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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. |
| So I'm a little bit torn right now. I got into the highest-ranked category for selection on the IRS customer service position, which is really good news; but yesterday I got a text from Wanda about how free my mornings are, since she wanted to get me twenty-eight hours this week. I've been working there for two months, and my manager is already working to get me as many hours as she is permitted to give me. Also, she has me working the morning shift on Friday, and mid-morning on Wednesday and Thursday. I am happy, because this means I can get lunch from the cafeteria. I am also happy because this is the kind of work pattern I've seen Roger and Unya do, and they hold the coveted Part-Time 30 position. Turns out that Keturah was fired for calling out frequently and for performance issues (I feel a little guilty for feeling pleased that I don't have any problems forgetting to log calls, or registering people who don't qualify, but it makes me feel like I'm doing a good job). Wanda was already interviewing for more variable and PT-30 people, so now she has an extra slot to fill. Might she be considering moving me from variable to PT-30? My probationary period is ending next month, so I may be eligible for the increase in hours by then. If I do get that position, I'll start getting benefits, which would be a huge help to . . . well, everything. The hard part is deciding what to do should I get an offer to work for the IRS. That's a full forty hours per week, and a nice government job that I believe comes with benefits. Of course, it's only seasonal, so that increase in income would last only half a year, whereas I'll be with Celerion until I choose to leave, or screw up badly enough that they terminate me (like that's going to happen, the way I work). It's a matter of the cost-benefit ratio, and if I do get promoted, that ratio is going to be a lot closer to that of the IRS. After all, what will look better in the long run? Working for the IRS twice while leaving a previous job after only a couple of months, or sticking with each job for as long as the position exists and thereby showing devotion to the company? Will leaving make me seem ambitious, or just flaky and unreliable? If anybody knows how employers think when looking at resumes, let me know. Celerion's call center is nice, but it's not something I want to stick with if other (long term) opportunities come along. |
| So after staying in bed for about eleven or twelve dream-bludgeoning hours, during which time my Richmond, VA townhouse was transported to the middle of the countryside and gained two dogs and a cat that had "accidents" everywhere while the walls and furniture was literally falling apart (no, seriously: I spent a good amount of time telling Kaia to get out of the top bunk because I was watching it slowly slide off the bottom and was about to utterly collapse on itself and perhaps kill her, I finally got past my menstrual-driven fatigue and clambered out of bed to check my email. The bad news is that Wanda sent out an email how she is interviewing people daily for the call center openings, meaning that my suggestion that Will check it out was too little, too late. The good news is that my assessment for the IRS job was processed, and I was given a rating of Category A: Superior Qualified. Oops, did I say "good" news? I meant to say, "fucking awesome" news. Now I still don't have the job. I'm in the same line as a bunch of other contenders, and they may be far more qualified than I. We will have to see what happens next, but for right now I am feeling pretty darn good about this. Even if it doesn't happen, I still did well, which doesn't help pay bills but it does make me feel less like a total fuck up. If I do get this position, I'm going to see about trying to stick with Celerion. Lanise and Terri mentioned that there have been times when they get five hours of work per week, so perhaps Wanda's "minimum" is more flexible than she made it sound during my interview. If so, I can try to do both: do the nine-to-five at 8th street, then do whatever remaining hours I can at 7th. It will be a big help having Celerion just down the street. If that is not an option, I will ask how possible it will be for me to try and reapply once the tax season is over. I should be able to save some money even from working there six months, so I will not be super hard-off once it's over, but I want something lined up pretty quickly. I need to finish my tomato soon. Will, Sean, and Dustin are jamming, and Will wants me to hear. Not too thrilled about bleeding so heavily at their place, but I want to give moral support. Also: Greg and Eric finally got the lawnmower put together . . . and then it promptly fell apart within a few minutes of mowing the lawn. Great job, guys. Great job. |
