The Potions Master

I don't feel like giving one. And one is not needed.

"I drew a picture of you
You and your anchor tattoo
And saw the face that I knew
Covered in shame.

You drew a bird that was here
A kind of sweet Chanticleer
But with a terrible fear
That the cage couldn't tame.

That's how I knew this story would break my heart
When you wrote it
That's how I knew this story would break my heart.

So like a ghost in the snow
I'm getting ready to go
'Cause baby that's all I know--
How to open the door.

And though the exit is crude
It saves me coming unglued
For when you're not in the mood
For the gloves and the canvas floor.

That's how I knew this story would break my heart
When you wrote it
That's how I knew this story would break my heart."

Aimee Mann

JEEEEEEEEEZ.

So, here is the little ice cream scoop for today... (and I'm not talking about my pumpkin pie Blizzard, which was delicious but irrelevant.)

I have a friend, that we will nickname Wizard Jenkins. I haven't seen him in perhaps five or so years, owing to the fact that we both got married and well, let's just face it, even your friendships with the opposite gender alter after tying the knot. Point being, I hadn't talked to him in a long time.

Well, I found out that his wife recently cheated on him, and before that, the pair had encountered some bumps in ye olde marital road, so when he came to me to talk about it, I obviously was more than happy to listen and support him, having been through a situation startlingly similar myself not so long ago and Wizard Jenkins being my friend of many years. Now, just so we're aware, folks, I normally hold down a strict policy of no fraternization outside of courtesy and friendliness with the opposite gender unless your spouse is present, but since Wizard Jenkins has had to deal with a difficult situation that, again let's face it, I am probably the only one of his friends who gets, I made an exception. Plus, I have missed him as my friend, and should things work out with wifey-poo (and I honestly truly hope they do), I am just trying to get my Wizard Jenkins catch-up time in while it's still marginally appropriate.

So he came over today to hang out and commiserate, and his wife plagued him about who he was with and what he was doing, and then insisted that they go out to dinner two hours earlier than planned.

I'm upset, because I don't want her to think that there's anything going on between Wizard Jenkins and me, and I don't want him to suffer needlessly on my behalf.  So I wished him luck at dinner and told him to keep me posted.

Well, he was signed onto Facebook, so I messaged him, querying if everything with his wife went okay. I got no response and he signed off before too long thereafter.

This concerns me--REALLY concerns me. I'm afraid, now, that it was his wife under his name, and now she really thinks something is going on, which, of course, nothing is. Honestly, Wizard Jenkins and I have been friends for about as long as he and his wife have (since sophomore year of high school), and I have actually met and hung out with her a few times. If she remembered me, I don't think she'd be so upset.

Anyway, now I'm terrified that I've only made matters worse for him and that in his marriage, he's in big trouble. Cripes, I'm not even "the other woman" and I've managed to possibly fuck up someone's relationship.

I can only hope that everything turns out okay for Wizard Jenkins, and I am really pissed at myself for being the Queen of Stupid.

I burn everything I touch.

I took Zoey to the Lebanese Festival today, and yes, we had a semi-decent time. However, Zoey's not big enough to ride the rides or dance with the bellydancers on stage by herself (and I sure as heck wasn't going up there), so there was only so much we could do. I got her a carved stone cat, though, that she fell head over heels for, so that was a good thing, and she really got fixated on the dancers and liked the music, so that was good, too. I felt awful that I couldn't let her out of her stroller to let her dance to the music because she essentially tried to take off. Heart attack territory for Ye Olde Mom. She wailed and kicked and threw a fit when I caught her and tried to stick her back in the stroller, which was heartily embarrassing because people came to the festival to listen to some Lebanese music and watch some Lebanese dance, not listen to/watch a baby throwing a fit. Once I got her into the car, though, she changed her tune and I headed to the Arboretum. She fell asleep before we got there, so I decided to just take her home and get her in her crib.

So, I don't even know what I did. I was just fazing out and following the guy in front of me, and when I pulled into the turn lane to head the rest of the way home, said guy in front of me slammed on his brakes, crawled, and then flipped me off as I passed his car. So while I tried to wrap my head around what offense I had committed against him as I sat at the red light waiting to turn left, the fucker did it again when he drove by me as his light turned green!

