So, my BF's company has this main client... Who has asked us to work with another contractor he has to develop some code to interact with third party software designed by this contractor (who I'll call... Moron, because he is one).
Moron has consistently, since the start of the project, made numerous assumptions about our code and how it operates, and proceeded to try and tell us how to do our jobs, and how to re-write code that he hasn't even seen. He has been rude, condescending, and completely unprofessional as well. And its taken him 6 months to do a job we could have done in 2 weeks. But yes, he is all knowing, and we're the idiots... =\
Well, I've just about had it with this guy. The latest set of emails that have gone back and forth have been about setting up testing to make sure that our code and his code interact properly. What does he want to do? He wants us to test it on our client's LIVE system. The PRODUCTION system. The one where if something breaks, our client loses business. We of course told him that this was a stupid idea that not only goes against our corporate policy (it does -- we're not idiots), that it would endanger our client's system, and that it was not a viable means of testing anything (it's not. ever heard of a controlled environment?). But his response to that was to try to impune us in front of our mutual client, to call us stupid (not in those words of course), and proceed to tell us how HE thinks we should implement his idea (despite the fact that our code isn't written the way he thinks its is -- and a good thing too, or the thing would fall apart under the least bit of stress).
Every time we get an email from this guy, I have an anxiety attack. Hell, all I have to do is see his name in my inbox, and my heart rate goes through the roof. I've gone through more Ativan just reading his emails than I have ... well, ever.
The problem is, I want to tell him off. I NEED to tell him off. But I have no idea how to go about doing that. See, I understand whats going on, but I lack the scientific jargon to refer to it properly. I lack the intimate details of the processes, and as such, I'm sure I would end up sounding stupid.
But this guy needs to be put in his place. He is bad-mouthing our company based on his half-assed ideas and assumptions (incorrect ones, btw), and ridiculing us for being professional and scientifically sound in our quality assurance practices. And I, for one, am fucking sick of his bullshit.
Any suggestions on how best to shove my foot so far up this guy's ass that he chokes on my shoe laces would be greatly appreciated... =)
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Monday, April 09, 2007
Allergic to Nevada
This past friday, the BF and I had to drive my son up to Nevada to see his dad for spring break. We're picking him back up again this coming Sunday... *sigh* But anyway... I was fine for most of the 6 hour trek (including stops, mind you. If we'd driven straight through, it would only have taken 4 and a half hours).
Fine through the central valley, fine through the foothills, fine through most of the mountains -- until we got over 4500ft, when I started getting elevation sickness -- but then we crossed the state line, and headed down out of the mountains, into the desert. And I do mean DESERT.
For those of you who have never been to any part of Nevada, or any part of Nevada other than Reno or Las Vegas -- the entire state of Nevada is nothing but dust and very very low scrub brush. There are no trees. There is no grass. There are no streams, no rivers, no wildflowers or puffy happy shrubs.
You know the saying "I'm in the middle of BFE"? Well, Nevada embodies BFE. Bum Fucking Empty.
So we enter BFE... And the humidity drops to oh, say, negative 75% (yes, an exaggeration, but I really don't see how the air could have gotten any drier). For me, who finds the bay area too dry (averages 35% humidity), this additional drop in moisture was too much for my poor poor respiratory system.
It was as if someone had taken my sinuses, microwaved all the water out of them, then balled up some barbed wire, and stuffed that into my head. My chest hurt from trying to breathe all the dust.
And we were still not at our destination.
Our destination required us to drive through a one stop light piss poor excuse of a town, drive another 15 miles or so through an even smaller piss poor excuse of a town, then drive 5 miles to the ONLY stop sign for 20 miles, go off the paved road, drive past what seemed to be a junk yard, to try and find one lone house in the middle of... well... BFE.
The drive there was somewhat interesting, what with the kamakaze jack rabbits and high wind warnings, and being scared to death the car would break down in the middle of nowhere, with no cell service and the getting a little bit lost because apparently mapquest doesn't know the difference between left and right in Nevada, and all (I was having those waking nightmare hallucination things I get when I'm too stressed out)... But that was more hare-raising (haha, sorry, couldn't resist) than enjoyable, and the whole time I'm saying over and over: oh my god. oh my fucking god. there is NOTHING out here. Nothing! oh my god.
Not that I don't like the middle of nowhere. I do. But I prefer my middle of nowhere to be... Well... Tree covered. With water sources that don't require a half mile of drilling to get to. And wild animals that you can kill for food if you get stranded. Not the kind of middle of nowhere that has TUMBLEWEEDS and nothing else.
So yeah... We drop off the kiddo (and suffer through his dad trying to show off the pre-fab house they plopped down on their 5 acres of dust), and head back in to Reno to get dinner.
The moment I get out of the car in Reno, I have an asthma attack. Me, being the stubborn "no I'm not sick, I can handle this" kind of person that I am, I walked it off. Well, that and I was starving, and needed food, or I was going to keel over anyway. So I basically couldn't breathe. And someone had decided that on top of the barbed wire in my head, they were going to detonate a shrapnel grenade too...
Needless to say I had a hard time eating dinner. And I was miserable. Even just the short walk to the restroom left me gasping for air for a good 10 minutes. So it was a good thing the BF wasn't the least bit interested in Reno (he and I are both too intelligent to fall for slot machines with flashy lights on them). We got back on the road, and didn't stop until we were well back across the California border.
Guess what? 5 minutes after we got back into California... The barbed wire and shrapnel miraculously disappeared. The asthma went away. I could breathe again.
And given that last time I was in Nevada (Las Vegas), I wound up in the ER with full blown pneumonia after being there for 24 hours...
I've decided that I am allergic to Nevada. The entire state.
Fine through the central valley, fine through the foothills, fine through most of the mountains -- until we got over 4500ft, when I started getting elevation sickness -- but then we crossed the state line, and headed down out of the mountains, into the desert. And I do mean DESERT.
For those of you who have never been to any part of Nevada, or any part of Nevada other than Reno or Las Vegas -- the entire state of Nevada is nothing but dust and very very low scrub brush. There are no trees. There is no grass. There are no streams, no rivers, no wildflowers or puffy happy shrubs.
You know the saying "I'm in the middle of BFE"? Well, Nevada embodies BFE. Bum Fucking Empty.
So we enter BFE... And the humidity drops to oh, say, negative 75% (yes, an exaggeration, but I really don't see how the air could have gotten any drier). For me, who finds the bay area too dry (averages 35% humidity), this additional drop in moisture was too much for my poor poor respiratory system.
It was as if someone had taken my sinuses, microwaved all the water out of them, then balled up some barbed wire, and stuffed that into my head. My chest hurt from trying to breathe all the dust.
And we were still not at our destination.
Our destination required us to drive through a one stop light piss poor excuse of a town, drive another 15 miles or so through an even smaller piss poor excuse of a town, then drive 5 miles to the ONLY stop sign for 20 miles, go off the paved road, drive past what seemed to be a junk yard, to try and find one lone house in the middle of... well... BFE.
The drive there was somewhat interesting, what with the kamakaze jack rabbits and high wind warnings, and being scared to death the car would break down in the middle of nowhere, with no cell service and the getting a little bit lost because apparently mapquest doesn't know the difference between left and right in Nevada, and all (I was having those waking nightmare hallucination things I get when I'm too stressed out)... But that was more hare-raising (haha, sorry, couldn't resist) than enjoyable, and the whole time I'm saying over and over: oh my god. oh my fucking god. there is NOTHING out here. Nothing! oh my god.
Not that I don't like the middle of nowhere. I do. But I prefer my middle of nowhere to be... Well... Tree covered. With water sources that don't require a half mile of drilling to get to. And wild animals that you can kill for food if you get stranded. Not the kind of middle of nowhere that has TUMBLEWEEDS and nothing else.
So yeah... We drop off the kiddo (and suffer through his dad trying to show off the pre-fab house they plopped down on their 5 acres of dust), and head back in to Reno to get dinner.
The moment I get out of the car in Reno, I have an asthma attack. Me, being the stubborn "no I'm not sick, I can handle this" kind of person that I am, I walked it off. Well, that and I was starving, and needed food, or I was going to keel over anyway. So I basically couldn't breathe. And someone had decided that on top of the barbed wire in my head, they were going to detonate a shrapnel grenade too...
