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Crush enemies, abandon hope, and unleash endless waves of unrepentant sarcasm. |
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There's nothing to see here that's really out of the ordinary. Nothing really terribly interesting either, unless you like griping, gossip, grudges, and possible mental illness. If anything it's some small way to keep myself writing (though you'll see by the dates on the entries that it's by no means an effective way), as well as a means through which I can vent about any number of things that are pissing me off. Occasionally there's pie. Look: I'm not a normal person. I'm suffering from untreated depression and plagued by increasingly frequent migraines that pretty much render me bedridden for days. I've suffered a lifetime of abuse and neglect, and still have to struggle with unfathomable depths of low self-worth, not to mention the eating disorders. I'm a weirdo, a freak, an aberration of nature and human experience . . . but it doesn't make me interesting. So, you can read this if you want. I've got some social commentary that might be a little fun, and occasionally throw in a poem or two, but for the most part it's the ramblings of a stricken mind. Pay no attention to the woman behind the curtain; she's just trying to change her dress. |
| Just had a crazy freaking dream. For whatever reason, I had undergone a full-body transplant, by which I mean my brain had been taken from my skull and put into the skull of another woman. This was a pretty easy procedure, and I seemed almost completely recovered despite having undergone the operation recently. The donor body was very similar to mine: brown eyes, same height, very close facial resemblance (it wasn't brought up in the dream, but I wonder if I had had cosmetic surgery to look more like the previous me?). I don't know what caused the need of such a major operation, but I was very nonchalant about the whole thing. I didn't really care. The weight of the change hit me while I was enjoying some whiskey. I was no longer sure of my alcohol tolerance, and was afraid to drink any more for fear of becoming horribly drunk. From there, I went from feeling good about my successful operation to horrified. I became frightened of running, in case my new legs moved faster or slower than my old and I ended up tripping over my own limbs. I wondered if the body was a virgin. Would my digestion be better, or would it be the same or even worse? What could I expect from menstruation? The worst part was feeling like I had lost my identity. I could tell my future daughters about my first period, or my first terrible cramps in Toys 'r' Us, but I felt like that story wouldn't matter, since it never happened to the body. I have lost some scars that had funny stories behind them, and now I could never tell those stories again; what's a hilarious injury story without the scar to prove it? How much of personality comes purely from the mind? Is it purely shallowness that allows our bodies to shape so much of our lives and thinking, or is it just as important as our experiences? And how long will it take until one gets used to typing with hands that are slightly darker and slightly larger than one's own? |
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| Not gonna lie, I'm pretty miserable right now. Wanda sent out a message saying that she has accepted as many requests for vacation time for December 24th as she can, and that no other time off will be permitted. This means that I'll be working on Christmas Eve, and will have a pretty tough time visiting Will's family for the holidays in any sane amount of time. Maybe it doesn't sound that bad, but I utterly devastated. I've pretty much been forced to spend Christmas here, in Richmond, all by myself. Will's not going to wait until the middle of the night to go home when his family will be demanding him for dinner. I can't ask him to do that, and he shouldn't have to. I know he's not skipping Christmas on the Shore to stay with me. At the very least his parents would not allow it. So I'm stuck here, alone. On Christmas. I was looking forward to this more than pretty much anything else. To have lost it is . . . . beyond fucked up. And there's nothing I can do. Sure, Christmas is important to everyone, but when my loved ones are more or less a state away, and I have no vehicle access, I lose out a hell of a lot more than they do. I don't think I'm going to live past Christmas. It's not safe for me to be alone right now, let alone just one of the most important holidays in the United States of America. We MIGHT get to go home early. That depends on the recruiting needs. Fuck the recruiting needs. But if I press the issue, I get fired. Oh, excuse me: "Corrective action." Same thing. I have to give up the one thing in life I want, or face losing my job and any possibility of promotion. I scratched all fuck out of my legs just now. Well. I'm officially off the wagon. I may as well tell Wanda the truth: I'm a suicide risk who can't be left alone for any length of time exceeding 24 hours, and that I probably won't be coming back to work for Celerion or anyone else if I'm stuck at home for the entirety of the Christmas season. I will have no Christmas this year. It's even worse than spending time with my parents. Fuck it. If I kill myself before the holidays, I won't be tempted to kill myself during them. |