That is entering WTF?????? territory. I drove home in a completely confused daze. As far as I was aware, I wasn't tailgating the son of a bitch, so what was his problem? It really upset me to a terrible degree, probably more than it needed to, so I got Zoey down for the rest of her nap, went upstairs, hid in the bathroom, and had a good cry. I felt marginally better for having done so, but the fact is that small things like this often open up the wounds of things past. I don't think I ever truly heal from things, however small. Any time I find myself in a vulnerable state, if even a tiny little thing upsets me, everything else that I successfully shoved into the box in the back of my mind reserved for such things comes flying to the fore. Pathetic. Still, that's just the way I am, I guess.

Point being, I actually thought about that nasty old woman at Aldi, something I hadn't thought about since that little sonnet of love transpired. I suppose it boils down to the fact that I don't understand rude behavior. I try, even when I am in a spittingly foul mood, to be polite and cheerful with others, to smile when I don't feel like it, and to make small talk with cashiers/waiters/so on. And I'm sorry if this makes me sound like I'm playing the victim or whatever, but I have a lot of stressors at present, and I still do all of the above. No need to drag others down just because I'm cheesed at life, and honestly, I find I get cheered up when I cheer others up first. So why does everybody think it to be their prerogative to act like total a-holes? I'm sorry they're freaking out, but it does not give them the right to shit on people. The sad, sorry truth is that few care if they're having a bad day, so get the fuck over it.

Here's another thing. I don't care if a person mutters swear words or gets mad behind the wheel, but it's sick to visibly express road rage. Get over yourself, seriously. Plus, it's dangerous--a road rager could upset another driver enough, and get upset enough him/herself, to cause accidents. What a joke. Calm down. 

I missed Brian so much at the Lebanese Festival. These things are not nearly as fun when you're with your baby alone, surrounded by families or single moms with companions. I had fun with Zoey, sure, but... I think I'll just stick to our old spot at the Arboretum from now on. The past few weeks since my mom's had her surgery, I've been doing some of the cleaning and the cooking, and I have to be honest. I love this routine. I get up, drink my coffee, get Zoey her breakfast, and take her to the park. Then I get her home for her lunch and nap, and while she does that, I do my writing until she gets up. Then I take her either for a walk, or to the store if we need dinner supplies, or to Blockbuster if my last rentals have all been viewed, and then we go home, I get some cleaning done, and then I listen to music and make dinner while she watches E.T. or Coraline. Then it's to the bath and to bed with Zo, and to the work out and movie for me. It's fun, it's relatively stress-free, it's everything I wanted from being a mom. There is only one problem.

I no longer have a husband or my own home. And I miss Brian more than anything. Plus, I have to find a real job--a career job. I just can't do bitchwork anymore. Pardon me my elitism, but I just feel like I, myself, am capable of something better. But it's been so hard, there's little available for someone with just a crappy little BFA, and I don't even know where to look. Neither have I done anything outstanding to make my resume special or more appealing to potential employers. Meanwhile, Sycamore has me on hiatus, I have more bills than I know what to do with, and I can't afford to be slow about finding a career-oriented job just now. On top of that, my car is now a cube in the junkyard, meaning, obviously, that I need to somehow procure a new car with my abysmal credit and lack of money. Lord.

Point being, I am just NOT where I would like to be in my life at present. I miss, miss, MISS Brian like there's no tomorrow, just to add a little cherry to the proverbial sundae. 

Did I mention that I miss Brian a lot? 

Anyway, Zoey's up, so I am going to go retrieve her and take her for a walk. Bies, all. 

   

I am really praying that this new behavior on Zoey's part will not become her norm. Lately, it's been hard getting her to settle down at night, and then, she's frequently up. She'll usually go back to sleep, but last night, she wouldn't, and then decided that 4:45 was the perfect time to get up this morning. I stayed up until about 11:30 to watch a movie last night, and so, needless to say, I didn't get a whole lot of rest.

