%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |
Crush enemies, abandon hope, and unleash endless waves of unrepentant sarcasm. |
|
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. |
| Yay, hot pink. I'm coming out of the cold, but unfortunately that means coughing as my lungs clear themselves. It hasn't been so bad until tonight. Right now talking hurts a great deal, and I have retreated from the family room where Brandon is making a Star Wars D&D character and Will is playing Zelda. I'm going to bed as soon as I'm done with this entry. I had a wee bit of difficulty getting the number switched to the new phone, but the guy my mother got a hold of was able to do it with no problem. I guess the man I talked to wasn't as experienced, but no matter. I got Brandon to text me with the contact he had in his phone, and there was no problem. Therefore, I have no fear of missing important job calls. All matters taken care of. But I must sleep. My chest and lower throat really hurt. All I can do is sleep through it at this point. I tried to catch a falling star, but all I got was this damn pixie. |
| Today's color is the first of four pinks. I may have to highlight this text to read it later. Today we got the official announcement of the end of the contract. At least now we know for certain. I must say, there are aspects of this job I will absolutely not miss. For instance! Today we tried to print the file labels. Pam is out taking care of her daughter, and Esther came to Wayne and me to get them done as soon as possible. The problem is, neither Wayne nor I can access the program on our logins. So Esther logged in. I couldn't open the Word document we normally use, so I tried just going into ColorBar. Well, up came labels, but they were the labels from last week. So, fuck me. Esther kept asking what Pam does to export the labels (though I'm pretty sure she only does that when Bonnie cannot export), but my input was reduced to a series of "I don't know's." Bonnie was in the office, so I haven't the faintest idea why Esther didn't just storm over to her desk, scoop her up, and dump her in front of the computer saying, "Fix this." I understand why Pam and many others can't stand Bonnie. She doesn't know what the hell she's doing. And yet, she gets to keep her job, instead of being demoted back to a specialist, or fired. Stupid public sector politics. My new phone came today. It just finished charging, in fact. I can't wait until I get home tomorrow: I'm going to activate this bitch, get my number switched over, and get texting. Then, I'm texting Will something romantic. Something like . . . "Fuck me against the wall." Okay, not that, exactly, but something. I want to excite him. Maybe if I'm feeling better tomorrow, we can do the physical things we wanted to do this past weekend. I'm still disappointed I missed Apocalypse night at Fallout, and I want to make up for lost dancing and socializing. I figure, a Dracula film, sex, then Fallout will make for a fulfilling evening. But first I need to survive the night. I hope I make it to work tomorrow. I tried to catch a falling star, but all I got was this damn pixie. |
| We got a claim in today from a guy who felt harassed by his (female) boss. He described her as very aggressive, shouting at employees, discriminating against obese people, and making threats using the term "KKK". What kind of supervisor does this and doesn't get arrested? Outside of Atlanta, I mean? (PEOPLE OF ATLANTA: it's a joke, but it's too easy to make. Be nicer down there) I know some would cry "Freedom of Speech," but referencing the Ku Klux Klan while speaking angrily or aggressively to someone can only be seen as a threat to do bodily harm. I read through the description at work and said to Pam and Chandelle that I hoped it wasn't true, because if it is then that woman is fucking crazy. Then I realized what word I used. In front of grandmother-of-five Pam. That was pretty darn mortifying, but she didn't even react. I guess sitting next to Robin all that time and hearing her very loud, very vulgar phone conversations has made her immune. Still shameful of me, but claims of horrendous abuse and prejudice just get my gander up. I think that's a real phrase. Is that a real phrase? I'm sure I've heard it before, and it's supposed to be from a generation or two before my time. But yeah, if what that guy said is true, I hope TIGTA gets involved because there is no room for that crap in any workplace, much less the government outside of Congress. Still got a cold. Now I'm coughing a bit. Hopefully this clears up soon. I have vampire movies to watch to get Will in character. I tried to catch a falling star, but all I got was this damn pixie. |
| Will found out just now that Michael Keaton, the greatest Batman ever, is sixty. I should not be shocked. To rub salt in our wounds, the IRS Commissioner sent an email today about how the IRS has managed to save 93 billion dollars. That's 93 billion dollars. And yet they can't afford to renew our contracts, or get some new hires to replace the specialists who have retired. Hmmm. And this week we are trying to make Harvey an indoor cat. If he cries to be let outside, we are to put him in his litter box. I wish Buck and Brandon good luck with this one, because once they get the wanderlust, it's hard to keep them indoors. I'm almost fearful Jay will let him out just to be an ass. I'm seriously fearful Jay will let him out just out of failure to pay attention, or because he's drunk. I should probably get off Jay's case, but he really is an asshole. He told Buck and Christina that he would veto them getting a kitten because he doesn't think they take care of Harvey correctly (though he's really Brandon's cat). Hey, I don't like how he doesn't close the door correctly, and that's a more important issue than getting the flea meds on the cat a few days late. At this point I don't think Harvey is bringing them in. I think we might be tracking them in by wading through that jungle of growth between the cars. But there's no point in saying anything to Jay. He leaves the door unlocked or unlatched so often I've given up trying to impress the importance of safety. I'll be very happy when he's gone. I tried to catch a falling star, but all I got was this damn pixie. |