| All of the colors after pgreen (whatever the hell the "p" stands for, since it sure as hell isn't "pine")were ugly, so I'm jumping straight to dark orange. Hell, it's autumn, I'm going to celebrate. So, the big news: the steak turned out pretty good, if a little more toward medium-well than I had intended. I took the thinner piece, since Will prefers his meat less done than I do, so his was at least around medium. I used vegetable oil to grease the pan, and added a little margerine, a diced clove of garlic, and so finely-diced onion, which I spooned over the meat while it was cooking. I think the seasoning turned out pretty well: I could definitely taste the garlic. More pepper next time, and I'll see if I can't get that nice caramelized coating on the meat, too. At some point I'll play with sage and thyme, just to see how they taste. Perhaps this week's paycheck will be large enough to allow for some more adventurous grocery purchases. He brought a bottle of port, since his Dad gave him a nice little bit of money. It was pretty good, for $6.50. I'll be buying the next one for certain, though. It was pretty lovely to have a nice dinner like that. He whipped out his phone and played some acoustic jazz guitar while we ate. All that was missing were candles (not to mention a nice, clean dining room of our own without idiot roommates). I think he quite enjoyed the meal. It makes me happy to be able to cook for him. We retreated, with the bottle of port and our glasses, to my room to continue with our horror movie marathon. We started off with Nosferatu and had nerdgasms over the quality of storytelling and the special effects. Hey, for 1922, those effects were pretty awesome. We also laughed at the irony of Stoker's widow trying to ban Mernau's film, since she did not approve his adaptation, and applauding the play that led to the Tod Browning Dracula starring Lugosi, despite the fact that Mernau did a much better job at capturing the spirit of the novel than the playwrite. After that I finally saw The Phantom of the Opera with good old Lon Chaney, Sr. It's not too bad, though it doesn't really show the appeal of Christine to the Phantom. We don't even see him tutoring her, he just sends Carlotta a letter telling her to give the role to Christine. The wine hit us around that time, and Will actually fell asleep during the last ten minutes of the movie. I was going to just pull out the other bed and somehow yank off his jeans so he'd be a little more comfortable, but he woke up as I was moving the night stand. He was more tired than drunk, but neither he nor I wanted him driving home. I can't wait for a bigger bed, so I can cuddle up with him without falling through the gap between bedframes, but it's still a pleasant end to the evening to have him crash there. Practice for the future. I hope. ^_^ I tried to catch a falling star, but all I got was this damn pixie. Also: I mentioned to Will some of the concerns and feelings I've been getting the last couple of weeks, mainly regarding his feelings for me and his interest level. He reassured me that there's absolutely nothing wrong between us, and that he will not hesitate to tell me if he ever develops doubts or concerns of his own. I guess my logical side can say, "I told you so," now. All those periods of breakdowns, I always tried to tell myself that nothing was wrong and that I would feel foolish for getting so frantic over such ridiculous ideas. I just couldn't get the voices to stop telling me awful things, no matter how much I mentally screamed that nothing was wrong and it was all in my head. I starting to break. All my fears about money and looking after everyone else in this house, as well as just general depression, it's all too much to handle. I'd like to tell Kaia to clean the cat box herself (I had to soak the damn thing to get rid of the inch-think crust of litter in the bottom, and I'd love to say, "I told you already that I cannot handle ALL of the dishes, and I need you to step up once in a while. But, how? I mentioned it to Eric, and his response was that I volunteered to do it, and that if I had a problem that A) I shouldn't have said I would do it, and B) I should have said something. I explained later that I HAVE been saying things, but that nobody listens. The bills are just too much for me to pay, and I've been vocal about being more careful with the energy usage. I have to clean up after everyone's fuck ups, but now I have to pay for them, too? How do I get out of this? I'm trapped. |