Needless to say I had a hard time eating dinner. And I was miserable. Even just the short walk to the restroom left me gasping for air for a good 10 minutes. So it was a good thing the BF wasn't the least bit interested in Reno (he and I are both too intelligent to fall for slot machines with flashy lights on them). We got back on the road, and didn't stop until we were well back across the California border.
Guess what? 5 minutes after we got back into California... The barbed wire and shrapnel miraculously disappeared. The asthma went away. I could breathe again.
And given that last time I was in Nevada (Las Vegas), I wound up in the ER with full blown pneumonia after being there for 24 hours...
I've decided that I am allergic to Nevada. The entire state.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Why I Don't Have Friends
Well, I have a few. A very few. I can count my friends on one hand, and still have fingers left to spare.
It seems like every time I try to be social, get involved in a group of people, make new friends, I am reminded quite harshly why I have so few.
Petty drama, backstabbing, temper tantrums, lack of respect for others ... These are tendencies that the majority of the human race has, and give into without a second thought.
Example: I hang out on the WoW forums quite a bit. Almost a year ago (maybe a whole year, I don't know), there were a handful of regulars on a particular forum, and we got to talking, being friends, etc. So we formed a little group, and one of us got free forums set up so we could talk outside the other forums. And that went great, except we were getting sick of the advertising on the forums we were using, so one of us bought a domain name, and tried to set up a site. He wasn't very skilled at it, so had trouble getting hosting, getting the templates set up, etc. So the BF offer to have the company donate server space and bandwidth for the endeavor, administrate things for him, and just generally help him out.
But as soon as we get the site set up, he starts getting belligerant. He starts getting a severe case of egotism, and starts stepping on people -- ordering them around, being mean and rude to them, making it out that he's better than everyone else.
I didn't appreciate it, and I told him that more than once, but I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, and stick things out -- hoping he would calm down eventually. Except he didn't.
There was a situation came up that he handled quite badly, and as a result many of our little group ended up really upset... And I wound up getting a temporary ban from the WoW forums because this guy failed to openly communicate certain pertinent information... Fine, whatever, he's a kid, he doesn't understand how to manage stuff, okay.
And then... He uses a slur regarding sexual orientation in our own forum chat. i.e. calling someone gay, as an insult. I think that was the last straw for me. I know it was the last straw for another of our group (who quit on the spot).
I fall into the category of persons who "subscribe" to an alternative lifestyle. Most of my friends do, and the majority of the BF's friends do as well. His company has been active in the LGBT community. So on top of my personal outrage, there's the company to worry about as well. If people found out that we supported a site that allowed that kind of behavior... We'd lose credibility. Maybe even business.
So I called out that person. I told them it was inappropriate. And you know what? He didn't care. He couldn't even understand what he did that was so wrong. He started bad mouthing me to other people in the group. And now the little community that we had is crumbling into tiny pieces, and I'm being held as the bad guy.
Now, he's stepped down as "leader" and handed things over to the rest of the "founding members" of the group... But I'm still being singled out as the reason he quit. I'm being blamed for "freaking out" over a "joke" and causing stupid amounts of drama. Me.
Its shit like this that reminds me why I don't have friends. Why I'm anti-social.
Its not that I'm an introvert (though, I am to a degree), its that I can't stand all the stupid people in the world, and I don't want to have to deal with their crap. I have enough drama of my own. I don't need anyone elses.
It seems like every time I try to be social, get involved in a group of people, make new friends, I am reminded quite harshly why I have so few.
Petty drama, backstabbing, temper tantrums, lack of respect for others ... These are tendencies that the majority of the human race has, and give into without a second thought.
Example: I hang out on the WoW forums quite a bit. Almost a year ago (maybe a whole year, I don't know), there were a handful of regulars on a particular forum, and we got to talking, being friends, etc. So we formed a little group, and one of us got free forums set up so we could talk outside the other forums. And that went great, except we were getting sick of the advertising on the forums we were using, so one of us bought a domain name, and tried to set up a site. He wasn't very skilled at it, so had trouble getting hosting, getting the templates set up, etc. So the BF offer to have the company donate server space and bandwidth for the endeavor, administrate things for him, and just generally help him out.
But as soon as we get the site set up, he starts getting belligerant. He starts getting a severe case of egotism, and starts stepping on people -- ordering them around, being mean and rude to them, making it out that he's better than everyone else.
I didn't appreciate it, and I told him that more than once, but I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, and stick things out -- hoping he would calm down eventually. Except he didn't.
There was a situation came up that he handled quite badly, and as a result many of our little group ended up really upset... And I wound up getting a temporary ban from the WoW forums because this guy failed to openly communicate certain pertinent information... Fine, whatever, he's a kid, he doesn't understand how to manage stuff, okay.
And then... He uses a slur regarding sexual orientation in our own forum chat. i.e. calling someone gay, as an insult. I think that was the last straw for me. I know it was the last straw for another of our group (who quit on the spot).
I fall into the category of persons who "subscribe" to an alternative lifestyle. Most of my friends do, and the majority of the BF's friends do as well. His company has been active in the LGBT community. So on top of my personal outrage, there's the company to worry about as well. If people found out that we supported a site that allowed that kind of behavior... We'd lose credibility. Maybe even business.
So I called out that person. I told them it was inappropriate. And you know what? He didn't care. He couldn't even understand what he did that was so wrong. He started bad mouthing me to other people in the group. And now the little community that we had is crumbling into tiny pieces, and I'm being held as the bad guy.
Now, he's stepped down as "leader" and handed things over to the rest of the "founding members" of the group... But I'm still being singled out as the reason he quit. I'm being blamed for "freaking out" over a "joke" and causing stupid amounts of drama. Me.
Its shit like this that reminds me why I don't have friends. Why I'm anti-social.
Its not that I'm an introvert (though, I am to a degree), its that I can't stand all the stupid people in the world, and I don't want to have to deal with their crap. I have enough drama of my own. I don't need anyone elses.
Monday, March 19, 2007
How Do You Explain What Fear Feels Like?
Its hard living with someone who doesn't understand how crippling anxiety disorders can be.
I'm struggling with PTSD. Or rather, complex PTSD (theres a difference, yes). I've been struggling with it forever, yeah, but... Lately, with all that's gone on, I just find that I don't have the emotional strength to fight it as well as I used to be able to. I was off work again for 6 months -- went back to work the middle of January this year. And I think it was too soon. Too many things have changed (myself included), and I haven't had time to adjust to them yet. I'm still trying to wrap my head, and my heart, around the life that's been dropped in my lap.
But I go to work every day anyway. I get up in the morning, and drag myself out of bed, despite the fact that I want to hide under the covers for the rest of eternity. I go to work, eventhough it makes me even more miserable than I already feel, and the stress of dealing with my boss and the neverending feeling of complete uselessness make me want to... well... kill someone. Or hide under my desk. Whichever. And half the time I don't even bother going to get lunch because surviving the waves of students in all the restaurants is sometimes more than I think I can pull off.
When I get home... I can't face the dishes, or the laundry, or cleaning the bathroom. I'm already exhausted. Not necessarily physically (though this kind of stress has a tendency to leave you with aches and pains and the like), but always mentally. Most of the time I'm so drained that I'm not interested in food. I'm not interested in anything really. Nothing except trying to forget about the rest of the world.
But my son is there, and I have to pay attention to him. Make sure homework is finished (though the BF helps with that), make sure he's fed, make sure he goes to bed on time... And my BF is there. Many times bombarding me with questions about the financial side of his business. Admittedly, its my job to help him with that. But after a normal day... I can't think straight. I can barely string together a full sentence, let alone an indepth fiscal explanation. And as much as I love him... Sometimes I wish he'd keep the contents of his scientific research/reading/learning to himself. I've long forgotten what the word existential means... And trying to remember gives me a headache.
And when the weekend comes around... The two days a week that I'm not required to leave the house... I don't want to leave the house. I don't want to get dressed. I don't want to go anywhere. I want to stay where I am, and just... Be. Its not that I'm trying to be anti-social, or be a burden on anyone, its that I'm trying to recover from the week, so that I can convince myself to start the whole cycle again on Monday morning.
But you know what the hardest part about all of this is? That the BF doesn't understand, and I don't have the words to explain it to him. How do you explain what it feels like to suffer from anxiety about everything and nothing at the same time? It'd be easier to try and explain what an orgasm felt like (yeah, you try to explain that one with any sort of success. Just you go ahead and try it).