| I finally broke down and left a message with Fan Free Clinic about seeing someone in the Mental Health Services department. I figure that since I was thrown into suicidal despair over the realization that I've lost friends due to my depression, maybe I'm not as happy as I could be. I'm seriously considering breaking up with Will in order to cut without guilt, and lessen the blow of my self-inflicted death, despite a full understanding that it wouldn't have any less devastating effect on him. I resent him for making me hold back, but I know how much it would upset him if I even mention wanting to cut. He's got enough on his mind, and it's wrong of me to pile him with more stress. Still, it's not a happy feeling to be utterly powerless in the face of mental illness, and at least the self-mutilation shuts out the chaos long enough for me to get re-centered. I do wish he would let up about the Zoloft, though. To him, it's nothing more than a mad scientist tinkering with the brains of perfectly good, normal people and turning them into zombies or making their mood disorders way worse. Yeah, he knows people who were "screwed up" by improperly prescribed medication. Fuck, I'm one of those people myself. I'm also realistic, and understand that A ) a psychiatrist can't know what chemical compound will work on a person's brain through therapy or psychic ability, and often some trial and error in medication type and dosage is needed before an effective fit is made, and B ) people who are prescribed mood-elevating or mood-stabilizing drugs are placed on them because there is something wrong with their mental health that makes them prone to depression, mood swings, and suicidal tendencies. Yes, in some cases the reaction to the medication was not closely monitored (fuck, sometimes there seems to be no patient monitoring at all. What, does the family attribute the glazed stare and muted ramblings about deer mice to a change in diet?), and the person's mental condition worsens significantly. Yeah, that happens sometimes. To say that it's the typical result of psychiatric treatment is just plain wrong. Hell, a few thousand people used Sudafed to make crystal meth, and now you have to have your ID registered every time you buy the original formula. I think that if the normal reaction to medication was a worsened condition and increase in suicidal thought in the several million patients throughout this country, we'd be hearing about it a lot more. Really, I think blaming the medication for suicides or breakdowns is just a way to comfort ourselves with the death or deterioration of a friend; it's not that we didn't help them enough, or that they were suffering terribly for years; it's that god damned medication that screwed them up. It's time for me to go to work. Shame. I was really on a roll here. I'll conclude by saying that I myself went through some hell while on medication as a child, but that was because nobody was monitoring my reactions, and the underlying problems of my life were never once addressed. The lithium was bad, I have no doubt about that, but was everything else a mistake, or was it merely not enough? The Zoloft helped, a lot. Working with Dr. Price and having somebody understand me and say that, yes, I do have a problem that needs fixing but it doesn't make me evil, helped even more. |
| So I missed Morgan's 21st birthday because I had a migraine. I was hoping it would go away by the time the party was in full swing, but as the day wore there was enough of a throb to keep me in bed. I also had a fever, though I didn't have any aches or chills, so mingling with people going to school full-time isn't a great idea. I read more of Deathly Hallows and a little Lovecraft, first by the light of the corner of the window I uncovered, then by candle light. It was nice. Sucks that I couldn't go to the party, but I would have been miserable, and knowing Will he would have left the party to see me safely home. Ah, Will. He texted me all night long, and sent me many adorable pictures. He offered a few times to come over and look after me, even though it's just a migraine. I don't like to be doted on unless there's a real issue, like the bad medication interaction a few weeks back. That shit was scary: if I tried so much as to sit up in my bed, I experienced an attack of what felt like a combination of fainting, asthma, a heart attack, and sheer panic. I called Will over just so I could have someone in the room to call for help if my condition got worse. He even spent like his last two dollars to get me a Coke so I would have the stimulant and the migraine relief. Yeah, all that shit happened because I had a migraine, and mixed the triptan with one of my old anti-nausea pills to stop the constant flow of stomach acid. It sucked. Now I am tired. I spent part of the day celebrating Kaia's birthday with Sarah and Michelle. I had hoped for quiet Internet time, since I didn't do anything more than open my laptop yesterday (no, really! I opened it, looked at the password entry screen, and closed it), but getting out was good for me. PS: I wish the field to enter the entry title wasn't at the bottom of the page. I keep getting error messages because I forget to give each entry a title once I'm done rambling. That is why the title for this entry is what it is. I tried to catch a falling star, but all I got was this damn pixie.
