I looked back and said, “what do you have in mind?” She smiled conspiratorially. “Maybe we should hire you.”
I’ve worked in Academic Technology most of my career, but this is the first time I’ve been tech support to spies. You would think that they are more technologically savvy than the rest of the world, but this one guy on the seventh floor still needs me to print his e-mails. PRINT. HIS. E-MAILS…. but that’s nothing compared to the call I got this morning.
“They just made an announcement that the network is down, and my monitor is blinking on and off. Are those two things related?”
I just stared at the phone and said, “ma’am… I hope not.”
Then one of the other seventh floor bigwigs called and said that he needed Firefox installed on his machine. No problem. I tell him to stop by my office when he’s got a chance. He pops downstairs and says, “do I need to turn my computer on?”
Welcome to my life.
Yesterday, I spent 45 minutes on the phone with an officer who couldn’t figure out why his computer wouldn’t power up. It would have been a two-second diagnosis if he’d turned on his camera. Turns out, he’d plugged the power strip into itself instead of into the wall…. and he insisted every time I asked that he’d checked all his physical connections first so that couldn’t possibly be it.
This afternoon I have to help Jones with a PowerPoint and Smith with a Word document. Neither Jones nor Smith know a mouse from a carburetor, but they’re endearing. They are the people you live to help, because even though it takes an incredible amount of patience, you actually enjoy your time with them. The PowerPoint is about… wait. I can’t say that part. Ditto with the Word document.
That’s the hardest part of my job, having to edit myself when I’ve always been so open. I don’t even blog anymore, but it’s worth it for that sweet government pension when I retire…. if it’s still there when I’m old enough.
I had to scold a case officer earlier because she thought it would be funny to give all her instructions to me in Russian.
Hilarious.
I’m going to Krazy Glue her phone before this is all over.
Of the five languages I’ve managed to pick up, Russian is not one of them.
She knows this.
I don’t need to speak five languages to work in IT. It’s just that CIA has the best language courses in the world and I can do them in my free time, so why not learn? I love to learn, whether it’s Mandarin or French or Swahili or………
It makes up for the sheer boredom in fixing print queues, rescuing data from a dropped hard drive, and telling someone for the third time how to use a VPN while they’re driving down the freeway. I suggested that they might retain the information better if they were sitting at their computer, but they insisted.
I am good at a lot of things. I’m going to write until I find something real. That might be in one scene, that might take a couple. Today is one of those days where I just have to start the tap running and hope something comes out. I am very low energy today, but I’m fried. I’ve written an entry every day for over a month- today is my 40th day in a row. I know that I am posting more than normal because I can’t find things as easy when I go back. 😉 I am dedicated to letting the past stay there, so I don’t link to anything. If you’ve missed it, good luck. It’s a different way of reading the web, and it is successful. That’s because people know they’re OG and can prove it. A true Fanagan knows what my life was like in 2013 and still does, so I can make jokes about things I’ve written without all of you knowing what I’m saying.
It creates intimacy, and it keeps blowback to a minimum because if someone didn’t read something about them, they generally won’t go look it up unless someone sends them a link. Trust me when I say that no one ever lets someone know when I’ve said something glowing about them. It’s a lot to want to escape from, which is why my inner circle is so small. I cannot have anyone in my circle who doesn’t understand that they are a complete person. That they are light and dark and angels and demons and hot sauce and peanut butter. All of ’em. None of us can truly be changed by the other, and no one gets changed by my silly web site, because they don’t pay attention to it unless they want to be here. There is no requirement on being a reader and being my friend. But when I don’t have friends who care about my writing, it makes me comfortable enough to continue. My writing matters. My personal relationship with every one of you does not.
If Hottie McHotterson wanted to define me by one entry and I was happy about it, it would have been “Go Tell the Bees,” preferably the audio version as I think it means more in my voice. I’d re-record it if I had spare time and server space, because I was so emotional the first time around. But it got me where I needed to be. Full of love, anger, remorse, grief….. and also joy. In one scene I told her about the day she was having a moment and I told her that we were sitting outside with a glass of wine in the sunshine, and we worked at GEICO.
