Anyways, Monday was good at work, and it was a 10 hour day. I came home and made dinner for Kristin, had some music on while doing so, made some phone calls to people and let them know work was awesome (because they all rightfully expect me to fall on my face again). Tuesday, I woke up, showered, and listened to Opie and Anthony on the way to my first client. I got to his apartment, and it was squeller. Piss, body order, trash, and just overall filth encompassed the entire room. My mission? To motivate this 35 year old mildly retarded adult male to clean this mountain of filth. After getting through my gag reflex, I sat with my head out the window of his living room while he watched "Biggest Loser" being re-run on TV, ignoring my prompts to get going with cleaning. It was an honor to this fella that one of the contestants on that show (the 435 pounder) weighed more than he did. CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!
I soldiered through that to the point that after the show, I said, "I'll wait outside dude, put some deodorant on in case you see some girls when we're out." The other part of the job is to introduce the client into the community, and essentially run errands with him while making sure he maintains common human decency and doesn't drool on himself, or even worse, others.
It being my second day on the job, I still had no established schedule for today, Tuesday, so I spent six and a half hours with this disaster, and had no clue what I was to do, and when I was to be done doing it. (NOTE -- A good way to lose new hires would be to give them absolutely no guidance and direction on their first two days on the job). We went to see Rambo just to spend two hours, and it summed up my emotions at the time -- just the desire to run around with shoe polish on my face, gunning down any fucking thing that had an ounce of human life in it. In the mood I was in, Rambo mellowed me out somehow. I got rid of the tub of goo, and proceeded to my final client, and got through the day still fairly alright.
Something stung me though, and it is the cause of any consternation and self-doubt that I have in my life, and I have no idea what the hell it is. I did it at Frito Lay when I started there, I did it with DiVal, and Univera. A switch flips, and it feels like it's in the stomach. I can't go on with the job, and it drives me insane. I worked through the day Wednesday, a little sick but I was giving this one a chance, and then I got the call from my Mom that my Uncle died in Maryland. He was given six months to live, and he made it less than one month. I lost it, right there in front of a 17 year old mildly retarded kid who really is a mess, but he can't help it. He has a good heart, he's a nice kid, but he's dealing with being a teenager AND being dually-diagnosed? I can't imagine, I just can't I left work as soon as I could, and I wasn't going back Thursday. I handled it like a man, at least moreso than I have with my previous job failures, in that I talked to as many managers and supervisors as I could, and they are going to keep me on in a part-time capacity to work with the kids. Working with the kids truly is incredible, but still, with it now being Saturday, I don't know what the final straw was, because the first two days of work went fine.
The news of my Unlce Richard dying came down on me like the heaviest weight I have ever felt. I knew he was terminal, but with the melancholy I was feeling, on an overcast February Wednesday in Buffalo, it all came to be too much.
I turned it into a much larger drama then it needed to be to. TK's took me back, mostly in the same capacity where i left them, and I can still work the amazing job I was working with the kids. But I contemplated this world with my life not in it. I stared at the clock for almost 3 straight days, I was oblivious and dis-interested in any and everything. I obsessed on whether or not I would ever be able to keep down a job, and at 28 years old, I thought I was sentenced, I guess, to a life of joblessness and despair. I cried harder and more frequently than I have in my entire life. Time really does heal all wounds though, and I am good now. Friday's routine got me back into a sense of normalcy, and though I woke up this morning with a mild feeling of "what's this life for and what the fuck am I going to do with my life?," that only lasted until I turned over and saw Kristin. It's better...for now. I will now leave you with more JoPo in Vegas:
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