Writing-Dot-Com isn't blocked by Celerion's Internet settings, so I'm updating my blog from my workstation!  That lightning doesn't look as scary or dramatic as I was hoping. So, update from work: I've only called 13 of the people on my spreadsheet, mostly because I keep getting first-time callers. Sadly, I haven't been able to take but one person through the questionnaire, and he was a waitlist candidate. I'm on lunch break right now (yeah, four in the afternoon is my "lunch"). I have to take my breaks so I don't go over 28 hours. I just hope that I'm not killing my appetite for this evening. I'm making a small steak for me and Will, so it's kind of an event. I'm going to serve it with rice pilaf (Rice-a-Roni, naturally) and a salad. I feel fancy. I have to get back to work soon, so adieu sweet Internet! Gotta finish my cheap-ass microwave meal. |
| I'd write more, but I am sad right now. I had a great time with Will and his family today, and then watching Trick or Treat with him, but now I just feel depressed again. I really hope I don't have psychotic depression; then again, I feel crazy right now anyway. Does it count as "hearing voices" if you know the voice is your own, and you just can't control when it speaks up and what it says? I guess I do need some help. My grasp on reality is becoming tenuous. I was starting to believe that Will was ignoring me, and that our breakup was imminent either because he had grown tired of me, or had found someone better. Then I started to think he was going to hurt himself. I ended up scratching myself that day. I haven't really cut yet, but I'm getting to that point. There's not much keeping me from cutting, apart from the consequences should Will see the new scars (assuming he ever has sex with me again). That's all I've got for now. I don't want to type anymore. |
| Just finished my 28.5 hour week at work. Still not making half as much as I was earning at the IRS, but my next paycheck should be decent, especially since I'm getting 26.5 hours next week. Arthur told me that I don't have to take my lunch breaks, either, so I may just grab my food during my fifteen minute break and nibble at my desk next week. That's only an extra thirty dollars, but that would pay my way for RennFest. It felt good to get to work so early. I miss working a regular schedule, and getting home while there's still time to do things. I used to be comfortable dropping by Kroger or the dollar store after work. Now people express concern if I go out so late, and there's always the risk that the place I want to visit at eight-thirty or nine closed at six or seven. Hell, now I have time to take a nap after work if my head is bothering me, without screwing up my entire sleep schedule. I like doing prep work. It's a little tedious and repetitive, but at least it's pure work the whole time, and not long stretches of staring off into space or doing sudoku (never thought I'd say that). Yeah, my thumbs are a little raw from opening and closing all those foil bags, but at least I get to watch the IN pile shrink and the OUT pile grow. There's accomplishment there, and it makes a dull job a little bit more fun when you can rush through the work and see how much you've achieved at the end of an hour. Anyhoo, just wanted to update this thing. I'm trying to get into the habit of doing this blog more often, so I'm just spouting random comments. Chicken tenders are harder to come by in the VCU area than they should be. We need a better dry cleaners'. The museum would be a nice place to visit. Penis. Yeah, I think I'm done for the day. ^_^ |
Like the title of today's entry? Not as much as I like having a functional drain in the bathroom sink.  Long story short, pencils and pens were not long enough to catch hold of the mass of hair and soap scum clogging the drain, and I didn't feel like spending money on pipe cleaner, so I snatched one of the stray metal coat hangers from the laundry room and spent some time bending the hooked part into a shorter, more narrow hook that could be used to reach down the drain and snag the crap blocking the flow of water. It took some doing and clever manipulation, and more than one casting of the rod before I got the whole mess out, but it was worth it. I am suspecting that Idiot, I mean Eric, has been dumping his weed ash down the drain, because there was all sorts of gritty material down there. But we're running now. It's nice when you don't have to shut the faucet off while rinsing your face because you need to let some of the water in the basin drain, lest it overflow. I've got my 8-4 shift tomorrow. It's going to feel like having a real job again! And what's more, Wanda is giving me twenty-eight hours again next week, so I'll probably have another eight-hour shift to remind me of what it was like to work full time. Speaking of real jobs with their full-time hours, still no word about the IRS position, so my fingers are crossed but I'm not about to go on a shopping spree just yet. Note to self: remember to put all the prep experience you've gotten this past week on your resume. That will probably come in handy. No, seriously, today was the first day all week that I haven't been doing prep. Friday night I screwed batteries into and out of chargers with Roger, and then on Monday I was screwing batteries onto E-cig cartridges with Lanise, Melody, Krystal, and Laila (who I have discovered is Austrian, and she thinks my accent when I speak German is adorable). We lost it in the last hour or so before quitting time, and talked about how much fun it is to screw all day at work, but that we needed a break from