Happy Fun Cog

Per this previous post, I had my performance evaluation with my boss today, in which we go over my performance over the last year, peer review, raise, etc. I got a 3% raise, which is pretty much what I expected considering a) my middle of the road performance and b) the economy. I would've had to have had a breakout year to get a 5% or above raise.

But here's my point: this meeting, which sets the goals for the forthcoming year as well as talking about the overall job I'm doing, lasted all of about 15 minutes. I just didn't have anything to say. As long as I don't get fired, I really don't give a shit. On the previous post, I noted that this would probably change if one of my teammates got promoted, and that's still true.

But every other time I've had my review, I've been a bundle of nerves. Not so much from a fear of getting fired/hope of getting promoted, but because I'm in a position to be evaluated/judged, which always puts me on needle. This time, though... nothing. Seriously, I just don't care. Give me my small raise, let's exchange bland, generic plans for the future, and let me go back to my desk.

I feel like my ambivalence about my job has bloomed. Will I go to grad school? I don't know. But for the first time in a long time, I'm not worried about my job (knock on wood) and that's pretty fucking cool in my book.

I'm going through some old journal entries that I wrote about 7 1/2 years, and I am blown away by how I was worrying about the exact same things that I'm worrying about now, such as writing and women. Granted, those are two very general topics, but the way that I describe my thoughts on the topics are almost the exact same as how I would describe my thoughts now, albeit with a little less enthusiasm. I'm torn as to whether or not I should laugh or cry. The raging, perfectionist part of me wants to berate myself for not having made any progress over all these years, yet I also feel the urge to love and forgive myself. It's just very odd to read notes from my 25-year old self worrying about having wasted too much time after college. It's absurd enough to make me look at my current fears of having wasted my time/life in another light.

I'm having my yearly performance evaluation at work tomorrow, and my boss emailed my evaluation to me so I can look it over before we talk (nice thought, but it kills the suspense).

My evaluation is middle-of-the-road, i.e. "satisfactory." When I was first reading the evaluation I was nodding my head in agreement, because frankly I am far too ambivalent about my job, and IT as a whole, to commit to it and go that extra mile. Plus, I'm still recovering from the bad case of burnout I got after going through a very difficult time in my job, when the manager of my group was so incompetent that people in other groups continually expressed amazement that she was a manager, and when the roles and responsibilities in the larger IT group as a whole were poorly defined so everything was about chaos and stress.

Basically, my goal is to not get fired until I figure out what I want to do with my life. Do I want to commit to this career, or go back to grad school? At this point, I have no clue, and my evaluation reflects that.

Then I started thinking about how bad I'd feel if someone in my group got promoted ahead of me. One of the people I work with is definitely the better technician by far, but she has big anxiety problems when dealing with large groups of people and as such always sits on the sidelines when there's a big problem that requires inter-departmental coordination; those problems usually fall to me.

Plus, if someone in my group was promoted to a higher level (the three of us are on the same level), that person would have the responsibility of providing 'guidance' to the others in certain situations, and none of us are capable of doing that, meaning that we'd probably end up back in a situation that harkened back to the days of the incompetent manager. It wouldn't be as bad as that, but I feel like we've all become massively neurotic about such situations due to past experiences and the peaceable existence we've managed to scratch out for ourselves would be threatened.

Hi. My name is Jack. I... I fear Friday nights.

(A chorus of voices rises from the dark, smoke-filled church basement) Hi, Jack!

Thanks. This is my first meeting. I've... well, I've been in denial for a while. I know, I mean, we all know that consistently spending your Friday nights alone is, well, it's not bad. I'm not being judgmental towards myself or anyone else. But... OK, I'll start at the beginning.

I've always had an excuse, you know? Friday nights have been a problem with me ever since I left college. But at first, I could blame it on the city, living in these big new cities without knowing anyone. New York City was the easiest one of them all to write off. But I've been in Boston long enough that no one, not even an alcoholic Holocaust denier living next to a big river in Egypt could deny that there's a problem.

Alcohol solved the problem for years. Obviously, I still knew that spending every Friday night alone was a problem, indicative of a lack of friendship given its place in our culture as the Mount Olympus of socialization. But when you're on the far side of a six pack or a fourth pint, it's easier to put it out of your mind.