This being said, I am a horrible-terrible person when I'm roused precipitately from my sleep. The first time I went in to see if I couldn't get her to settle down, I was calm and gentle, although seething inwardly, and I changed her diaper and wet sleeper (which I attributed her waking up to) and rocked her until she quieted down. Then I put her back in her crib and headed off to the bathroom. This was the moment my dear cat decided it would be fun to nudge and scratch her way into the bedroom, therefore causing Zoey to start wailing again. I decided to give her a few minutes, figuring she'd fall back asleep.

No dice. 45 minutes later, and she was still hollering. With each banshee screech, I got more and more worked up, and then I knew that even if she did go back to sleep, there was no way I would. So, in a fury, I roared into her room, got her out of her crib, gave her a bottle, and resigned myself to waking up before it was even close to being light out. When, by the way, I am accustomed to not even hearing a sound from Zoey until 8:30, 9 in the morning.

I thought there was a chance she might take a nap at around 8, but guess what? Sango woke her up--again. I threw the damn cat in the storage room and locked her in. Then, I went into Zoey's room to get her up--again. And then, in a towering temper at this point, I went upstairs with her--again. And have been sitting in an exhausted fog, waiting for her to give me indications that she might be ready to take a nap--again.

Here's the thing. I wish to God I could just be of a calm disposition instead of such a spastic one. I yelled at God, speaking of Him, I yelled at the cat, I yelled at inanimate objects, I yelled at myself. I managed, however, not to yell at Zoey.

My question, then, is why do I flip out about these things? Screaming and swearing isn't going to do anything to fix the situation; all it's going to do is make it worse. However, I just can't seem to keep myself from doing it. It seems like this is one thing I can't tolerate. I really hate waking up three times in a night, only to be woken with an air of finality before the clock has even reached five am and the sun has even bothered to get up. And to put a little cherry on the sundae, yesterday was spent in perpetual motion. I'm tired. I'm failing to comprehend how Zoey, who has refused to sleep or eat for the past two or three days, is still running around like a mental patient on amphetamines.

I hate to admit this, but days like this, I really just kind of want to crawl into a hole and expire. I can't bear the thought of continuing to feel this way when there's no reprieve in sight. I don't have anyone to relieve me of my motherly duties--nope, all I've got is work, which is basically the same thing, only infinitely worse. And at the end of the day, all I have is my stupid movies and ice cream. Even that, it seems, is going to be lost to me if this new anti-sleep streak keeps up. So, good-bye everything that I enjoy. I'm too exhausted to run, I can't play rugby because I don't have a babysitter, I can't write because Zoey will not sleep or nap, and I can't read because I have no time for it. 

Here's the best part. I have absolutely no one to go to. I know, of course, that I just need to get used to it because I pretty much kissed everything else in my life so long when I had Zoey, but it's so hard. I miss writing, I miss reading, I miss drawing, I miss running, I miss swimming, I miss relaxing. And I don't have anyone at the end of the day to say, "I know you made sacrifices and you're doing a great job." HUG.  

There's nothing. Just silence following Zoey's first little hour-long catnap at night, then screaming child, diapers, and sleep-deprivation. No one to help, comfort, or support me. Just Dad guilt-tripping me, Mom picking at me, and Ron burdened by all my fuck-ups. Nothing, no one, and nowhere. That is my life.

Um, yeah. Fuck it.

I am sick of life as it currently is. I have been avoiding all of the things I want for the sake of doing what everyone else thinks is right. I'm tired of struggling to fit into the ridiculously askew images that everyone else has of me. If I'm going to struggle, I'll do it in my own damn way.

No more applying for jobs I know I'll hate just because my mother insists that these jobs are the ones I need to be pursuing. No more worrying about whether the position will be immensely lucrative. "The greatest reward life has to offer is to work hard at work worth doing." Right on, Ted. Frankly, if I write blogs about horror movies, I will make about as much as I do now (which is squat), BUT--I will be happy as a clam doing it, and Happy Mom=Good Mom.

Even if I write columns, be they newspaper or web columns, about everyday, mundane crap I will just be overjoyed to be writing, rather than getting paid next to nothing to be a pee-on for the healthcare industry.