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| Well, um . . . looks like Writing-Dot-Com changed it's layout in the past twenty-four hours. I know, because I was here earlier, trying to find something to do on the Internet (the repository of all knowledge and information, and I'm still bored), and it was not like this. Guess I'll get used to it in a few days. Just kind of weird looking right now. Will's depressed over the job hunt. It's been a few weeks and he hasn't heard much more than a few, "We'll see if we have any openings," statements. He's applied to Mellow Mushroom, which he has a decent chance of getting since he would be working full time. I hope he does better than me. I can't afford to live right now, and it sucks. I'm keeping it mostly together for him, but it's hard. I'm okay right now, but I've had some bad moments even in the past few hours. I lightly pressured him into sex because I thought it would make both of us feel better. I am still stuck on the idea that nothing clears a guy's mind and relieves his stress like a good old fashioned fucking, even though Will tells me he doesn't work like that. Ah well. I just want to give him something special. I've finally gotten my hands on Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I'm really looking forward to reading it, when I have some time to myself. I'm not reading it around Will. I don't like to cry around him, and I have no doubt that I'm going to lose it repeatedly. J. K. Rowling feeds on the tears of the devoted. It is how she repays Satan for the ill-gotten gift of spectacular character development. Now I just need to wake up decently early so I can enjoy it without worrying about getting ready for Will. I think we're starting to reach the limit of days spent together, if only because there are a lot of things I prefer to do alone. I should stop worrying so much about most of it, though: I freak out if it's shower/shave night and Will's coming over, but he takes showers around me all the time. I need to be more relaxed. It's not like he cares if I take a half-hour to clean up and get smooth. I guess I'm doing leg lifts and reading "Herbert West: Re-Animator" tonight. I hate that we're pushing two AM and I'm wide awake. I should try that starving thing, only the Cracked article didn't mention when to start the sixteen-hour fast to reset one's internal clock. I guess I should have thought to try it starting Friday, when I had three nights to get used to it. |
| So after getting a call yesterday to fill out a physical application at the Sleep Clinic for Children and Adults, I was told to come in today for a "working interview" during which I'd be put to work doing some basic tasks around the office. Never heard of that before, but why not try it out? I can't say it was the most pleasant experience. Ms. Li, the nurse, plunked me down in front of the computer, opened a spreadsheet, and told me to take messages. The most introduction I got was that Dr. Hamilton-Stubbs wants very detailed messages, and that when I answer the phone I have to say, "Thank you for calling the Sleep Clinic for Children and Adults, my name is Elizabeth. How can I help you?" She had to take the first two calls because I had no idea what the callers were asking for. It wasn't as much of a mess as I thought it would be, and I wasn't nearly as nervous, but it was still strange to be told, "This is the chart, you need to fill out some parts of it, 'kay thanks bye," and then be left to my own devices. The doctor seems really nice. It's a Christian-based medical center, and it's nice to see a mission statement that says they aim to provide people with aid for their sleep disorders in the spirit of Jesus Christ who cared for the wealthy and the poor. I've gone without sleeping for days at a time, so I know how awful it is, and it's great that someone is providing help to those who might not otherwise be seen. The office is really cramped, though; there's like no place to set anything down to write at the desk they have me at, and walking down the wood-paneled hall from the back area to the waiting room is almost claustrophobic. I still need to see if this is something I can work out with Celerion. She wants someone to come in from ten til four, and on Thursdays will likely want me there until five. I am going to try to ask Wanda today if there's anyway I could start coming to work at 4:10 or 4:15, and maybe get Thursdays off, but I am not sure how that will be taken. If she is okay with me coming in only at four, then I can ask DR. Hamilton-Stubbs if I can leave at 3:45. Hopefully I can get that answer soon. Dr.HS wants me to come in tomorrow at 12:30 for another working interview (she wants