That would be a good jumping off point if only because I’ve thought about that picnic for 10 years, and have imagined it many times. However, I can make our friendship look good. I can do nothing for working at GEICO.
So, I’ll write about what I could have done had my life followed the track that most people’s do. I used to be married, and I had all the hope in the world for that relationship. In fact, I was married twice on too much hope. With one, it was that we were the wrong personality type for each other. With the other, we were so much alike that we didn’t take our conflicts as seriously as they should have been taken for far too long to course correct. I’m going to write about being married to Kathleen, since it’s the closest to my real life now. I could have stayed in Alexandria after we met. It’s an alternate history that starts in college as opposed to 20 years ago.
I am alone in the doctor’s office. Kathleen would have come with me, but she’s at a softball game. I’m flipping through a magazine when she comes in. She’s smiling.
Leslie…. it took.
I say, “are you sure?” This woman has run three blood tests, but I’m asking if she’s sure….. #thankselizabethwarren
The doctor’s glasses slip a little on her nose and she looks at me like she’s gotten an A on the group project. “Your little monsters are going to own this town.” She knows she can say stuff like that to me, that I already feel like there has been some sort of alien invasion…. one that I can’t feel yet….. but she can. There are two heartbeats, both of them strong. We weren’t trying for twins, just a side effect of the implanted embroyos. We only did two, because Kathleen is Catholic and neither one of us wanted to think about having to remove them. I just hope that they turn out looking completely different from the jump. Otherwise, I will have to write their names with Sharpies on their foreheads. If I don’t, I know myself. One baby will get fat, one will look like it’s malnourished, all because I’m embarrassed that I don’t know which child is which. Thank God there’s not a chance they’re identical. There’s a chance they won’t even be the same race, because we didn’t use one donor. We chose based on education. Both donors majored in math- if I’m going to be of help in the homework department, it’s not there.
My doctor has noticed that I have left the conversation and that I am off in my own little world….. and when I get home, I’m going to blow up someone else’s. Oh, wait. I’m not going to need to go home to blow up someone’s world.
Kathleen is at work softball, but my mom and dad aren’t.
Kathleen is at work softball, but my sister isn’t.
That’s three whole ass phone calls to jump up and down and say “it’s twins” before I go home, because I know how my parents and sister are going to react. I cannot predict my wife, and I stopped trying long ago. I’m surprised she didn’t want to quit trying to have babies at all. She’s been distant lately, but I don’t care. The entire world fits into my tiny 5’2 frame.
I’m not in it for her reaction. I’m in it for my kids.’
It’s not that I think she won’t make a good mom. I don’t think she makes a very good wife, but she’s what I’ve got and I’ve made promises I intend to keep. Besides, I don’t really have to pay attention to her if I don’t feel like it. I have better things to focus on than who she’s screwing this week. If it makes her happy to have boy toys over a real relationship, I can only go with the flow. I cannot change her behavior. I can only change mine.
If I didn’t have to tell Kathleen I was pregnant, I probably wouldn’t. I wanted the real deal, and I got it….. but having everything costs something. If I had it to do over, I might have chosen differently. Now, it’s all a matter of dancing with who done brought me. I am only asking her to hold onto more hands when she twirls.
My doctor says “you’re not even really here anymore, are you?” I apologize and say, “I absolutely was not, but I am now. How do we do this?” She tells me to cut down on the pizza and beer (I found this banana cove one out in Fairfax…) is non-negotiable. I look at her and say, “I can understand why babies don’t like pizza, but why is beer a problem?” She laughs because she knows I’m joking and we start making a diet plan.
It will all go to shit later. I know it will. Kathleen and I do not have the emotional fortitude to fight through something like this. But right now? In this moment? She’s going to hear the most important words of her life and I get to say them.
“Sweetheart, I went to the doctor today…… and we’re going to need to do a lot of shopping. I’m not pregnant with a baby. I’m pregnant with two.”
She will look at me with the same wide-eyed wonder I gave my ob/gyn.
Stories That Are All True 