So there's a recession? So fucking what? Does this mean we all have to lie down and just give up? So sorry if I want to find a job that I like--and can't stand to suffer through a job that makes me abjectly miserable just because it's expected of me to hold the damn thing down.

Everyone else I know has done SOME outstanding thing or another with their lives. I've done nothing. (With the exception of Zoey, but I'm not sure tacking her picture to my resume is going to resound overly well with employers, because moms are lame, you know... yeah, okay.) Anyway, I'm afraid of the spotlight. I'm afraid of scrutiny. While I appreciate praise, I fear it, too. I've always been ashamed of the things I enjoy, such as writing, books, anime/manga, comic books, horror films, and so on. I guess it was spending too many years under the scrutiny of my four parents (two biological and two not, obviously) and not a ONE of them understanding the real me--or accepting what I truly love in life. Hence... I never broadcasted these loves to the world. They were my dirty little secret, and that little piece of me that my father NEVER boasted about to his buddies at the gym. "My daughter's in school for *coughcoughcreativewritingcoughcough.*"

Well, I'm sorry I'm not sorry I'm not a jock, doctor, lawyer, educator, nurse, or nun. I'm a fucking writer. And guess what?

It's time the world got over it. Here is a message to said world. You think I'm weird or naive because I've chosen to pursue the written word as a career path? You can bite my left tit, whoever you are, you asshole. Writing is the only career path that will EVER satisfy me--otherwise, I'll just become another nurse's aide who will be prescribed ridiculous amounts of drugs to stay remotely levelheaded. No, thanks.

And here's a message to my family. I am not a fucking flake, thank you kindly. I just happen to think a lot. Does that make me less crispy than the other crackers in the box? Pardon me for becoming absorbed in thought. Last I checked, thinking indicated SOME level of intelligence. I wasn't aware the times had changed and now people who don't think are considered the Einsteins of the 21st century.

Time to change my sitch--I'm working on my resume with my stepdad, the resident resume expert, and it's going to jobs I might actually want. I'm sick of pretending to be everything I'm not, just because that's what everyone else thinks I am. People bitch about being tragically misunderstood. I've been in that territory all my life, and am only now, going on twenty-four years old, realizing it. And big news for my mom--when I can afford it, I am getting an MFA in English Composition and Rhetoric.

Oh, she will shit herself when she finds out. *chuckles* I can't wait. I'm finding that I love disappointing people and doing what I want to do. It feels DAMN good--no wonder people do it all the time...

You have a nice weekend. Focker out.

List of Things.

a. Everyone is going to concerts, parties, movies, overseas, across the country, blah, blah, blah. Meanwhile, I sit at home and if I'm lucky, go to the mall or the park. Jealous much? You bet your bullocks to a barndance I am--and I readily admit it! I have one thing to say... at least I got to see Harry Potter on Thursday night.

b. Mom and Ron have spirited Zoey away to the Cox Arboretum, something I planned on doing and now will not get to. They feel they are doing me a favor by giving me some quiet time and a break, but that was the highlight of my day. I can't imagine Zoey will want to go to the same place twice, and I can't go to the mall for the fifth time this week just for the sake of getting out of the house (I reeeeeeeaaaaaaally wish there was something else to do around here. Tal probably thinks I'm stalking him.) If I take her to Borders, I risk spending money, and she gets very bored when I stand and futz with the books. If I take her to the arcade, that's a thirty-minute drive, a five-dollar expenditure, and a waste of gas. So it looks like I'm stuck at home on this lovely day. For another thing, I hate being away from her. Even when I'm not actively involved in her play time, I just like having her in the room with me.

c. I start my in-home health assignment this Tuesday, and I'm nervous and leery of it. I hate the idea of going to some stranger's house, having to travel to some place the location of which I have NO FREAKING CLUE and therefore will have to spend most of the morning searching out the elusive patient's house, and meeting some new person under such awkward circumstances. I am scared to death. Why can't I just get some stupid mundane desk job that is the same thing every day sans unnecessary and exorbitant amounts of stress? Oh, wait, the economy's in the toilet, excuse me, I forgot... good luck oh ye of the BFA.

