I'm waiting to be picked up by my father and whisked away to family obligation. Discomfort ahoy.
Edit: Hardly any discomfort a'tall. I have (used to have?) a horrific fear of the elderly; seeing my grandma, who is afflicted with Voices of various sorts is sort of my definition of a nightmare. But it turned out to be... wonderful. Know your role, Victoria. Know it! Comfortable in my own skin, knowing what I can and can't give, made it completely possible to sit in a room with her. I let dad steer, but I feel so much better now.
I really don't know what's going on for the superbowl tomorrow. It sounds like my dad's not even going to bother to watch, which is so strange to me. I remember endless hours of my youth spent trying to socialize with him while football was on and it being like "no honey, it's not the commercial yet," and me waiting approximately 9 million years for the commercial (luckily that wouldn't be a problem these days) only to have it be wasted on chips and beer. Wasted from my perspective anyway.
Edit: Dad did watch the superbowl, but I actually slept through it. I am still recovering from illness. I did manage to catch the last, brutal, 13 minutes of play. Go Bears.
We were all myers-brigg'ed at work for teambuilding purposes, and the results were puzzling for some and obvious for others. I came out INTJ, which I thought was weird, but the T and the J were borderline. Especially the T, which came out to 3, which as you know, dear reader, might as well be "way to go, fence-sitter." None of the sixteen types really seemed to describe me. Or perhaps it might be better to say that all of the IN types had something to do with me. I was trying to suss out whether INFJ might be a better fit, so I asked my coworkers whether they "respected me for my strong convictions," and they all said yes. Then I felt embarassed, like I'd been fishing for something, and also kind of good; I assume my strength of opinion is usually more brash and obnoxious (and unfounded in fact) than respectable.
I think I was really trying to get myself out of the INTJ box because INTJ was so... grandiose. INTJ's can organize and realize long-term plans they find intriguing, or so the story goes. I think that's true about myself, I've observed it for a while but seeing it on paper made it something I'd have to Live Up to, and we can't have that; squeak me out to some less visible position, please... When a project grabs me, I'm definitely grabbed, but not all the ones that I think should grab me actually do.
So despite the strength of my introversion, my self-doubt sometimes gets in the way of self-awareness, which is not really surprising.
Then Gary said oh, you're not going to get much out of a T if you ask how they feel, you need to ask what they think about something, and Sandra was all Oh, that's SO you. And it is. And I felt a little bit good about that too, especially since I'm the only T on the staff team. Even if it is only by 3.
My job is a fine kettle of fish and a big can of worms but one thing I can definitely say about it is that it has inspired a huge amount of maturation for me. Being responsible for the lives of others will do that. So in truth, the degree of self-doubt that I used to have has vanished like the morning dew; there's not a lot of time for self-doubt when you have to make decisions every two minutes. I mull it over once I get home, and sometimes I agonize over it, and when I can't resolve the doubt myself I take it back to the staff team (and having one fucking rocks, by the way) and we pull it apart until we get somewhere. I feel like I've put down deep roots and I'm not blown over by the least little breeze anymore. I'm confident but I can still bend (like the reed, children) in a storm. I get up and I go to work in the morning whether I want to or not, whether I feel terrible or not, whether I'm sick or not, whether the world is an awful weight or a good friend; and for me, that is rather an amazing step.
I gave up a lot to be able to do it. Maybe too much. It's hard to admit that there might be a choice between being myself and being a functional member of society.
Look. I wouldn't say that the capable, worky-going me is a fake, as such. But it's true that this work isn't the work I want to do forever, and the things I do in my free time to keep myself from going nuts are not the things I would do in an an ideal world of free time. Does that make sense? in order to shuffle off the stress of fulfilling obligations, there are certain routines and activities I go through during my "free" hours. But if I didn't have that stress, I'd be doing something completely different with my time. So I'm capable, I'm on top of things, but I... hm. The things eat up too much of me. I have to make space for them inside of me, and where do my gooey innards go?
At my feet. The world is such a ridiculous kaleidoscope. If I want to see obstacles, there they are. If I choose to see myself as carried along with a thousand other leaves in a stream -- bound to get where I'm going -- well, there I am again. The mystery of will! It is, certainly, but it isn't, also; the one is the other inside out, and other platitudes.
Perhaps you recall, Alfred, that long ago I said my job was about giving, emotionally and spiritually. It is. Sometimes it gives back, and sometimes I have to withhold. Lately it's been giving so much back. One of my bastions of sanity has started to turn and pull all kinds of energy of me (I can't grudge it -- but I have been. Sweet. I hereby vow to not grudge it; the tide is turned and that's as it should be) and one bastion of EVIL has turned into a font of rewards for me. The spiritual drain is much reduced; I feel like I've caught a life raft and things are looking way up.
Sorry for the lack of detail, but, you know. It's my job to safeguard their little lives, so I can't spew about them on the intertron.
It's hypocritical, almost. I say I'm a "safeguard" for them pretty blithely, when in truth if they want to get themselves into shit there's nothing I can do to stop them. If the system wants to grind them under its heel (and it always does) there's not a ton I can do to stop that either. It's terrible to think of it, but the psychology of childhood -- the rawness of everything, how easily a barb finds the heart -- is something I have a hard time remembering. Really great youth workers don't seem to have that problem, and I don't flatter myself that I am one. Yet I still feel like a protector, though I haven't been acting like one; I have the responsibility and the authority, and that makes me the shield and the shelter. If they walk away, that's free will. But I'm still here. Ready to apologize if it was something I said. Ready to try again, every time. Ready to listen and to try to understand. How strange. When I go back, I think I'll be ready to go back with both hands open. I've had to close up emotional shop to get through the days, but I'm ready now; I can give, again, and hear, again, and I have strength to lend again. Grand re-opening.
Meandering again. Apologies.