Then after the alcohol came the rationalization. Friday night didn't mean anything, you know? It was just another day. Just because a lot of other people hyped it up didn't mean that I had to buy into it, right? It could be just as good if I relaxed alone with a DVD or with a book or, better yet, spent the time productively, working on creative writing. The problem with rationalization, though, is that it becomes increasingly hollow if you never actually believe in it.

So here I am. I'm afraid of Friday nights. I'm afraid because I want to go out and do something, but I don't have anyone with whom I can go out. Friend, dates, whatever. There are a few places in this ex-burb where I know there will be a fairly lively night life (for an ex-burb), places where I could probably chat up women. But I don't want to go alone because I just don't have the self-confidence. I wouldn't be comfortable and the misery you know is better than the misery you don't, which is basically me saying that I'd rather stay home alone than go out alone.

I know that this is something that can be challenged, and that's why I came here tonight, to show myself that it can be challenged and that it's all in my mind... but in reality, I know it will be a long time, if ever, that I actually do anything about this.

After some thought, I've decided that I'm going to put the whole dating thing on hold, at least in terms of trying to meet people online dating and stuff like that. I know that I'm overweight by about 20 pounds, so I'm going to just focus on losing weight and feeling good about myself (something that dating sure as hell doesn't encourage). I usually hesitate to do this type of thing because it reeks of resignation or passive aggressiveness. But the only way that I really meet women is through online dating where they're going on a picture and a profile. If it was more common for me to meet people through friends, that would be one thing, and the weight might not be as much of an issue (aesthetically; I'd want to lose weight for health reasons anyway). That's not where I am, though, and since I'm relying pretty much entirely on how women respond to a picture of me, it's time to devote some serious focus and energy to improving that picture.

I just finished taking a promotion test at the tae kwon do school I attend. I mentioned in an earlier post that I felt some ambivalence about this. Moving up a belt is obviously a good thing, but I hadn't planned on testing for a while. After all, I just took the promotion test for my current belt in January.

Perhaps to set the stage I should mention that my tae kwon do school is not, in fact, an institution thousands of years old, carved into the ancient and honorable rock of a cliff face in a mysterious region of Korea. No, it's a chain of schools in the Boston area and, like most martial arts institutions in the US, makes most of its money off of parents who are looking to get some exercise and discipline in their childrens' lives. The expectation among the instructors is that most people, barring some grave physical mishap or a departure from the school, should get their first degree black belt in 2-4 years.

I was initially resistant to the idea of testing for the next level as I felt that I wasn't ready. I knew the form (a sequence of punches, kicks, blocks, and jumps) for the promotion, but I didn't feel that some of my kicks were up to snuff, especially the spinning kicks. I knew how to do them, but I didn't feel like I was doing them well enough. So, even after the instructors I spoke to told me I was ready, I just couldn't believe it because I was hung up on these shortcomings.

This is the fastest I've moved from one level to the next in tae kwon do, at least since the early days when it was fairly simple to move, and I should feel some pride about it. But I don't because instinctively want to be hard on myself. I guess the reason why this sticks out in my mind is that, unlike other areas of my life, I had two qualified instructors telling me that I was ready; nobody at work is going to tell me that I'm ready to, say, start managing more complicated projects, because everyone is too busy with their own jobs. You pretty much have to either fall into it by circumstance, or by constantly asking for it.

Anyway, it's weird. It makes me wonder about what else I would be able to do better if I had more faith in myself, wonder about what other areas of my life I could take pride in and enjoy more if I weren't constantly tearing myself down.

I'm on the phone with a user, trying to help him fix a technical problem, and he is taking every opportunity to snipe at me. I'm talking passive aggressive comments, outright criticism of me, generalized complaints about computer and software (because hey, if you work in IT then you understand every fucking piece of software and every piece of hardware ever made!) and just on and on and on. This particular guy is like this all the time. It's unbelievable. What is it with some people? Do people like this not know that they're just a fountain of negativity and they're making everyone's life difficult around them? Are they so full of themselves that they think that they have to complain about everything, that everything should work smoothly for them and if not it's a fucking crime against humanity? Forget Hitler and the Jews! The REAL crime is that I can't get online! Woe is me!