d. I'm tired all the time. It annoys me to the nth. I can't figure out why, either. But it just seems I battle fatigue every day and can't break through it. Screw that noise... I LOATHE the tiredness!

e. I am in a rut. I love a bold look, see. But I'm somehow trapped in this desire to adhere to natural looks, and I can't seem to don that style that I admire and adore. Any time I try, anyway, I just feel weird, like I'm in a skin that doesn't fit right. It doesn't help that I don't have the money for frivolous purchases higher than $3 and, of course, I am trying to garner a professional job--meaning that guess what? This look I have always loved won't be tolerated.

f. Guess what's for dinner tonight? PORK! *&@#&^!! *string of expletives* If I NEVER see another pork product for as long as I LIVE, I will die a VERY happy girl. I am SICK to DEATH of the pig. Smelling that FUCKING (pardon my language) pork roast cooking literally is making me feel NAUSEATED. Mom needs to get more creative and mix things up a bit, rather than constantly cook FUCKING PORK! (Forgive the explicit linguistics.) It is exactly the same way potatoes in high school used to make my stomach turn over. We'd eat the stupid tubers every other night, sometimes four nights in a row! Both sides of my family eat the same things over and over and over again. I hate to say this, but I really hate American fodder. I mean, what is it, really? Meat, starch, vegetable, none of which prepared in any special way. Or gummy, nastastic casserole things smelling of wet dog, old tennis shoe and bleu cheese in an effort to utilize leftovers. I would love to know why people can't donate their leftovers to homeless shelters. That honestly is what I think I would do with my leftover food, given my druthers.  

g. I want some ice cream.

I always want some ice cream.

Plus, I would actually, now that I've thought on it, like to go visit my mall friend, because he provides a nice breakup in the routine and something to get all giggly and stupid about. But like I said, I've wandered the mall too many times over the past week and would really like to do something different. I guess I'll take Zo to the playground at North Park and maybe I'll stop at Dorothy Lane for some sushi on the way home. I can't afford it, but I am the point where I would truly rather spend money than eat pork again. 

h. I do NOT want to call my father. I do NOT want to acknowledge my stepmother. My brother, however, has threatened not to talk to me anymore if I do not. I don't want to lose my brother on top of everything else, but at the same time, I just don't want to open the can of worms that is that parental unit.

Frankly, my life has actually been easier without them. I am not hellbent on impressing anyone anymore. That's ONE nice liberation.

I sound like a spoiled brat. I can tell I'm in a right state today because I really don't care how spoiled, complaintive, or emo I sound.

i. I canNOT stand being alone. I imagine I am becoming a nuisance to my parents and my friends. I find it funny that a few months ago, I would have been happy to live alone. Let's examine why, shall we? I had a stress-free job, I was playing rugby, and I had lots of human contact outside of the house. Taking that job with IMS was the biggest mistake I've made all year. *rolls eyes*

I can't wait for rugby to start up again. I miss it DESPERATELY. I also can't wait for Paul to visit.

I'm done. Focker out.

I know how much we all adore McLovin. ;D

Anyhoo, what a weird day. And an embarrassing one. I'm hyperstressed thanks to not getting any shifts with Sycamore yet while trying to facilitate this move out of my mum's house, I am straining all of my finances to make payments on my bills, Zoey has a terrible double ear infection that has had her screaming inconsolably after every sleep and also made her a bit willful and cranky, and even small things crop up--such as smashing my elbows and knees on every available surface left, right and center, being met with petty disappointments that just accumulate into one greater whole, and feeling tremendously emo about my circumstances. 

I went to Wally World (a place I need to avoid like the plague--bad luck always finds me there) to get some money orders and some space savers to avoid stealing my mom's dressers out from under her nose, and guess what? They didn't fit in the tiny vehicle that I, alas, am forced to call my own and am unable to get rid of--hooray living in suburbia. So Zoey is sitting in the cart, soaking in the rain, while I huff, puff, swear, shove, so on and forth, attempting to fit the damn things in my little shoebox with wheels, until I am crying, drenched, Zoey is dripping wet, and I resign myself to taking the stupid things back into the store to return them and forget about the whole thing. 

