illustrations now as a hobby. Despite some basic instruction and pointing in the right direction, all of the above activities were done alone. Yup, despite best intentions I still ended up in isolation - only now I was in a strange locale with no friends around or people my age. For the years between age 9 and 16, I spent my summer vacations with Senior Citizens.

It's funny: as I write this I realize how my wife is forever saying "God, You're like an old man!!!" I guess those summers really influenced my temperament and interests. More on that later...

Act III will be a study in how these early experiences affected my relationships and work life. I'm pretty pumped to see what comes of this, so expect an update within a week.

The Self-Absorbed Man in Isolation

At the risk of being perpetually self analytical, I'm gonna tell you a little about my childhood:

I was born in upstate New York. My family lived there until I was 6 or 7 when we moved to north eastern Connecticut; Woodstock to be precise. I can't speak for other places as I only grew up where I did. But it seems to me there is something unique about that corner of the world. The populace is very aware of their history - a history riddled with superstition and witch burning. At all times you are surrounded by thick vegetation and dark forest and are told early on to be in by dusk.

Woodstock also prides itself on having the last "active" one-room schoolhouse. Every year in public elementary school each grade spent a few weeks in there. You were required to dress in late 1800s period garb, learned to write with ink and quill and played all those colonial games that you see in reenactment movies. Thinking back sometimes it feels like I have a vision of a previous life: the happy, young Pilgrim boy who one day disappeared into the woods never heard from again.

My parents rented a big, yellow cube of a house. It was huge. We rented from the owner of Woodstock's (at the time) only manufacturing facility. They made foot switches for sewing machines among other things. The owner was an eccentric rich woman in her mid to late forties. Her husband had died and left her everything including the mansion on the hill, the switch factory a small boy scout camp, a 3 star restaurant and our yellow house - all of which were on the same thousands of acres piece of land I considered my personal playground.

My one sibling is my sister. I've mentioned her before - the one who had the accident. At this time she was pretty and popular and had no interest in hanging out with her geeky little brother. So I spent the majority of my time alone. I had friends; I wasn't an outcast or anything. But living in a place where it was a hike to get to the neighbor's house left me and my friends at the mercy of our parents. Geographically challenged, I'd like to say.

I learned very quickly to entertain myself, a talent I possess to this day. I spent endless hours tromping around the woods by myself - scouting locations for GI Joe adventures and building forts and shit. I spent a lot of time inside my own head.

Let's us consider this the end of act 1. I can't spend all day reminiscing... The bills must be paid and stuff. But now I've gone and started, so finish I must. Act 2 soon to come.

It'll get worse before it gets better...

So it seemed like I was really on a roll there for a bit. The family was doing pretty well (despite the troubles trying to get pregnant again), work was coming together, the cursed car hasn't had any issues in a while... smooth sailing. And then it happened: Another role change at work. In addition to the current work load.

I am a supervisor of 25 people on a manufacturing shop floor. All the personnel issues, the Quality problems, efficiency, training - the list goes on. Now the fucking "scheduler" who organizes the orders through production starts really flaking out on the job: aggressive, confrontational behavior, delusions of power beyond his role. He was acting as a Production Manager, not a "scheduler." On top of his shit attitude, we have been taking lots of late orders and falling behind. He gets taken out/I get put in.

So let me get this straight: Full-time Managing position and full-time Scheduling position. OK, no pressure. Just the weight of the corporation on my shoulders. If I fuck up, a global organization fuck up. Millions of dollars are at stake with my every decision. No shit.

Me being me I have reacted by putting in more hours. 12 hours minimum. Luckily I have managed to maintain my "hourly" standing. Not salary. I work more, they pay more.

Little bit of a strain on the home front while I get settled. Every day I get a little closer to grasping "The Big Picture." It'll come. But today: I'm stressed.

As you know, I just write about the things around me. Others can write of current events, 80's toys or mutant bunnies. I have no format. I just throw down what comes. If it means anything to anyone - great. If it's just a bunch of garbled shit - sorry.

I've missed writing about all the crap I do on a daily. It's a nice release at these stressful times. So I'll be posting more often. Assuming anyone still checks in here, bear with me. It'll lighten up eventually. But I think it'll get worse before it gets better.

It's a shade lighter way down there at the end of the tunnel

The desperate state I was in has now passed. My nose is once again above water level. I can breathe again.

New job transitions suck. It has never seemed that way to me. In the past, a new job was always exciting. Time flies by as you're learning new stuff, interacting with new people, finding your little niche... This time: Holy Shit. The biggest problem was (and remains) that the guy filling in behind me needs immediate training. He has no idea how my former area works and it's my job to teach him (while starting my new role). So I guess this situation is kinda unique. They back-filled me with an unqualified dope.

Anyhoo, things are back on track: many of my new responsibilities have been delegated to others, many of my old responsibilities are being covered while Unqualified Dope gets up to speed and I can make some progress in my new area.

So I've taken a step or two back from the ledge and am starting to turn back towards the door. Things are getting better - slowly, but better nonetheless.

Just below the surface...

Since I got the "big boost" (as I've been calling it) the other week, I've felt like I'm treading water and slowly sinking. My "to-do" list is ever growing and many tasks have been re-re-re-prioritized to the point of almost being lost. I know what you're thinking:

"It's just fucking work, FM. Ease up on yourself. You're gonna burn yourself out."

And of course, you're right. It should be that easy, but it's not. I spend more time at work than anywhere else. It is the primary function of my life at this point. Yes, my family is first and foremost in my priorities. But in my head, all this working is FOR THEM (even though it ultimately keeps me from them much of the time). I work hard to make their lives better. I work so hard that right now, right this very second, my life sucks. I'm tired, I'm a ball of stress and my nose is at water level.

I've got a meeting presentation to put together (the meeting is tomorrow), a huge project due Friday (today is Tuesday), a 2 page self description for the new HR manager they have brought in (due ASAP), a budget meeting this morning justifying all the shit I spent money on, production scheduling three days a week, training my replacement for my former position while running my former area and learning and running my new area, all the while keeping the wolves at bay as the transition occurs. I'm up to my eyeballs.

When I read the above paragraph, I almost stop breathing. I slip beneath the surface, stretch my hands up and grasp for a hand that won't come and plunge into darkness. Gone...

But then I stop typing, stand up, peek in on my sleeping children, put on my shoes and coat, creep out the door into the early morning darkness, get into my cursed car and head off for another day of treading like the good little bee I have become.

Buzz, buzz...


Prologue -

My present situation cannot last long. I will fall apart soon. If this is a test, I am barely passing. My resolve is fading. I am losing my grip on things. I am falling behind never to regain control. I cannot imagine a two-day weekend let alone time to use the three weeks of vacation I need to use this year. I don't know whether to cry, scream or implode. Time will tell.

It's just a fucking job.