How do you explain what fear feels like? How do you explain that before you've even stepped out the door in the morning, your mind drops into overdrive thinking about all the horrible things that can go wrong. That it tries to convince you that all those things WILL go wrong. That it pulls random memories out of thin air, and forces you to re-live them whether you want to or not. That it runs a mile a minute no matter what you do to stop it.
Its like having a tornado inside your head. Except that its not. *sigh*
And even if you can manage to explain part of all that... How do you explain the why's behind it?
It defies logic. Its completely irrational. Even explaining what the original trauma was doesn't explain the why... Because your mind doesn't just obsess on that. It picks anything and everything else... Maybe to avoid that original trauma. I don't know. No one knows really. Psychiatrists have been trying to understand it for decades, and are still failing.
And when you can't explain any of it... When the person you're dealing with doesn't understand... They don't treat you the way you need to be treated. They get frustrated, and angry, and blame you for things (like not wanting to go out for food), and generally just make you feel like shit for feeling like shit. And it just makes things worse. It makes it impossible for you to talk to that person about anything of importance, to open up to any degree. Because you're afraid they'll just get more angry... And you can't handle any more pain than you're already dealing with.
You're afraid that if you do tell them, and they don't understand, and they get angry and frustrated, and say hurtful things... You'll break... Break even more than you already have... Because you just don't have the strength to try and defend yourself.
So you fall in on yourself. You don't say anything. You bottle it all up. You don't explain yourself, or even try. And fullfill your own prophecy. That person, they understand even less, and they get more frustrated, and more angry... And then they DO say hurtful things...
Instead of them understanding that things are just HARD for you. Harder than for normal people. That you feel things more than normal people. That you hurt more than normal people. That you're afraid more than normal people. And most of the time, you don't even know why.
Instead of them being sympathetic, and kind, and them trying to coax you gently to do what you're so reluctant to do.
I know its tiring to deal with someone like me. I know it is. I don't expect perfection in dealing with me. It'd just be nice... You know, once in a while... If I didn't have to feel like I was a burden...
I'm struggling with PTSD. Or rather, complex PTSD (theres a difference, yes). I've been struggling with it forever, yeah, but... Lately, with all that's gone on, I just find that I don't have the emotional strength to fight it as well as I used to be able to. I was off work again for 6 months -- went back to work the middle of January this year. And I think it was too soon. Too many things have changed (myself included), and I haven't had time to adjust to them yet. I'm still trying to wrap my head, and my heart, around the life that's been dropped in my lap.
But I go to work every day anyway. I get up in the morning, and drag myself out of bed, despite the fact that I want to hide under the covers for the rest of eternity. I go to work, eventhough it makes me even more miserable than I already feel, and the stress of dealing with my boss and the neverending feeling of complete uselessness make me want to... well... kill someone. Or hide under my desk. Whichever. And half the time I don't even bother going to get lunch because surviving the waves of students in all the restaurants is sometimes more than I think I can pull off.
When I get home... I can't face the dishes, or the laundry, or cleaning the bathroom. I'm already exhausted. Not necessarily physically (though this kind of stress has a tendency to leave you with aches and pains and the like), but always mentally. Most of the time I'm so drained that I'm not interested in food. I'm not interested in anything really. Nothing except trying to forget about the rest of the world.
But my son is there, and I have to pay attention to him. Make sure homework is finished (though the BF helps with that), make sure he's fed, make sure he goes to bed on time... And my BF is there. Many times bombarding me with questions about the financial side of his business. Admittedly, its my job to help him with that. But after a normal day... I can't think straight. I can barely string together a full sentence, let alone an indepth fiscal explanation. And as much as I love him... Sometimes I wish he'd keep the contents of his scientific research/reading/learning to himself. I've long forgotten what the word existential means... And trying to remember gives me a headache.
And when the weekend comes around... The two days a week that I'm not required to leave the house... I don't want to leave the house. I don't want to get dressed. I don't want to go anywhere. I want to stay where I am, and just... Be. Its not that I'm trying to be anti-social, or be a burden on anyone, its that I'm trying to recover from the week, so that I can convince myself to start the whole cycle again on Monday morning.
But you know what the hardest part about all of this is? That the BF doesn't understand, and I don't have the words to explain it to him. How do you explain what it feels like to suffer from anxiety about everything and nothing at the same time? It'd be easier to try and explain what an orgasm felt like (yeah, you try to explain that one with any sort of success. Just you go ahead and try it).
How do you explain what fear feels like? How do you explain that before you've even stepped out the door in the morning, your mind drops into overdrive thinking about all the horrible things that can go wrong. That it tries to convince you that all those things WILL go wrong. That it pulls random memories out of thin air, and forces you to re-live them whether you want to or not. That it runs a mile a minute no matter what you do to stop it.
Its like having a tornado inside your head. Except that its not. *sigh*
And even if you can manage to explain part of all that... How do you explain the why's behind it?
It defies logic. Its completely irrational. Even explaining what the original trauma was doesn't explain the why... Because your mind doesn't just obsess on that. It picks anything and everything else... Maybe to avoid that original trauma. I don't know. No one knows really. Psychiatrists have been trying to understand it for decades, and are still failing.
And when you can't explain any of it... When the person you're dealing with doesn't understand... They don't treat you the way you need to be treated. They get frustrated, and angry, and blame you for things (like not wanting to go out for food), and generally just make you feel like shit for feeling like shit. And it just makes things worse. It makes it impossible for you to talk to that person about anything of importance, to open up to any degree. Because you're afraid they'll just get more angry... And you can't handle any more pain than you're already dealing with.
You're afraid that if you do tell them, and they don't understand, and they get angry and frustrated, and say hurtful things... You'll break... Break even more than you already have... Because you just don't have the strength to try and defend yourself.
So you fall in on yourself. You don't say anything. You bottle it all up. You don't explain yourself, or even try. And fullfill your own prophecy. That person, they understand even less, and they get more frustrated, and more angry... And then they DO say hurtful things...
Instead of them understanding that things are just HARD for you. Harder than for normal people. That you feel things more than normal people. That you hurt more than normal people. That you're afraid more than normal people. And most of the time, you don't even know why.
Instead of them being sympathetic, and kind, and them trying to coax you gently to do what you're so reluctant to do.
I know its tiring to deal with someone like me. I know it is. I don't expect perfection in dealing with me. It'd just be nice... You know, once in a while... If I didn't have to feel like I was a burden...
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Meh?
Alright, so I haven't posted here in forever.
I was going to delete this thing actually, and start fresh, but it was too much work to try and figure out how to introduce myself again... So yeah, laziness FTW (that means for the win, btw).
You might notice some changes in my vocabulary... I've been spending way too much time on the forums for WoW (World of Warcraft), and I'm absorbing gamer speak.
Meh.
I haven't really thought of anything to write.
And I don't know if anyone except K comes around here anymore...
So maybe writing something would be pointless.
I dunno.
I think my overall attitude has changed as well. Life has put me through hell, and its showing. Even the BF says I seem darker now.
Given all that's gone on (and I'll get to that eventually I suppose) it's not surprising really. Or maybe it is. Some people go through these things and become bright, cheery, happy-go-lucky people. But I've never really tended towards the bright cheery stuff, so I'm not surprised I got darker.
Mostly I think I'm just more tired. Tired of a lot of things. I don't have the patience I used to, nor the mercy. I'm tired of dealing with all the things that go wrong, tired of dealing with all the stupid people, tired of dealing with the cockamamie laws, and the political climate where I live. I'm tired of getting up to go to work in the morning. I'm tired of public transit, and traffic, and doing dishes, and doing laundry, and taking care of other people.
I'm tired of being the mom; the grown up. I'm always the grown up. Or at least, it seems that way for such a vast majority of the time that it may as well be "always."
I'm tired, and jaded, and generally unhappy. Not depressed mind you, though I do have my bouts with that still, but unhappy. As in, not content. As in, pissed off.
I don't like myself very much right now...
I was going to delete this thing actually, and start fresh, but it was too much work to try and figure out how to introduce myself again... So yeah, laziness FTW (that means for the win, btw).
You might notice some changes in my vocabulary... I've been spending way too much time on the forums for WoW (World of Warcraft), and I'm absorbing gamer speak.
Meh.