Note: I would have put Zoey in the car to get her out of the rain, but squeezing said space savers in with her seated in her carseat might have proven problematic... and I didn't think it was going to turn into such a prolonged ordeal. It is probably a good thing that she sat in the cart, because frankly, I can't tell you how many times I discovered that the only ONE space saver--the smaller of the two--might have fit was if the carseat were not in the car.

Besides... she found the rain and my struggles with the space savers entertaining. She giggled, squealed and kicked the whole time. At least one of us thought it was funny.

So I waded through the flooded parking lot, a giggly Zo in one arm and the cart with the offending items pushed by the other, and returned them, all the while in uncontrollable tears. That was SO EFFING embarrassing. 

It also makes me deplore humanity. Not one person walking by while I struggled with the space savers offered to help me, and no one asked me what the hell I was crying for. Which I guess makes sense--I WAS at Wal-Mart, asshole capital of the universe.

I didn't think about this until later, hours after the fact, actually. I had gotten us home and into some dry clothes, and was making dinner for Zoey and me when it struck me that no one offered me a hand or a kind word, even though I was CLEARLY upset and having trouble.

Seriously. What the hell is the matter with people? That's pretty lame.

BUT. I borrowed my mom's massive jacuzzi bathtub (incidentally set in a bay window... which I LOVE!), and took a nice, hot bath with some candles and some lovely-smelling bath bubbles. I watched Throwdown with Bobby Flay. I listened to the rain. It was MARVELOUS. Like resetting the computer that is my mind, or some such thing. And thank God.

Anyway... I am off. Going to attempt some writing before I go to bed. Ni ni!

I am going to RIP MY HAIR OUT!

I woke up in a perfectly decent mood. I start my new job this week, I had a lot of fun with Rae last night, I am going to vacate the premises that is my mother's house over the course of the next few days, I am absolutely in love with the Zo, and things are, on the surface, looking up.

The fact of the matter is, however, that I just feel like something is missing. I feel distinctly unfulfilled, somehow. I don't know from whence this feeling stems, but it overpowers everything else. It could be the fact that my relationship with God has been suffering miserably over the past several months. I am so ashamed of the mistakes I've made, am so angered by my circumstances, and become so resentful, embittered and hopeless when I see happy little families passing by me that I just don't want to pray anymore. When I am not near Zoey or at work, I feel that I'm floundering. I liken my feelings to being whacked tremendously on the back of the head and then thrown into deep water in pitch darkness--and then waking up, not knowing which way is up or down and how to get to the air again. And of course this is when I need God the most. But I know I'm on the road toward one of my worst fears--becoming an apostate. The thing is, I am just filled with such shame at times that I don't feel God wants to hear from me because I failed Him so abjectly.

I sometimes think that I will never finish my stupid book. Or anything else, for that matter. I have moments where I think I like it and the characters within, but for the most part, I detest the damn thing. And I wonder, subsequently, if I will EVER be satisfied with my life, happy, or content if I am doing anything other than writing, but it is not paying the bills for me and no one is going to foot said bills for me to pursue this ridiculous starving calling of mine.

I miss rugby desperately. I felt so much better when playing. There was something to look forward to, a break in the routine, something to work toward, something to enjoy. My mother is adamant against my playing, but I told her point blank to sod off because guess what? I'm getting back into it this fall. For another thing... happy mom equals good mom. I think that's the most important thing in this list of things.

I feel so lonely. I'm terrified of dependency and clinginess, but I can't stop reaching to my friends for company and help. My mom doesn't give me much in this regard; all I feel when I'm around her is that I'm a big nuisance. Neither parental figure is affectionate--my mother does not hug me, I do not want to impede the lives of Rae and Robin by constantly begging them for attention, and I just don't know where to look to receive what I need. I am an affectionate person--I need to be touched. Especially when I'm struggling like I am now, which just figures on a cosmic scale. The time I REALLY, TRULY need to be touched is the time no one is around to do so. Thank God I at least have Zoey. I think I would die if I did not have her to hold at the end of the day.