| Yay, I came back to catch up on le entries. Spent a lovely day with Will. We went to Hollywood Cemetery, and encountered a rare sight: a security guard. He was patrolling about James Monroe's grave and spoke to us for a moment. Apparently, the raised "curb" to one side of the nice paved walkway in the Presidents' Circle is a series of urn slots. Each square of stone is meant to hold one urn. I just peeked at the website; one of those niches costs ten thousand dollars. In comparison, the mausoleum is eight thousand per crypt. Oh well, it's not the real estate, it's the location. I had no idea that was the purpose of that raised portion. I actually spotted one stone with a burial inscription, right by that lovely view of the James. I'm surprised I never noticed it before, but it could be brand new, or maybe we've always been so enthralled by the sight of the river that we never thought to look down. I watched Will play Ocarina of Time for several hours. I must play that game myself some day, when he has finished of course. There are only three save slots, and Buck and Jay each own the other two. Then we watched Nosferatu. I'm amused that the spell check recognizes "Nosferatu" as a word (though apparently only as a proper noun, as it gave me the bitchy red line when I tried typing it with a lowercase "n" just now). We plan to watch all of the Dracula legacy collection as well as the Coppola film and whatever others we can find so that he can get into character for Howl-o-Scream (two horror puns for Busch Gardens). I am le excited. But sleep now. My head hurts and my stomach is a bit upset. I tried to catch a falling star, but all I got was this damn pixie. |
| Yup, I was sick. Probably just a minor virus, but it sucked for a short time. For a moment I was fearing meningitis, because my neck felt stiff. Fortunately it was just a little stiff and sore, and not immovable, so it's likely I just did something while dancing. Will is feeling fine, and hopefully he will remain healthy. I remembered late last night that I had not updated this thing for the day. I thought about doing it then and there, but I had just gotten into bed and was reeeeeeeally comfortable. So I'm doing it now, with the hope that I will be entering again before the day is done. But for now, the Will is here. Ta ta! I tried to catch a falling star, but all I got was this damn pixie. |
| Went to Fallout, and danced. In my formerly-brown three-inch heels. Everything from the hips down is starting to ache, and I'm sure my sides will be hurting in the morning. Well, you know what they say! That horrible pain deep in your muscles means you're doing it right! Side note, my throat hurts and the lozenges only help temporarily. No real fever, so hopefully it's just allergy-borne post-nasal drip causing all this. I hope I am not ill; I was making out with Will rather vigorously tonight. But for now, PTFO. I tried to catch a falling star, but all I got was this damn pixie. |
| First off, I've decided not to do this for a mere thirty days. I'm going to go down the line of font color options, having started at lilac, until I reach black. That's about forty days or so of non-stop bloggage. I could actually count, and I started to on Tuesday, but I feel lazy at the moment ^_^ Second, Yes, there is suckage right now, but it is not hopeless. After all, if I can find a job soon, I would have no problem procuring fairly cheap housing. I'm practically on VCU. This area is swimming with "student" housing. Besides that, Brandon is in a similar boat, if he does not seek another program of study. He has to stay in the area for grad school and to work, and he can no more afford to live in this house than I can, and still pay the mortgage. He will have to find new tenants, or be stuck with me on the apartment hunt. Still, the depression verges on utterly black every now and then as I go throughout my day. I'd almost be tempted to cut, if not for the certainty that Will would find out and become quite upset (the "mini-skirt hem and above" rule doesn't work when someone frequently sees you without even that). I can keep it together. It just sucks. Maybe this is the way I prove to myself that I don't need medication anymore. This time last year I was still taking Zoloft, which might have been the only reason I survived being tucked in with Kaia in the dining room, facing the loss of Brandon's friendship and trust and my only real option for a home. I did have Will, which was a huge help. I remember I even joked that I considered jumping off the bridge but decided against it so I would not upset Will. Ah, suicide humor. I'm thinking I might take another crack at that Allison Gray story I've been writing and rewriting for a . . . decade. None of what I did for NaNoWriMo. The victimization of that one was just . . . horrendous. It's so ungodly weepy and over-the-top and maudlin. Despite having left high school just as the awful trend was beginning and not being tainted by its stain, I've been writing something that can only be described as the purest essence of emo. I would never