I haven't really thought of anything to write.
And I don't know if anyone except K comes around here anymore...
So maybe writing something would be pointless.
I dunno.
I think my overall attitude has changed as well. Life has put me through hell, and its showing. Even the BF says I seem darker now.
Given all that's gone on (and I'll get to that eventually I suppose) it's not surprising really. Or maybe it is. Some people go through these things and become bright, cheery, happy-go-lucky people. But I've never really tended towards the bright cheery stuff, so I'm not surprised I got darker.
Mostly I think I'm just more tired. Tired of a lot of things. I don't have the patience I used to, nor the mercy. I'm tired of dealing with all the things that go wrong, tired of dealing with all the stupid people, tired of dealing with the cockamamie laws, and the political climate where I live. I'm tired of getting up to go to work in the morning. I'm tired of public transit, and traffic, and doing dishes, and doing laundry, and taking care of other people.
I'm tired of being the mom; the grown up. I'm always the grown up. Or at least, it seems that way for such a vast majority of the time that it may as well be "always."
I'm tired, and jaded, and generally unhappy. Not depressed mind you, though I do have my bouts with that still, but unhappy. As in, not content. As in, pissed off.
I don't like myself very much right now...
Friday, January 27, 2006
Taking Care Of ... Who?
I'm having a hard time articulating today, so bear with me here -- it may take some rambling before I can actually get to the point. Though, that might happen more quickly if I actually knew what the point was... *sigh* This is like the fifth or sixth time I've started this damned post, and I'm still not sure I know what I'm trying to say.
I'm overtired. Went to bed late last night, and had weird dreams that kept waking me up every half hour or so. I kept dreaming that a monster from this game I play (World of Warcraft) was chasing me down the halls at work, waving a past due notice at me, with little text bubbles popping up above his head saying things like "I'll freeze your assets" and "pay before I send my bear after you" (the monster had a bear as a sidekick... dont ask). And the whole while I was trying to escape this... thing... people kept stepping out of doorways along the hall, and grabbing me, asking me to do things for them... and I kept saying yes to whatever they asked for, just to get them to let me go...
It all seems remarkably ridiculous now that I'm awake and writing it down for you all to read... But at the time it was frightening. I know exactly what the dream was about though, even if it doesn't make any sense to you all.
I'm overwhelmed. Dealing with everyone else's problems for so long, with so little gotten in return, has made it so that I don't want to help anyone anymore. I've gone out of my way for other people to the point that I've been neglecting myself. And that's never a good thing.
That monster... That monster is all of my wants and needs that I've been ignoring, and the past due notice is how much I owe myself. The strange threats? Well, those are me, telling myself that I've got to give to myself, NOW, or bad things will happen.
The dream is right. I need to slow down, stop taking so much on, and take care of me for a while. It'd be great if I had a little help taking care of me... You know... Some TLC from you know who... But at the very least, I need to get some R&R, and be good to myself a bit.
I'm overtired. Went to bed late last night, and had weird dreams that kept waking me up every half hour or so. I kept dreaming that a monster from this game I play (World of Warcraft) was chasing me down the halls at work, waving a past due notice at me, with little text bubbles popping up above his head saying things like "I'll freeze your assets" and "pay before I send my bear after you" (the monster had a bear as a sidekick... dont ask). And the whole while I was trying to escape this... thing... people kept stepping out of doorways along the hall, and grabbing me, asking me to do things for them... and I kept saying yes to whatever they asked for, just to get them to let me go...
It all seems remarkably ridiculous now that I'm awake and writing it down for you all to read... But at the time it was frightening. I know exactly what the dream was about though, even if it doesn't make any sense to you all.
I'm overwhelmed. Dealing with everyone else's problems for so long, with so little gotten in return, has made it so that I don't want to help anyone anymore. I've gone out of my way for other people to the point that I've been neglecting myself. And that's never a good thing.
That monster... That monster is all of my wants and needs that I've been ignoring, and the past due notice is how much I owe myself. The strange threats? Well, those are me, telling myself that I've got to give to myself, NOW, or bad things will happen.
The dream is right. I need to slow down, stop taking so much on, and take care of me for a while. It'd be great if I had a little help taking care of me... You know... Some TLC from you know who... But at the very least, I need to get some R&R, and be good to myself a bit.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Selfish...
Thats how I'm feeling today.
There's something I want, something I need, that I can't seem to convince myself to wait for. I want it today. Eventhough I know I cant have it today. Eventhough I know its not fair of me to even ask for it today.
I want some affection, some comfort, to be held, and hugged, and kissed, and shown I'm cared about.
I haven't seen my BF in a few days, and I miss him, and I desperately want him to come spend some time with me, now, while I can, before I have my son for the weekend and can't be anything other than a mom...
I don't want to wait 'til Sunday night, but the BF is busy working. He's behind schedule, and coming up on a deadline, and says he doesn't have time to come over, and won't have time until Sunday.
And as much as I understand and respect that, as much as I know how important it is for him to get that project done, as much as I know that he's not just ignoring me... I still want what I want. I'm still unhappy that I can't have it.
And I feel like a selfish bitch for feeling that way. A lonely, pathetic, irrational, whiny, needy, selfish, bitch.
There's something I want, something I need, that I can't seem to convince myself to wait for. I want it today. Eventhough I know I cant have it today. Eventhough I know its not fair of me to even ask for it today.
I want some affection, some comfort, to be held, and hugged, and kissed, and shown I'm cared about.
I haven't seen my BF in a few days, and I miss him, and I desperately want him to come spend some time with me, now, while I can, before I have my son for the weekend and can't be anything other than a mom...
I don't want to wait 'til Sunday night, but the BF is busy working. He's behind schedule, and coming up on a deadline, and says he doesn't have time to come over, and won't have time until Sunday.
And as much as I understand and respect that, as much as I know how important it is for him to get that project done, as much as I know that he's not just ignoring me... I still want what I want. I'm still unhappy that I can't have it.
And I feel like a selfish bitch for feeling that way. A lonely, pathetic, irrational, whiny, needy, selfish, bitch.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Drama City...
Okay, I've been a bad blogger, ignoring mine, and my friends' blogs for quite some time. Wouldn't blame y'all if you stopped checking on me -- hell, even I"d have given up after a week or three.
I don't really have much of an excuse, except that I've been busy turning myself into my dad -- a workaholic. For a while there, I think even my BF forgot that there was more to me than work. My fault really, but disturbing and upsetting nonetheless.
See, I'm just way too eager to throw myself full on into anything that makes me feel worthwhile and appreciated. And given that there's not a whole hell of a lot else in my life right now that's even remotely fulfilling, I was working way too hard there for a bit. As a result, I wound up feeling more like just a business partner than a GF. Oops.
Anyway, that seems to be fixed now, and I'm trying to force myself to stop thinking about work all the time (easier said than done mind you).
Oh yeah, this whole time I've been sick as a dog too (what exactly does it mean to be "sick as a dog" anyway?). Xmas eve I caught a cold, which turned into a sinus infection, which gave me asthmatic bronchits... I spent my birthday in the dr's office, and spent new year's on my couch, curled up, praying for death. I'm only now starting to feel normal (well, normal for me anyway, cuz we all know I'm beyond weird).
And during all that, my ex went 5150 on my son's birthday, and I had to spend the entire day watching him to make sure he didn't do anything stupid before the party, and making sure that he got into the hospital... Gawd that was a mess...
And my sister dropped out of college so she could take some time to find herself... Drama city there...
AND just when I thought my job at Berkeley couldn't possibly get any worse -- it did. They've taken away my cozy little office near the ground floor, and stuck me in a high traffic cube farm on the top floor of the building, between a woman who never shuts up, and MY BOSS. Damn. Today I got snapped at because I didn't put up a note saying I'd gone to PICK UP lunch. Not that I'd gone to lunch... but that I'd gone to PICK IT UP. Um.... EX-FUCKING-CUSE ME!
Man, I'm worn. Straight worn. I need a break from life. Seriously. I dunno how much longer I can keep up this pace. I don't even take weekends off anymore, and its majorly taking its toll. *sigh*
Someone kidnap me, and force me to spend a week on the beach in Cancun without my laptop... Or something... Please...
I don't really have much of an excuse, except that I've been busy turning myself into my dad -- a workaholic. For a while there, I think even my BF forgot that there was more to me than work. My fault really, but disturbing and upsetting nonetheless.