This little blurb is going to sound very self-pitying. Be warned. My life just leeches from me and doesn't give back. I spend my days caring for people, only to go home and not be cared for on any level. Ostensibly, my mother does this by cooking dinner, throwing my laundry in the washer and giving me a place to live. These are things for which I am, of course, immensely grateful. They are not, however, what I really feel I need (with the exception of the shelter factor, naturally.) I can cook my own meals, I can wash my own clothes and so on. I cannot, however, emotionally support myself or give myself the hugs and love I need each day to feel like I am not leading a completely one-sided existence.

I am sickened by the behavior and attitude I exhibited some months ago. I am just disgusted that I could have been so selfish and stupid to have subjected my loved ones to such ridiculous behavior. I am shocked I did not drive more people away--I was a useless, insensitive, self-absorbed, self-pitying fool. I don't even know how I'm going to make up for it now. I just don't know if it's anything I CAN make up for.

Zoey is sick--got to go.

So, I have come to the conclusion that... I can't get enough of this ridiculous song. But I cannot help it. It is obscenely catchy. *rolls eyes* Besides, one girl was kind enough to create amv of Weiss Kreuz to go with it... double the wunderbar.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fqcgk8N3h-c


I've been mulling some things over these past few weeks. I don't know, exactly, when it happened, but I realized one day that I am feeling nearly 100% better physically. It feels so good to be healthy again. I no longer live my life around food, I no longer do the binge/starve cycle, I don't compulsively exercise--I do it for the right reasons, and it's just been so liberating. Granted, I have days where all I see is the Michelin tire man looking back at me from the mirror, but it doesn't trouble me the way it might have a couple of months ago. I just shrug it off, know that image is merely in my head, and go about my business... which often includes a peanut butter sandwich.

I was able to quit my job today, and I find myself missing the good parts of it, for example, some of my coworkers and the residents themselves. I do start my new job tomorrow, and everyone seems very nice thus far--but most importantly, calm. Hallelujah. I'm enough of a spaz without being surrounded by them.

I've also decided to go through my RN, then work on med school. At this point, it is too much of a time and financial commitment that I can't make. I can get through an RN program in 3-4 years, then make enough to finance medical school and have enough experience to bypass much of my residency should I decide to go be Dr. Black. We shall see! Either way, should this universal healthcare bill be passed, it will be less likely that I'll get to work for a private practice like I want to, but hopefully the bill won't present a state of permanence and I'll get to do what I bloody well want to eventually. I think the areas that appeal to me most are reconstructive surgery, communicable diseases and obstetrics/gynecology or pediatrics.

I am this close to smacking my mother in the face. She is renewing her vows on Saturday, and has rapidly turned into Bridezilla. I want to jump off of the roof of my house and land on a spiky fence a la Virgin Suicides sometimes. She, for one, wants me to play violin, and I haven't picked up that $*&%ing instrument in close to ten years. I can't even read sheet music anymore. I miss it, yes, but that does not mean that I can play anymore--is it like riding bike? Well, sure, but the sheet music doesn't come back that quickly when one wasn't all that brilliant at reading it in the first place. *rolls eyes* So, she is skulking around the house like some slimy monster, muttering under her breath that her kids aren't doing anything. I don't know what else she wants me to do, other than scrub down the basement (I have done this at this point), play the violin (of which I am utterly and sadly incapable), and put up with her bullsh$t (which I do, with a big, scary smile on my face.) The stress is such that I have sprouted nasty frustration bumps (aka pimples) that are just disgusting. It is just... I don't know, I can see where my sister gets her insufferable personality from when my mom goes into this mode. Unfortunately, I think genetics are against us on both ends a lot of the time. I can't believe I'm not more effed up than I already am.

I am sorely missing rugby and have decided to play again. If I choose to fulfill my goal of a spring marathon, this sport could contribute to my training. The only problem is how the heck do I practice until September...? I know no rugby players around here, nor is there anyone I can really practice with. :(

Zoey is in need of a wakeup call at this point... so, Kait out. So long, folks!