to do three in total), and I won't be able to email her until 8:30pm. I think I'll give her a call tonight and tomorrow morning to let her know whether or not I can do it, and if we need to work out some kind of compromise on times. I also wish to add that a gentleman who came in today was very rude to me. He was scheduled for Thursday, but came in to get some paperwork and ask some questions. My job was to let him in. He started grilling me about what papers he needed, and whether they did the testing there at the clinic or somewhere else. My response to all his inquiries was, "I don't know, you'll have to ask the doctor." His son asked if I was new, and I affirmed that, yes, I am new there. Then the father started asking more questions, and again, I didn't know. He then told me to go find someone that had a little more "up there." He raised his hand, palm down, to about the level of his head while he said that. He might have meant just someone on a higher rung of the supervisory ladder than myself who might have the information, or he might have meant that I'm an idiot and he wanted to speak to someone with a brain in their head. He didn't sound nasty when he said it, but still: I had been in the building for ninety minutes. Cut me some slack, dude. |
| Last night was not terribly fun after finishing the fourth disk of Cowboy Bebop. I felt oddly sick to my stomach after Will went home, not really nauseous but definitely unsettled. It had that tight, twisty, cold feeling that one gets from anxiety or fear, mixed with hunger, mixed with upset, and some hints of oncoming diarrhea. I tried eating, but that didn't help at all. My usual reaction to upset stomach is to make myself throw up the offending article, but this time there was no relief from purging. I stayed up until six trying to get some kind of relief. It didn't help that all those articles on "Heart Attacks in Women" I've come across started dictating through my mind. I won't lie: I was afraid to go to sleep, for fear my heart would stop in the night and I would die. I was also worried about intestinal blockage, as I have gas pressure and have not been having as many bowel movements as I should three days after taking Milk of Magnesia. I'm guessing it was part digestive distress caused by the Milk of Magnesia and poor diet, and part anxiety attack. I'm still feeling some of the effects, and I'm a little worried about the walk to work today. I'd hate to have an accident. I'll have to leave early, so I can walk slow and not disrupt anything. Hopefully the slices of wheat bread I've been munching will hold everything together. I'd like stay home and get better, but A) I need the fifty dollars today's work will get me, and B) I have CPR training at work that I cannot miss. It's kind of neat: getting paid to learn CPR. That will look good on my resume as well. I'm watching Deadly Women, or would be if my computer would stop acting up. I need to update my Nvidia driver, but the installation keeps failing. I'll figure it out, I guess. Hopefully it won't be too hard, because LOTRO is getting harder and harder to play without up-to-date drivers. Back to Deadly Women. I hope work does not treat me too unkindly. |
| I had my interview at Celerion today for the call center position. It almost didn't happen, because the directions were to the parking garage, and no address was provided. Fortunately I checked on Google Maps before I applied, so I knew the address and the general area when I set out, but come to find out the parking garage was not attached to the building at all (which really threw me off), and there are no signs for Celerion anywhere. So here I am, wandering about, ten minutes before my appointment, and I can't find the damn building. A nice man saw my confused face and pointed me toward what he called "the Phillip Morris Building," fortunately before I went the opposite direction to BioTech One (the building I wanted was BioTech Nine it seems). I get there, and I see a sign for Altria. I was about to knock on the door to get the guard's attention, but a lady exiting the building told me to go around to the other side. I get there and wait to be noticed. The guard opens the side door, and tells me that the previous door I just left is the one I needed. I go over there and tap on the door. Apologetically, with my blazer still in my bag because I was dead certain this wasn't the right door either, I ask where the Celerion offices are. The guard tells me I am in the right place. Remember, no signs indicating that Celerion is in this building. I was so relieved to have found the place finally. All said and done, my interview went really well. Like, the "fairly certain I am getting this job" brand of well. Wanda said she is going to call the hiring lady and tell her to go ahead with my application. I should be hearing from her very soon, before the end of the week. I am so happy. I do hope this happens. I'm ready to just barely make it out of poverty again. |