enjoy reading something like that, and I can't imaging anyone else wanting to either. Unless they are fans of Twilight. Apparently that fits the character of Bella perfectly. No no, I definitely want the crazy mother in there, but not like that. I was writing her as an eight-year-old would describe a martyr mother figure. Yeah, she's totally got the martyr mother complex, but, surprise, I'm not eight. I know it was for NaNo, but it's still so silly. I want to focus more on Allison. I see her now as a socially awkward, painfully naive young woman who runs off to DC and has to grow up to survive. As an added bonus, she talks to her dead cat. This is a girl who grows up with few friends, just a cat. To keep herself company, she talks to the cat as if it were a person and imagines what it would say in response. When the cat dies (part of the catalyst [haha, I make unintentional pun!]for her moving out), she is not ready to be alone and continues the conversations. Throughout the story I want this to show her state of mind. At her most naive and vulnerable, and during her crisis points, she talks to the cat. It remains as a habit she tries to break during the narration, something she has to consciously tell herself not to do. When things are going well, no dead cat convos. When things go bad, she reverts. Yes, she's a little bit nutty, but this keeps her from going over the edge, and she knows well enough not to do it around people. After a while she will no longer need this method of coping, showing that she has come of age and transitioned into stability and self-sufficiency. Well, that's all I've got for now. I'm going to eat my late dinner and read me some Out of the Silent Planet. C. S. Lewis is awesome. I tried to catch a falling star, but all I got was this damn pixie. |
| The hardest part of all this is that I've worked my ass off to do everything right. I entered college right after high school. Check. I worked hard, got Dean's List almost every semester, and graduated cum laude with a double major. Check. I went looking for a job, struggled, and finally got one that paid well and let me set aside some money in savings. Check. Now I'm looking for another job once this contract runs out so I can maybe afford a car. When that happens, I study for the GRE and try to get into a master's or perhaps Ph.D program at UVA. If need be, I'll take either Sociology or get an MFA in Creative Writing here at VCU. It's right here, no car needed. I'm doing things as best I can with what I have. So why is it okay for someone like Kaia, whose rent is being paid by her parents and who is looking for someone to take the spot in her room that I just left so she can pay the bills, to run off to Maine just because her friend Rose is going there for grad school? Kaia is taking a few classes this semester at VCU, thanks to scholarship money and the like. She gets pretty much a free ride to VCU, while I had to take out loans for Mason. I admit, she's a special case: she's older, she's a former member of MENSA, and she's a sexual minority. At 27, with no degree, this should be a fucking godsend. But no, Rose is going to grad school in Maine, and taking boyfriend Khan with her. For some reason, now KAIA is going to Maine, and taking classes there, and paying way more for out-of-state tuition. What am I missing here? Someone who is on food stamps (who desperately needed them to eat) and who has taken a few classes at J. Sarge community college since I've known her, all of a sudden gets to just fly up to Maine and live there and take classes, and apparently it's not a problem. Yet here I am, trying to figure out where I'm going to be living in a few months if Brandon cannot find more tenants for the house by January, and wanting to get back into university for grad school but constrained by my lack of transportation and the boyfriend with whom things are getting serious, and probably stuck just getting either a master's in sociology (ugh) or an MFA in creative writing, neither of which are really helpful for the prospective repatriated socio-cultural anthropologist. It's not fair. Maybe it sounds whiny and emo and entitled, but it's not fair. I've worked so hard to do everything right since high school. No drugs, no alcohol abuse, no intentional leeching of my parents (when you have no money for food it's hard not to become dependent on some kind of help), and I've done my damnedest to save my money, that I've earned, and not blow it on booze or stupid little baubles. My weakness is still the bookstore, but that's what, maybe ten or twelve bucks per visit? I don't even go in there that often. And meals, that's a big one, but I think the most I've spent on a meal for myself and Will was like, forty dollars. Hardly spending with abandon. And yet Kaia gets her free ride, her blissful ignorance of monetary issues, and I struggle just to comprehend taking the GRE and accepting a grad program I don't want any part of just so I can move forward. Don't I deserve something for all my hard work? Don't I deserve to prosper by the fruits of my labor, and at least procure a permanent job, or a research position, or a writing grant, or something to show that all this matters? I feel so desperately adrift in a sea of necessities, but Kaia on her Maine trip out of nowhere and Jay on his "Fuck my nice well-paying job and fuck you because I'm moving to Baltimore" don't seem to have my problem. When does Ahlyssah get what she deserves? When do I get to be free to be myself? Fucking pixie. The pixie is a lie. I tried to catch a falling star, but all I got was this damn pixie. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
That's what editing is for.