See, I'm just way too eager to throw myself full on into anything that makes me feel worthwhile and appreciated. And given that there's not a whole hell of a lot else in my life right now that's even remotely fulfilling, I was working way too hard there for a bit. As a result, I wound up feeling more like just a business partner than a GF. Oops.
Anyway, that seems to be fixed now, and I'm trying to force myself to stop thinking about work all the time (easier said than done mind you).
Oh yeah, this whole time I've been sick as a dog too (what exactly does it mean to be "sick as a dog" anyway?). Xmas eve I caught a cold, which turned into a sinus infection, which gave me asthmatic bronchits... I spent my birthday in the dr's office, and spent new year's on my couch, curled up, praying for death. I'm only now starting to feel normal (well, normal for me anyway, cuz we all know I'm beyond weird).
And during all that, my ex went 5150 on my son's birthday, and I had to spend the entire day watching him to make sure he didn't do anything stupid before the party, and making sure that he got into the hospital... Gawd that was a mess...
And my sister dropped out of college so she could take some time to find herself... Drama city there...
AND just when I thought my job at Berkeley couldn't possibly get any worse -- it did. They've taken away my cozy little office near the ground floor, and stuck me in a high traffic cube farm on the top floor of the building, between a woman who never shuts up, and MY BOSS. Damn. Today I got snapped at because I didn't put up a note saying I'd gone to PICK UP lunch. Not that I'd gone to lunch... but that I'd gone to PICK IT UP. Um.... EX-FUCKING-CUSE ME!
Man, I'm worn. Straight worn. I need a break from life. Seriously. I dunno how much longer I can keep up this pace. I don't even take weekends off anymore, and its majorly taking its toll. *sigh*
Someone kidnap me, and force me to spend a week on the beach in Cancun without my laptop... Or something... Please...
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Bah Humbug... Or Something Like That...
Christmas time is here again and I'm rapidly turning into the Grinch. Well, not exactly... I mean... Its just that Christmas has always been wretchedly hard on me. Even as a kid, I hated Christmas.
When I was little, I never looked forward to Christmas. Sure, new toys and whatnot was great, but it always felt like my parents (and other adult family) were trying to buy me off -- like they were trying to make up for a whole year's worth of neglect and abuse in one shot. Maybe I should be grateful that they even tried to make up for everything, but somehow the idea that a barbie doll and some legos are recompense for an extreme lack of love and affection sickens me. How is it that a spirograph is supposed to make up for a year's worth of being screamed at for no reason? How does a care bear make up for a year's worth being hit and slapped? Is a new sketch book supposed to give me love and support when there's no one around to rely on? Or maybe I should call a new set of colored pencils to come pick me up when I get thrown out of the house barefoot -- again.
And now that I'm older, Christmas has turned into nothing more than an extended financial transaction. The pretense of thoughtful gifts has gone completely out the window. I show up for an awkward gathering of family who barely know each other, and get a check, or a couple of gift cards for my trouble. Does that sound even remotely like Christmas to you? It sure as hell doesn't to me.
The best Christmas I ever had, had nothing to do with my family at all. In highschool I went through a very Christian phase -- went to church and youth groups and Christian Camp and the whole deal. There was a family at church who was really down on their luck -- both parents were out of work, had virtually no money to speak of, three kids to take care of... Our pastor and his wife had taken them in, but even so, they weren't going to have much of a Christmas. So my best friend (at the time) and I pooled a little bit of money, and decided to play Santa for them. We didn't buy anything extravagant, just small toys, games, little treats... But you should have seen how happy those kids were. And the look of relief and gratitude on their parents' faces... That was Christmas. That made the whole year worth while. I didn't need anything else for Christmas. Just the looks on their faces was enough -- more than enough.
I wish Christmas could be like that again. I wish it could be about small gestures, and heartfelt good wishes. I wish... "the thought" still counted.
But we don't know each other anymore. We don't think about what would truly make one another happy, because we can't be bothered. Its all about making ourselves look good, about showing everyone how great we are, not about showing everyone how great we think they are.
The crowds at the stores prove it to me -- the hustle and bustle, the fighting over the last of the "best gifts"... What ever happened to "peace and good will towards men"??
Is it really any wonder that I hate Christmas so much when all it is now is one big spending contest?
I don't want fancy gifts. I never have. All I've ever wanted is to be shown that I'm thought about, and cared about. Throwing money at me doesn't do that. A small trinket, even something worthless or silly, means more to me if the person giving it says "when I saw this, I immediately thought of you." But doing it that way requires time... And time isn't something most people have much of anymore. I know I don't. I've got two jobs, a kid... And no maid. I don't even have the time to do my laundry, let alone spend hours and hours picking out personalized gifts for everyone. But at the same time, i'm not happy just getting people gift cards. I'm not happy buying into the thoughtless materialism that Christmas has become symbolic of. Its not me, and it feels wrong.
So yeah, I'd like to just skip Christmas. Just forget about gifts and uncomfortable family gatherings, and have the time to spend with the people that matter most to me. Because really, THAT is what Christmas should be all about.
When I was little, I never looked forward to Christmas. Sure, new toys and whatnot was great, but it always felt like my parents (and other adult family) were trying to buy me off -- like they were trying to make up for a whole year's worth of neglect and abuse in one shot. Maybe I should be grateful that they even tried to make up for everything, but somehow the idea that a barbie doll and some legos are recompense for an extreme lack of love and affection sickens me. How is it that a spirograph is supposed to make up for a year's worth of being screamed at for no reason? How does a care bear make up for a year's worth being hit and slapped? Is a new sketch book supposed to give me love and support when there's no one around to rely on? Or maybe I should call a new set of colored pencils to come pick me up when I get thrown out of the house barefoot -- again.
And now that I'm older, Christmas has turned into nothing more than an extended financial transaction. The pretense of thoughtful gifts has gone completely out the window. I show up for an awkward gathering of family who barely know each other, and get a check, or a couple of gift cards for my trouble. Does that sound even remotely like Christmas to you? It sure as hell doesn't to me.
The best Christmas I ever had, had nothing to do with my family at all. In highschool I went through a very Christian phase -- went to church and youth groups and Christian Camp and the whole deal. There was a family at church who was really down on their luck -- both parents were out of work, had virtually no money to speak of, three kids to take care of... Our pastor and his wife had taken them in, but even so, they weren't going to have much of a Christmas. So my best friend (at the time) and I pooled a little bit of money, and decided to play Santa for them. We didn't buy anything extravagant, just small toys, games, little treats... But you should have seen how happy those kids were. And the look of relief and gratitude on their parents' faces... That was Christmas. That made the whole year worth while. I didn't need anything else for Christmas. Just the looks on their faces was enough -- more than enough.
I wish Christmas could be like that again. I wish it could be about small gestures, and heartfelt good wishes. I wish... "the thought" still counted.
But we don't know each other anymore. We don't think about what would truly make one another happy, because we can't be bothered. Its all about making ourselves look good, about showing everyone how great we are, not about showing everyone how great we think they are.
The crowds at the stores prove it to me -- the hustle and bustle, the fighting over the last of the "best gifts"... What ever happened to "peace and good will towards men"??
Is it really any wonder that I hate Christmas so much when all it is now is one big spending contest?
I don't want fancy gifts. I never have. All I've ever wanted is to be shown that I'm thought about, and cared about. Throwing money at me doesn't do that. A small trinket, even something worthless or silly, means more to me if the person giving it says "when I saw this, I immediately thought of you." But doing it that way requires time... And time isn't something most people have much of anymore. I know I don't. I've got two jobs, a kid... And no maid. I don't even have the time to do my laundry, let alone spend hours and hours picking out personalized gifts for everyone. But at the same time, i'm not happy just getting people gift cards. I'm not happy buying into the thoughtless materialism that Christmas has become symbolic of. Its not me, and it feels wrong.
So yeah, I'd like to just skip Christmas. Just forget about gifts and uncomfortable family gatherings, and have the time to spend with the people that matter most to me. Because really, THAT is what Christmas should be all about.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Dreams...
It's funny the things your mind does when you're asleep... Well... Sometimes it's funny, and sometimes it's scary as fuck.
For the most part, I don't dream. At least, if I do, I don't remember it. That's not a hard rule, but it's true at least 90% of the time. Except lately.