Come pick my roses!

Okay, enough of that. Anyhow, where on EARTH to begin. Firstly, I shall leave you with this--this blog is to remain PRIVATE at ALL costs. No one is to run their mouths about what I say. Unfortunately, I vent best through writing, and I must rant about this.

Work. Is. Insane.

There, I said it. Basically, long story, making it short, the Big Cheeses from my place of employment are going to lay off or fire a whole slew of workers after today. Who is going? There is no way to know for certain. I wouldn't be shocked if I were to be let go.

Yesterday the caregivers got reamed for not working well enough, hard enough, or fast enough. I am infuriated by this, because, while I concur that there are some pretty lazy people working at this institution, I bust my ass for that place. My back hurts, my knees hurt, and I am sick to my stomach by the time I am off at 3pm... after what seems a lifetime spent within those walls. I calculated calories burned through the job, and it came to an obscene 1,040. This wasn't even factoring in all of the lifting, transferring and boosting I do. I usually, also, am on the second or third assignments, meaning that my hypoglycemic butt doesn't get a lunch break until 1:30... after no food since 5:45am. By that point, I am so low on my blood sugar I am shaking, dizzy, and almost incoherent. I am afraid that one of these days I will faint at work... most embarrassing. *shudders*

Worse, though, was the fact that my supervisor looked straight at me and told me that I wasn't picking the job up quickly enough. I was so offended and shocked by her statement that I could literally only stare at her, not even speak to defend myself or ask how I could improve. What I really wanted to ask was, "Okay, so I need to get to know the routines, likes/dislikes, personal needs and health histories of 100 residents in one month then?"

It doesn't help that my work style is HIGHLY methodical. I work slowly, but thoroughly. When I am done getting my residents ready for breakfast, they look impeccable. They have been taken to the bathroom, changed, with matching clothes, teeth brushed, hair combed, deodorant applied, you name it. The whole gamut. I do this for all of my residents. Why? Because--oh, God forbid--I give a damn about them. I do this for them, not to make the bosses happy (or unhappy in this case) or for my pay check. On top of this, I have their beds made, trash removed, and rooms straightened up. ALL of this, for between eight and fifteen residents, in two hours. Oh, but I'm still not picking up on it quickly enough. WHAT THE FUCK?

It figures the only person who thinks I am a terrible hack at my job is my supervisor, while everyone else seems to think I'm performing just fine.

Just to put a little icing on our proverbial cake, there is a coworker (we will call him Dick Jerkem) who is under investigation for harrassment, of the sexual, verbal and physical kind. He was certainly not the kindest to me when I first started working. He would pick at me for the most ridiculous things, from being new to what I ate for lunch. Apparently, another of my coworkers (we will call her Miss Daisy) received such harrassment from Dick Jerkem that she reported him. I got a call from the director of the establishment, asking me if I had witnessed the altercation that had caused Miss Daisy to report this guy. (I had.) I also told her about things that Dick Jerkem had said to me, just in case they were relevant. (They were.)

Yesterday, before getting reamed for doing a slow and shitty job, Ms. Big Supervisor called me into her office to query after the truth of Dick Jerkem's claims that I am trying to instigate shit from him. I guess he told her that I continually have approached him, trying to start a row through being falsely friendly and making him uncomfortable. Oh, please.

I informed her that yes, I had said my usual "hi, how are you" greeting to him that I do everyone, but he didn't respond with anything other than a nasty look, so I just put my hands up, said, "Okay," and went about my day. I didn't know he was aware of the fact that I had talked to Ms. Big Supervisor at that point. That, obviously, clued me in, and so I left him alone from that moment on.

So basically he is trying to get me fired instead. I think. Am I overreacting?

I am so absurdly stressed by a job that barely covers bills and living expenses. If it was a lucrative position, it wouldn't be so terrible. Unfortunately, I get paid shit to get treated like this and watch other good employees get screwed alongside me.

And I need to keep it. Because I have little choice otherwise.

*sighs* Just keep swimming...