My first full time position was a pretty cool graduate position at IBM. Yes. That IBM. I managed to land this plum position partly because I studied a computer degree and so I qualified for it, and partly because of the interview. I quite confidently assured the executive director (or whatever important title he had), that yes I do have weaknesses, and one being that I am an alcoholic. (What I really meant to say is I am a workaholic).
He was shocked, and so was I. It was awkward. I blushed like a tomato, and above all of this it was funny. No, I am definitely not an alcoholic. No, not me.
And so I got the job. And I started. And I hated it. I did not fit in. I was placed into a business strategy team (or something), and not a technical team. There didn’t seem to be any technical teams, only sales and marketing and business-related stuff. I needed technical.
My mother died suddenly, and so without having anyone to disappoint, I left. I did so without having another job lined up. I didn’t care. I left at the end of July, and on 1 September I started a new job. A job I loved.
For the time it lasted.
One of my early memories was being in preschool, and on a few days my teacher would be absent. On those days we had to go to the classroom next door. I hated it. I hated being there, and I hated not being with my teacher. I get attached to people.
Today I had to say goodbye to a close colleague. She came in, handed in her resignation and work equipment, and left this afternoon. She helped me with a few things this year. Sitting next to me, and it was comforting to have her there. I feel saddened. Bad news to end the year.
On my return to work earlier this week, I caught up with a colleague of mine. Without thinking, I mentioned that the first day back is never easy, but at least we have a job to go back to. He replied by asking me why would I say that? Say what? At least we have a job. Well, what if we didn’t have a job, then what? He pointed out that the unemployment rate in Sydney is very low and if one wants to work, there is work. I was brought up with scarcity. Money was scarce. School fees were high, and always needed to be paid. Every single month without fail! We never had enough. Constant fear of running out. Added to the fact that I have seen unemployment in South Africa, and what it can mean.
Good point I told him. We are privileged to live in a city where there is work if one desires to work.
I am not a rock. Though sometimes I feel like a stone. I work in IT. One of those rare professions the longer I work in it, the less I seem to know. My husband, on the other hand (bless him), seems to know everything. He is more like a mountain than a rock.
Yesterday I had a particularly harsh day. My husband last night stepped in to try and shed some light into my darkness. Until he finally turned to me and declared, you’re doing that weird thing with your hair again. Yeah, I’m twisting it instead of pulling it out (that happens too!) Can I go write some poetry now? Because passion.
Bubble Dreams coming up!
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “I Am a Rock.”
Time slipping through my fingers
Being released and flying far away
Just as I would lift my eyes to
Watch as a balloon floats
Higher, smaller into the skies
Until it can be seen no more
So does my time fly further from me
Until there is no more left
To do the things I need to do
And all that remains
Are memories of a faded day
(I need to write a software system by Tuesday, and am not very far in progress. I may be offline on the weekend #becausefocus)