For the past two weeks, I've been dreaming every time I fall asleep -- even on the train in the morning -- and not pleasant dreams either. I've been having intensely vivid and frighteningly real nightmares. You know, the kind that shock you awake then follow you around echoing in your ears all day and flashing in front of your eyes when you least expect it.
There's something about these dreams though... They're not exactly just dreams. I mean, yes, I dream them, but instead of them being random shit generated by my subconscious, they're memories. Very old, horrific memories. Things that actually happened. Things I don't want to remember. Things I don't even want to think about remembering.
And now, here they are, insinuating themselves into my dreams, then chasing me into wakefulness... Refusing to be ignored or forgotten once more.
It's like my own mind is stalking me... And it makes me feel afraid to sleep, afraid to be alone...
The two states I spend most of my time in. *sigh*
For the most part, I don't dream. At least, if I do, I don't remember it. That's not a hard rule, but it's true at least 90% of the time. Except lately.
For the past two weeks, I've been dreaming every time I fall asleep -- even on the train in the morning -- and not pleasant dreams either. I've been having intensely vivid and frighteningly real nightmares. You know, the kind that shock you awake then follow you around echoing in your ears all day and flashing in front of your eyes when you least expect it.
There's something about these dreams though... They're not exactly just dreams. I mean, yes, I dream them, but instead of them being random shit generated by my subconscious, they're memories. Very old, horrific memories. Things that actually happened. Things I don't want to remember. Things I don't even want to think about remembering.
And now, here they are, insinuating themselves into my dreams, then chasing me into wakefulness... Refusing to be ignored or forgotten once more.
It's like my own mind is stalking me... And it makes me feel afraid to sleep, afraid to be alone...
The two states I spend most of my time in. *sigh*
Monday, November 28, 2005
Knots... Yeh...
Okay, so I fell off the face of the earth there for a while...
My day job, while remarkably lacking in actual work, has been beyond stressful -- days filled with pointless staff meetings and redundant training sessions, union barganing and negotiations, and me wondering if I'm the only person on campus with half a brain in her head...
My other job -- the one I actually enjoy -- has been keeping my mind busy the rest of the time. In fact, its been tying my brain in knots because I'm trying to learn a new diagramming technique called UML (universal modelling language). Ever seen a flowchart? UML is exactly like that, only completely and totally different. Uh huh. See why my brain's been in knots? My grey matter feels like a piece of practice rope for a boyscout getting his knot tying badge.
Anyway, no deep insights for now. Its all I can do to keep my mind from melting, so yeh. No unnecessary thought for me.
My day job, while remarkably lacking in actual work, has been beyond stressful -- days filled with pointless staff meetings and redundant training sessions, union barganing and negotiations, and me wondering if I'm the only person on campus with half a brain in her head...
My other job -- the one I actually enjoy -- has been keeping my mind busy the rest of the time. In fact, its been tying my brain in knots because I'm trying to learn a new diagramming technique called UML (universal modelling language). Ever seen a flowchart? UML is exactly like that, only completely and totally different. Uh huh. See why my brain's been in knots? My grey matter feels like a piece of practice rope for a boyscout getting his knot tying badge.
Anyway, no deep insights for now. Its all I can do to keep my mind from melting, so yeh. No unnecessary thought for me.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Feeling Quiet
As Cat pointed out, I haven't really been around much. My posts are dwindling, and I appologize. But I just haven't been able to think of what to say. I can't seem to organize my thoughts or feelings into something intelligible. I'm not entirely sure whats up with that, but eh. Oh well.
My weekend wasn't as much fun as I'd intended it to be, and its left me feeling more than a little bit down. I'd wanted things to be relatively care free and relaxed... But instead of just hanging out and doing the Halloween thing, shit happened, and a should have been stress free Saturday turned into a tension fest and ended with a lot of tears and some hurt feelings. And eventhough I've forgiven the things said to me in a drunke haze... I've not yet forgotten them, and the words still sting.
I wish appologies fixed things. I wish they erased whatever transgression was comitted, and made everything new. But they don't. And no matter how well you understand the whys and hows of what happened, no matter how much you forgive, you still hurt for a while. Sometimes just a little, and sometimes a lot.
I'm sure this is shortlived... But it'd be nice if the offending party went out of his way to make it up to me... Just to show he noticed, and cares, that I'm still not over it, you know?
A little TLC would work wonders...
My weekend wasn't as much fun as I'd intended it to be, and its left me feeling more than a little bit down. I'd wanted things to be relatively care free and relaxed... But instead of just hanging out and doing the Halloween thing, shit happened, and a should have been stress free Saturday turned into a tension fest and ended with a lot of tears and some hurt feelings. And eventhough I've forgiven the things said to me in a drunke haze... I've not yet forgotten them, and the words still sting.
I wish appologies fixed things. I wish they erased whatever transgression was comitted, and made everything new. But they don't. And no matter how well you understand the whys and hows of what happened, no matter how much you forgive, you still hurt for a while. Sometimes just a little, and sometimes a lot.
I'm sure this is shortlived... But it'd be nice if the offending party went out of his way to make it up to me... Just to show he noticed, and cares, that I'm still not over it, you know?
A little TLC would work wonders...
Monday, October 24, 2005
One of The Ones to Be Grateful For
Today is one of those days. You know, those days -- the ones that, even though you're awake, feel like some sort of dream, or maybe an out of body experience where you're watching life happen to yourself without actually feeling any of it, like it's not even you experiencing things, like it's someone else.
My therapist calls it "disassociation" and says that it's my mind distancing itself from stressful events or feelings that might otherwise be overwhelming. Its a defense mechanism, she says, so that I can keep functioning through whatever life throws at me. Personally, I think that explanation makes me sound crazy, and much more fragile than I am.
Some things just take more time for a mind to process, and during that delay I think we associate what's happening to the first similar thing we can find in our memories. For those of us who are part of the modern world, the most prevalent sensory and informational input we get is from a television screen or computer monitor. And the majority of that is either fiction, or non-fiction that is so sensationalized that it comes across as fiction.
So it's not that we're "disassociating." Quite the opposite. Its that we're trying so hard to immediately figure out how to think, feel, or react to a situation that our minds are misassociating with things that we know to be fake. We think, subconsciously as well as consciously, "this stuff happens on TV, or in movies, not in real life." Thus, whatever is going on ends up feeling surrealistic -- like it isn't happening to you because these things "don't happen to real people."
Now, I'm not saying that people don't ever truly disassociate. I fully admit to doing it sometimes. I did it when I was at my worst, refusing to admit that I was hurting, throwing myself into work and school. I did it as a new mom, when diapers, spit up, throw up, etc., etc., were too disgusting to handle. I do it now, at work, when the stress and frustration gets to be overwhelming. But those times, I go numb. I become robotic; completely and totally unfeeling and blind to anything but the task at hand. It doesn't feel surrealistic. It doesn't feel like anything at all.
So today, I'm not disassociating. I feel okay. It's just that... Things just don't feel right. They don't feel real.
This morning, on my way to work, I got a call from my ex husband telling me that he's been the victim of identity theft, and that I should keep an eye on the joint bank account we still have. Great. Lovely. So I have to go, at some point, and close it just to be safe. And that wasn't even how the day started.
My wake up call this morning, instead of my normal 6:30am alarm, was a 5-something am phone call from my boyfriend to let me know that his grandfather had passed away. It wasn't an unexpected thing. But that doesn't make it any easier on anyone involved. I don't think its all really hit him yet... But it will eventually. In the mean time, my heart is breaking for him.
I remember how hard it was on me when my great grandmother died... She'd been ill for a long time, and each time I saw her, she was less and less of the woman I knew. She was one of the strongest, most alive, feisty and fun loving people I've ever known. But the last few times I saw her, she wasn't any of those things. She was wasting away, hooked up to more and more tubes and machines each time. The number of pill bottles in her bathroom soon overflowed the medicine cabinet, and lined the sink and even the top of the toilet tank. Certain bottles took up residence by her bed, or by her recliner in the living room.
On my last visit, the entire house had become a sick room, and the woman I'd loved and admired was a mere shadow of her former self. She couldn't even sit up on her own, let alone stand at the stove teaching me how to cook like she always had.
