Pale Blue Eyes.

The computer at my house (I am careful to use the word "house" and not the word "home;" they have very different connotations) is a public computer. Some people have laptops; I did not wish to inconvenience them with borrowing theirs when this perfectly serviceable one is available to me. I am using it even now.

But after the incredibly lengthy lecture I received from Carmella last night, I'm not so sure I ever care to again. It turns out that Carmella goes through the history of this computer periodically "because it's not ours," in case we're using it for anything subversive. What she's looking for, exactly, I'm not sure-- but in the process she apparently found this, and told me it was incredibly rude to her and my team members. Hi, Carmella.

When Carmella gets mad, she adopts a tone and body language that could be a cousin to sarcasm. First she told me that she saw me running on Decatur, and that she was going to write me up and that I have to do four hours of additional learning.

Then she told me that "By the way, I read your blog, and you even talk about your running there, and you say some pretty rude stuff in there." She said it's going to alienate me from people with how rude I am, and that she sent it to Kevin Rumery, earth unit leader-- as if it were worth the effort for him to read. This was the exact moment it started to feel like an interrogation; I a suspect, my journal submitted to headquarters as evidence. Hi, Kevin.

The subtext to the blog discussion was that I shouldn't be allowed to say anything negative in my blog about anyone and that if I do then I shouldn't have it, or why can't I just make it private. I said that it was a sort of release for me, and that it was for my friends and family back home to read, not my team members; I have no intention of changing my tone. Nobody is making you read this but yourself. This is no smoking gun; I am not actually stupid enough to post anything I know will get me in tangible trouble-- or apparently not. I thought running would be forgivable compared to the massive amounts of drinking that took place this weekend, but as far as I know, I'm the only one to receive a punishment yet. (The truth of the matter is that in this place, I am being polite-- I know better than to post my angriest and most frustrated opinions where anyone can see them. You are viewing, have always been viewing, my thoughts in moderation.)

Then she told me that I was a terrible worker last week and that she saw me taking frequent breaks, standing around doing nothing. She had the audacity to say that the group would have actually gotten more work done if I hadn't been there; that someone more productive would have been able to use the ladder I was on. I reminded her that I was sick last week, and that I was doing the best I could. She told me that if I was sick I should just call off for the day rather than waste everyone's time. I told her I'd rather do some work than no work at all, and that the idea that I was actually making less work happen with my presence was ridiculous.

After the speech about how I was going to alienate my teammates, she asked me to tell her everything about who drank, how much, and when, perhaps failing to miss the point that this would be the most self-damning thing I could do if people found out I did it.

Then she asked me what my problem was with Haley; that I said some pretty rude things about her. I went through my blog in my head, recounting. I knew I hadn't said anything that rude about her. It was all informative. I cannot change what she does or says. I do not make these things up; I simply write them as they happen. Certainly I interject a frustrated comment here or there, but this is only natural: It is a frustrating situation, putting me in a frustrated mood.

"You snapped at her when she wanted to help you with the turkey on Thanksgiving--"
Irked. "Carmella, you haven't seen me snap at someone yet."
She pauses. "Still, you were awfully curt with her."

I like to do things myself. I didn't need help with the turkey, and I didn't want help with the turkey. And then I recalled a brief team meeting shortly after I put the turkey in the oven: Carmella said we needed to be patient with one another because the kitchen was going to be busy and to try not to raise our voices at one another. At the time I felt like this was directed specifically at me, but then I remembered Joseph periodically scolding: "You always think everything is about you and it's not." I am sometimes paranoid, but I am also still calculating, analyzing; it turns out that yes, it is about me a lot of the time.


Next, talking about her. She was very mad I called her a boozer, angrily asked why I would say that. I told her her teammates last year said she used to drink in spike housing and the firefighting house all the time, and that some people saw her carrying around drinks downtown. "You weren't there last year, and apparently they never talked about second, third, or fourth round, all of team leader training. But I'm a boozer because I was carrying one drink. You're judging me on one drink." She settled with, "Last year was last year and this year was this year and they're two completely different things in my mind."

She wanted to know how I felt about her, and I gave her my honest answer: I think she is a nice girl, and I've had some good times with her, but I think she is unnecessarily ironclad with the rules because of past misgivings, and she's trying to overcompensate for them. That she is keeping an incredibly tight grip on the team because she doesn't want to be punished if we do something wrong.


Then we talked about me, which basically amounted to: What is your problem? Do you even want to be on this team? Is this going to be an issue come firefighting? On firefighting we'll be even closer, have less time to ourselves, and you can't have any issues with anyone when you're working that close to them (a silly notion, getting along perfectly with every co-worker). I told her I can separate my frustrations with co-workers from my work ethic, and that I am perfectly capable of keeping my head down and getting through the job. She said this was no way to go through a year, and if I'm not happy with things now and I'm not happy when we get to firefighting, then what? And I told her I'd quit, and I told her I am not a happy person, and I started to tear up.

She said she'd picked everyone on this team for a reason and we work well together and that I shouldn't just quit if something can be done to make it work, and a blurry, lengthy rambling about my discontent, depression. She asked if I wanted to talk to someone about it, Jamie Brennan in Denver or the Gulf Coast lady whose name I can't remember, both Americorps human resource psychiatrist people. I think it's awkward to talk to someone who barely knows anything about me about my problems, and I told her as much-- that there's something to be said for shutting up and dealing with it.

Kat told me I should talk to one of them, though, and she's probably the only one who could actually convince me it's worth doing, so I guess I will. But first I have to write a rebuttal to this running offense, and tomorrow we've got some team Kevin-yells-at-us-over-the-speakerphone-of-Carmella's-cell-phone disciplinary hearing.

Some people work very hard
But still they never get it right
Well I'm beginning to see the light