screwing. Then Laila and I went next door to screw together. I thought Lanise was going to laugh herself into a heart attack. Oh puns. Seriously, though, my thumbs are covered in a bunch of little micro-cuts that I can just barely feel. Not a ton of fun here. I am probably going to call for an appointment with Fan Free as soon as I get my schedule for next week. I haven't updated my blog because my thoughts have been too dark and crazy to share. Well, not too dark to share, but I knew they were messed up. I've been having thoughts that Will doesn't love me anymore and that he will break up with me soon. I'm also considering cutting again, and the thought keeps occurring to me that if I do Will won't find out, since he hasn't touched me in a long time. I'd rather not nag him for sex, but I want to feel like he's still attracted to me. So yeah. There's that: occasionally convinced that my boyfriend has ceased to love me and that there's no point in trying to stop being depressed. I think it's pill time. I actually had a talk with Terri about that yesterday: apparently she's been on antidepressants for years, and she's one of the nicest, most cheerful people I know. I'd like to be nice and cheerful, and not caught up in bitterness and doubt. But, bed time. Gotta be up in six and half hours. |
| Will's getting his hair cut tomorrow. Long story short, Dustin quit his job for a stupid reason, and now Will is panicking about how they will pay for rent with only Will's parents and Dustin's mom sending what little they can to help out. So, he's getting all his curls lopped off in a desperate bid to get a job, something he's been trying so hard to do, and that Dustin just takes utterly for granted. I'm really dreading this. I know how much he likes his hair, and I won't deny that I find it quite attractive. I'm sure he'll still be hot with it short, but with everything else going on I don't want him to worry about his appearance. Ah well. At least it will be easier to manage. I will miss those curls, but I'll get used to him looking like everyone else. I am furious with Dustin for putting Will through this shit. Yeah, he's going through some depression and is having anxiety problems, but all the time Will was working his ass off studying, or dealing with emotional shit, Dustin just laughed at him and called him a pussy. I have spent so many hours on the phone listening to Will complain about not being able to sleep or study because of Dustin making noise or bothering him. Now that it's happening to Dustin, it's real. He works a couple of days a week, and is taking three classes right now, and he's complaining that it's all so hard. I've had a lifelong struggle with depression, so I'm trying to be sympathetic, but at the same time, boo-fucking-hoo. Will and I both forced our way through loads of shit, mostly without any support apart from each other, and even then we've both held back a lot for fear of over-stressing each other. You do what needs to be done, and you don't take it out on other people. Fuck, I'm trying to come up with a contingency plan in case Dusting does hit absolute zero in his bank account and has to move back home and stick Will with the entire rent. Again, this wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the usual insult: Will got mocked for spending hours working his ass off on schoolwork and Howl-o-Scream and stressing out keeping his shit together, and Dustin is the one who is justified in having a breakdown. Being responsible's not as easy as you thought it would be, huh? You know what's even worse? Will applied to Mellow Mushroom, lately the workplace of Dustin, and made it very clear that he is Dustin's roommate. He was intending that the namedrop would get him a better chance at employment. Now that Dustin quit because he got in trouble for coming in an hour early (and I'd like to state that he quit, as in walked out without so much as two weeks' notice), Will's chances of getting a job there are pretty much nullified. Who's going to want to hire the roommate of the little bitch who stormed out over something stupid? So Will is cutting the hair he's had for nearly ten years now, and praying for a chance at some kind of job. He's pretty much been royally fucked over, almost as bad as when James moved out all of a sudden. I shouldn't be so mad (or even surprised), but after a while you get sick and tired of always being the only adult in the situation, and watching the same hell happen to someone you love. Yeah, Dustin is dealing with some shit right now, and I'll be sympathetic once I stop being pissed and Will stops having panic attacks over how to afford the rent and that whole "food" thing. Again, I'd feel kinder toward him if he hadn't made fun of Will for needing to study, or needing to sleep, or needing some quiet so he could write a paper before his five-to-midnight shift at Busch Gardens. Will's making a pretty big (for him, anyway) change to his lifestyle to make up for Dustin's new lack of income. I can't think of a single instance when Dustin made any kind of adjustment for Will when he was having a hard time. It pisses me off. |
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