Between her medications and the dementia that had set in, she could barely recognize her family. We even had to have my dad's wife step outside because my great grandmother couldn't remember who she was, and kept getting scared about "the strange woman in my house." In the fog she was in, my father had to keep reminding her who he was because she kept confusing him with my uncle and my grandfather.
But she knew me. She called me by name, and grasped my hand with more strength than she should have been able to muster.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" she asked, her voice weak, but seemingly determined.
"Yes Nanny," I replied. I was fifteen, and did have one... Kind of.
"You love him?" she asked, a glimmer of hope slipping into her voice.
"Yes Nanny," I said. I thought I did, given how much fifteen year olds know about love.
"You're going to get married?" she asked, hope lighting her eyes, and color coming back into her face.
Who was I to deny her that hope? Who was I to deny her a last moment of happiness? What would it hurt to tell her what she wanted to hear?
"Yes Nanny," I lied.
"Good," she said. A soft smile spread across her face as her hand slipped from mine and she fell back into a state halfway between consciousness and unconsciousness.
My conversation with her ended up being the last conversation she had with anyone. She never quite regained lucidity again after that. And a day later, as I was on the plane home, she passed away peacefully after months of battling to hold on to life's last threads. It was as if she was waiting for me... Waiting to see that I had a bright future, before she felt it was okay to let go.
When we got the call that she'd passed away, I cried like a baby in my father's arms. But my tears weren't for her. She was in a better place, and she'd gone there happy. She wasn't suffering anymore, and I was glad for that. But me... I was stuck here, without her. My tears were for me; my hurt, my loss, my emptiness.
She was everything I'd always wanted to be; one of only two people I ever admired growing up. And I still miss her. I always will.
There was nothing that anyone could say or do to help me feel better. All the I'm sorries, and the I know how you feels did nothing but annoy me. Only the friends who really did know how I felt were honest enough to admit that there was nothing they could say. They were the ones that would hug me. They were the ones that would ask to hear about her. They were the ones that would share stories about the loved ones they'd lost. They were the ones that would cry with me. They were the ones that helped; that made me feel less alone. They were the ones I was grateful for.
I just hope that I can be that... One of the ones that help... One of the ones to be grateful for.
My therapist calls it "disassociation" and says that it's my mind distancing itself from stressful events or feelings that might otherwise be overwhelming. Its a defense mechanism, she says, so that I can keep functioning through whatever life throws at me. Personally, I think that explanation makes me sound crazy, and much more fragile than I am.
Some things just take more time for a mind to process, and during that delay I think we associate what's happening to the first similar thing we can find in our memories. For those of us who are part of the modern world, the most prevalent sensory and informational input we get is from a television screen or computer monitor. And the majority of that is either fiction, or non-fiction that is so sensationalized that it comes across as fiction.
So it's not that we're "disassociating." Quite the opposite. Its that we're trying so hard to immediately figure out how to think, feel, or react to a situation that our minds are misassociating with things that we know to be fake. We think, subconsciously as well as consciously, "this stuff happens on TV, or in movies, not in real life." Thus, whatever is going on ends up feeling surrealistic -- like it isn't happening to you because these things "don't happen to real people."
Now, I'm not saying that people don't ever truly disassociate. I fully admit to doing it sometimes. I did it when I was at my worst, refusing to admit that I was hurting, throwing myself into work and school. I did it as a new mom, when diapers, spit up, throw up, etc., etc., were too disgusting to handle. I do it now, at work, when the stress and frustration gets to be overwhelming. But those times, I go numb. I become robotic; completely and totally unfeeling and blind to anything but the task at hand. It doesn't feel surrealistic. It doesn't feel like anything at all.
So today, I'm not disassociating. I feel okay. It's just that... Things just don't feel right. They don't feel real.
This morning, on my way to work, I got a call from my ex husband telling me that he's been the victim of identity theft, and that I should keep an eye on the joint bank account we still have. Great. Lovely. So I have to go, at some point, and close it just to be safe. And that wasn't even how the day started.
My wake up call this morning, instead of my normal 6:30am alarm, was a 5-something am phone call from my boyfriend to let me know that his grandfather had passed away. It wasn't an unexpected thing. But that doesn't make it any easier on anyone involved. I don't think its all really hit him yet... But it will eventually. In the mean time, my heart is breaking for him.
I remember how hard it was on me when my great grandmother died... She'd been ill for a long time, and each time I saw her, she was less and less of the woman I knew. She was one of the strongest, most alive, feisty and fun loving people I've ever known. But the last few times I saw her, she wasn't any of those things. She was wasting away, hooked up to more and more tubes and machines each time. The number of pill bottles in her bathroom soon overflowed the medicine cabinet, and lined the sink and even the top of the toilet tank. Certain bottles took up residence by her bed, or by her recliner in the living room.
On my last visit, the entire house had become a sick room, and the woman I'd loved and admired was a mere shadow of her former self. She couldn't even sit up on her own, let alone stand at the stove teaching me how to cook like she always had.
Between her medications and the dementia that had set in, she could barely recognize her family. We even had to have my dad's wife step outside because my great grandmother couldn't remember who she was, and kept getting scared about "the strange woman in my house." In the fog she was in, my father had to keep reminding her who he was because she kept confusing him with my uncle and my grandfather.
But she knew me. She called me by name, and grasped my hand with more strength than she should have been able to muster.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" she asked, her voice weak, but seemingly determined.
"Yes Nanny," I replied. I was fifteen, and did have one... Kind of.
"You love him?" she asked, a glimmer of hope slipping into her voice.
"Yes Nanny," I said. I thought I did, given how much fifteen year olds know about love.
"You're going to get married?" she asked, hope lighting her eyes, and color coming back into her face.
Who was I to deny her that hope? Who was I to deny her a last moment of happiness? What would it hurt to tell her what she wanted to hear?
"Yes Nanny," I lied.
"Good," she said. A soft smile spread across her face as her hand slipped from mine and she fell back into a state halfway between consciousness and unconsciousness.
My conversation with her ended up being the last conversation she had with anyone. She never quite regained lucidity again after that. And a day later, as I was on the plane home, she passed away peacefully after months of battling to hold on to life's last threads. It was as if she was waiting for me... Waiting to see that I had a bright future, before she felt it was okay to let go.
When we got the call that she'd passed away, I cried like a baby in my father's arms. But my tears weren't for her. She was in a better place, and she'd gone there happy. She wasn't suffering anymore, and I was glad for that. But me... I was stuck here, without her. My tears were for me; my hurt, my loss, my emptiness.
She was everything I'd always wanted to be; one of only two people I ever admired growing up. And I still miss her. I always will.
There was nothing that anyone could say or do to help me feel better. All the I'm sorries, and the I know how you feels did nothing but annoy me. Only the friends who really did know how I felt were honest enough to admit that there was nothing they could say. They were the ones that would hug me. They were the ones that would ask to hear about her. They were the ones that would share stories about the loved ones they'd lost. They were the ones that would cry with me. They were the ones that helped; that made me feel less alone. They were the ones I was grateful for.
I just hope that I can be that... One of the ones that help... One of the ones to be grateful for.
Friday, October 21, 2005
Blogging Bind
I haven't really had much to say here lately... My mind has, for the most part, been caught up in other people's lives, and my focus has been on being there for them in whatever way I can. Instead of looking inward, I've been looking out, and now I'm in a bit of a blogging bind. You see, all the people that I'm talking about read this blog, and now I find myself thinking about how what I say here might affect them. I don't feel I can be as open as I usually am, because it might impact them, or the relationships I have with them, which is not my intention here. On the other hand, this is MY blog, and its here that I generally get stuff off my chest, whether it be good, or bad. Aside from making sure not to name names, or otherwise give out any personal information, I've never censored myself, and I don't want to start. It would defeat the purpose of the blog if I did.
So here's my solution. I'm going to remind you, now, that this blog is much like a personal journal for me. I share it this way because... Well, I don't really know why I share it this way. Maybe I'm practicing letting myself be vulnerable. Maybe I'm tired of hiding everything I think and feel. Maybe I want there to be an easy way for people to see the real me. Maybe all of those, maybe none. It doesn't matter really. What matters is that, as you're reading this, you take it all with a grain of salt and remember that this is just the brain spillage of someone who feels the world around her a little more than she knows how to handle sometimes.