| Today's a day for indigo. First things first, I am not drunk. I have been trying, but I am not drunk. The reason for my attempted inebriation is my repeated failure to get this fucking story off the ground. I wanted to try the whole sleep-deprived second wind sort of tactic, but I keep getting too tired and going to bed. A further sign of encroaching old age (even though the handful of readers I have will probably bitch-slap me for mentioned old age when I am currently pushing 27). I have stared the open window down, and so far I've gotten two paragraphs that are going to need a great deal of work, assuming I ever get to the editing stage of this project. Maybe I'm just not good enough. I only have a few actually unique ideas to begin with, and I can never get anything off the ground. Maybe I just suck at writing, and will never amount to anything concerning the written word. How long has it been since I uploaded anything onto this site? Maybe a year? And that itself was the first in a year or two. I'm just not cut out for this. I'm not a good writer. But, I'll keep trying, I suppose. If only to say, "I suck, but at least I tried." I could say that now, but I need something to show for it first, or else nobody will believe that I really took a stab at it. Ah well. Back to the booze. PS: I've also been forcing water down, because I'm about to start my period and I want to see if flushing your system is a good way to prevent water retention. Can't hurt to try, but I'm so fucking tired of water. Seriously, a glass of cool water has as much appeal as a measuring cup of Robitussin. Ugh. |
| I'm trying to re-do the story about the little girl who kills people. I was going to have a fairly innocent girl who takes things too literally as the main focus, but that's really too much of a rip off of The Bad Seed for me to feel comfortable. So I'm going with a series of misadventures that the mother takes too far. Still kind of a rip-off, but not so much as it would have been. I'm also getting rid of the Lovecraftian opening. "Hear ye, let no man sayeth that Abigail Greyson hadst an evil heart, for no man can speak truly of such noble charity." Not a direct quote, but it does kind of come across like that. I've decided to write in the voice of the family's next door neighbor, to give it a bit of credulity, and also fit in a little snark. I like the snark. I went with Dustin to get his tattoo yesterday. I had some reservations when I found out he was having it done not at a parlor but at his coworker's house. But the guy was very clean and careful, and though it's not yet colored in, the spade looks pretty awesome. Dustin was a champ about the pain: not so much as a grunt or whimper, but he told me afterward that it hurt far more than he was expecting it to, and that he decided to get it colored in later because he couldn't stand to sit there for a whole additional hour. He's doing well after the breakup. I thought it was for the best before he talked to me, but afterward . . . yeah, that shit needed to stop. Nothing against Jess; she's still a cool person, and it's her business how she goes about with romance, but it's just not something that Dustin can work with. He requires commitment, and that doesn't happen easily with a polyamorous partner. I'm glad they broke it off so soon, because Dustin would be a mess if they had dated for even one more month. I can't say I don't care, because they seemed so happy, but this is definitely for the best. I'll still hang out with both. What else, what else. Will's car broke down last month while we were on the way back from Delaware for Kelma's wedding. We were lucky that A) it waited until we were off all the shoulder-less places and out of the center lane to break down, so we made it safely to the side of the road, and B) we were within a hundred miles of the towing destination, so the tow didn't cost Will a dime. I am totally get AAA when I get a car. They are awesome. And now his dad has gotten him a new car (well, a novel car, as it is used), and he should be driving home from his mom's birthday celebration on Sunday. It's a huge relief: not having a car has been a major pain for Will, since he doesn't like walking as far as my house after dark, but desires to hang out while studying. Now I get to spend even more time with him (Friday and Saturday night were spent in my bed, heh). |
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