You fucking cocksucker. I'm spending HOURS trying to get past this problem, a problem that I didn't create but is a result of the fact that management made a decision to rush the setup of this whole fucking software and now it's blowing up on us. I'm doing everything I can to help you do your job, and all you can do is bitch and moan and take digs at the very people who are trying to help you because you're a fucking cunt who somehow thinks the world owes him perfection. The world doesn't owe you shit, little man. You're a fucking bane to everyone who speaks to you. And I always end up helping you because the other techs are so sick of your shit that they won't pick up any ticket that has your name. So fuck you. I hope you feel at least as half as miserable as you make others feel. You're a whining piece of shit and we all hate you.

1. They are going to play team sports up to a certain age. I think it's important to learn how to co-exist and work with others. I'd also want them to truly understand the fact that failure is a part of victory, and that if you avoid things out of the fear of failure, you are in turn avoiding victory.
2. They will do martial arts and learn about mental discipline and respect.
3. I'd lean towards them learning a musical instrument as well, but I was resentful as hell about my parents forcing me to play piano, so I don't think I'd push them to hard on that point.
4. They'd have a dog and learn what it's like to take care of something/someone that needs care and empathy and love.
   

OK, the weather actually has nothing to do with anything, other than the fact that it hit 70 degrees today, after snowing earlier this week, which means, of course, that we're going to get snowed on again because Boston never moves away from the snow without a couple of weeks of gray, rainy days. But hey, it's a warm day and should be appreciated.

So here's another life lesson from tae kwon do. I went to a 'forms' class on Tuesday; in tae kwon do, a 'form' is a specific series of kicks, punches, blocks, etc., that have to be performed with the proper stances and rhythm. Each belt level has a form that you have to master before you can wear that belt (and I use the term 'master' loosely because we're all kids or stiff middle-agers).

So in the aforementioned forms class, the main instructor asked me if I'd be going for the next promotion test, which is on the 15th of this month. I said I hadn't thought about it, and he encouraged me to do so. I felt both cynical and hopeful; cynical because I thought maybe he was just trying to push me along so they could report to the head office that x # of people had been promoted, but also hopeful because maybe it meant that I was actually learning and growing and succeeding more than I imagined.

I had simply assumed that I'd have a while to go. I've been working hard but never thought to ask if I was ready to advance. I received my current belt in... January, I think. I'd been at the previous level, green belt, since June, when I returned to tae kwon do after a 5-year absence. Between June and January, I hadn't really thought to test for the next level. But the instructors encouraged me to test in January and I got my blue stripe, which was cool.

Now, they're saying I should test again, and I'm having this mental back and forth about it. I have a hard time accepting that I'm ready to advance because I don't feel like I am. But how much of that is because I'm a perfectionist or am somehow always putting myself and my capabilities in a negative light? I think this is how it is in other areas of life; I don't give credence to my own accomplishments and the effort that I put into things. I'm so focused on the negative that I don't take back and see the progress I've made and what potential there is for future accomplishments.

For another example, I've been using this blog to dwell on the negatives about my relations with women in general, but there's also the fact that, within the past year, I've made a close female friend and have also gone on more dates than I have in the past few years. Have I enjoyed great success in dating? No, but at least I'm doing it - in the previous 5 years, I'd gone on very few dates, choosing to spend most of my time getting drunk or stoned. So I'm clearly making progress, yet, as anyone who reads this blog knows, I'm focused mainly on the negative.

I could apply this lesson to other areas of my life; writing, my job, and so on. The end result is that I can never objectively know whether or not the encouragement of others is based in fact or on something else. As such, there comes I time when I have to decide whether or not I'm going to have faith in what other people are saying. I know I should, because I've proved to myself that I'm entirely too negative. But I just have a very hard time making that leap, even when that leap is the only way forward.

You know, a conversation that I had with my shrink this morning about the incident described in the previous post, plus a current situation at my job is making me think again about how often I take things too personally. In the case of the job, the software that I support is malfunctioning, and it's a problem that I've worked on before to resolve. The problem always goes away, and comes back. Because I support the software and therefore get the emails and phone calls when things go wrong, I have a habit of taking it personally. When the software is malfunctioning in some way and people report a problem, I feel like they are telling me that I have a problem, or that this software is a problem with my life, as opposed to just being something that's my job. I mean, the software breaks and has problems all the time. If software didn't do that, then there would be no need for IT. Yet I can't help feeling like every problem, every glitch in the system, every server malfunction, is some how a problem with me and it stresses me out to the point where I can't think straight and so the problem takes even longer to solve, and the whole fucking thing spirals downward.