So here's my solution. I'm going to remind you, now, that this blog is much like a personal journal for me. I share it this way because... Well, I don't really know why I share it this way. Maybe I'm practicing letting myself be vulnerable. Maybe I'm tired of hiding everything I think and feel. Maybe I want there to be an easy way for people to see the real me. Maybe all of those, maybe none. It doesn't matter really. What matters is that, as you're reading this, you take it all with a grain of salt and remember that this is just the brain spillage of someone who feels the world around her a little more than she knows how to handle sometimes.
Monday, October 17, 2005
What A Weekend
Okay. So. This weekend rocked. Seriously.
First of all, my Friday night was one of the best Friday nights I've had, ever. Not only because I was out with really great people, or because I got so drunk that I actually danced and didn't give a shit if I looked stupid or not, or because I looked cute enough that total strangers were giving me compliments (it was a gay club, so they were actually complimenting me, not hitting on me), although all that was beyond fun, and I'm definitely going to have to dance more often (it's great exercise, and thanks to my four inch heels, my legs were sore all the next day). The thing that really made my night though, was one little phrase.
As we were walking into the club, the bouncer asked the guy I'm seeing if I was his wife. I of course found that idea hilarious, given my feelings about marriage, and laughed. The guy I'm seeing though, says to the bouncer "No, she's my girlfriend." That was the first time I'd ever heard him call me that, and it felt so good... I know, it seems kind of juvenile of me, or girly in a high school way... But there's something about that title that gives me the mushy little warm fuzzies. I mean, I know its just a title, I know it doesn't actually change anything, but... Being called that makes me feel important, special, possessed. And I like that feeling of belonging to someone. A lot.
The other totally awesome thing that happened this weekend was that the board of directors of my boyfriend's (note the change in terminology *grin*) company voted to make me their new CFO. Uh huh. That's right. Me. CFO. Chief Financial Officer. At 26. Yup yup. I so rock *grin*
In all seriousness though, as thrilled as I am at being given that opportunity, the sheer magnitude of being a CFO is a bit daunting. Yes, Berkeley gave me a crash course in accounting policy and procedure. Yes, I've taken accounting classes. Yes, I've taken management classes. But I don't know everything that a CFO should. I know a lot of it, but not everything.
Now, I'm not saying that will keep me from doing a great job, because it won't. It just means that I'm going to have to do a lot of research on top of everything else. A LOT of research. Both about the job, and about the company. And its intimidating, jumping into something that you're maybe not quite prepared for.
I have confidence in myself though, and so do other people. This kind of situation is the kind I excel in, actually, and this is the kind of work I was born for.
High level financial management is not what it might seem. It's not just number crunching like everyone thinks. Its much more abstract than that. A financial report isn't just about account balances or cash flow, and accounting isn't just about knowing when the bills were paid. If it were, anyone could do it. What a financial report really does, is tell a story. If you know how to read it, that is. It tells you everything you could ever want to know about a company. Where it's been, where it is now, and where it's going. Liquidity, profitability, potential growth, productivity. I can look at a financial report and tell you where a company needs improvement, where it's losing money and why, where it's profiting and why. All that, just from a screen full of numbers.
There's also an amount of creativity involved. Creation of policy and procedure, the sculpting and molding of processes, building a company from the inside out...
It's all exactly what I'm best at -- a mix of art and numbers, creativity and practicality... A lot of it is intuitive for me, innate skill that I just... Have. The rest... I've either learned already, or will learn soon.
First of all, my Friday night was one of the best Friday nights I've had, ever. Not only because I was out with really great people, or because I got so drunk that I actually danced and didn't give a shit if I looked stupid or not, or because I looked cute enough that total strangers were giving me compliments (it was a gay club, so they were actually complimenting me, not hitting on me), although all that was beyond fun, and I'm definitely going to have to dance more often (it's great exercise, and thanks to my four inch heels, my legs were sore all the next day). The thing that really made my night though, was one little phrase.
As we were walking into the club, the bouncer asked the guy I'm seeing if I was his wife. I of course found that idea hilarious, given my feelings about marriage, and laughed. The guy I'm seeing though, says to the bouncer "No, she's my girlfriend." That was the first time I'd ever heard him call me that, and it felt so good... I know, it seems kind of juvenile of me, or girly in a high school way... But there's something about that title that gives me the mushy little warm fuzzies. I mean, I know its just a title, I know it doesn't actually change anything, but... Being called that makes me feel important, special, possessed. And I like that feeling of belonging to someone. A lot.
The other totally awesome thing that happened this weekend was that the board of directors of my boyfriend's (note the change in terminology *grin*) company voted to make me their new CFO. Uh huh. That's right. Me. CFO. Chief Financial Officer. At 26. Yup yup. I so rock *grin*
In all seriousness though, as thrilled as I am at being given that opportunity, the sheer magnitude of being a CFO is a bit daunting. Yes, Berkeley gave me a crash course in accounting policy and procedure. Yes, I've taken accounting classes. Yes, I've taken management classes. But I don't know everything that a CFO should. I know a lot of it, but not everything.
Now, I'm not saying that will keep me from doing a great job, because it won't. It just means that I'm going to have to do a lot of research on top of everything else. A LOT of research. Both about the job, and about the company. And its intimidating, jumping into something that you're maybe not quite prepared for.
I have confidence in myself though, and so do other people. This kind of situation is the kind I excel in, actually, and this is the kind of work I was born for.
High level financial management is not what it might seem. It's not just number crunching like everyone thinks. Its much more abstract than that. A financial report isn't just about account balances or cash flow, and accounting isn't just about knowing when the bills were paid. If it were, anyone could do it. What a financial report really does, is tell a story. If you know how to read it, that is. It tells you everything you could ever want to know about a company. Where it's been, where it is now, and where it's going. Liquidity, profitability, potential growth, productivity. I can look at a financial report and tell you where a company needs improvement, where it's losing money and why, where it's profiting and why. All that, just from a screen full of numbers.
There's also an amount of creativity involved. Creation of policy and procedure, the sculpting and molding of processes, building a company from the inside out...
It's all exactly what I'm best at -- a mix of art and numbers, creativity and practicality... A lot of it is intuitive for me, innate skill that I just... Have. The rest... I've either learned already, or will learn soon.
Friday, October 14, 2005
My Mom Is Weird
She sent me a "Liv. Breast Self Exam Kit" in the mail.
A what?! Yes, you read that right. A breast self exam kit. Why I need a kit, I have no idea... But according to the box, it comes with a tool thats designed to "greatly enhance sensitivity" and its "made of soft, latex-free polyurethane and filled with a non-toxic lubricant." I'm sorry, but to me, it sounds more like a sex toy than anything else. It really does. It even comes with its own little velvet bag to keep it in!
Amused, I called my sister to see if she'd gotten one too... And got her voicemail. When she called back, I found out that she'd been on the phone with Mom, and just as I was ringing through, Mom had said "oh! I didn't tellyour sister I was sending her one!" Ha Ha. Good timing, that. So then my sister tells me that Mom sent one to our grandmother...
I nearly died at the thought of my tiny, 77 (I think) year old, prim, proper, reserved, UPTIGHT grandmother opening that package in front of my sweet, quiet, SHY grandfather... OMG! I can't even begin to imagine the conversation that must have sparked... And for the sake of my sanity, I'm not even going to try!
I know my mom means well. Really, I do. And given that she works as a mammographer (taking mammograms all day, every day) its not as weird of a "gift" as it seems. But Oh. My. God! *laughs* That was SO the last thing I ever expected to get in the mail!
A what?! Yes, you read that right. A breast self exam kit. Why I need a kit, I have no idea... But according to the box, it comes with a tool thats designed to "greatly enhance sensitivity" and its "made of soft, latex-free polyurethane and filled with a non-toxic lubricant." I'm sorry, but to me, it sounds more like a sex toy than anything else. It really does. It even comes with its own little velvet bag to keep it in!
Amused, I called my sister to see if she'd gotten one too... And got her voicemail. When she called back, I found out that she'd been on the phone with Mom, and just as I was ringing through, Mom had said "oh! I didn't tellyour sister I was sending her one!" Ha Ha. Good timing, that. So then my sister tells me that Mom sent one to our grandmother...
I nearly died at the thought of my tiny, 77 (I think) year old, prim, proper, reserved, UPTIGHT grandmother opening that package in front of my sweet, quiet, SHY grandfather... OMG! I can't even begin to imagine the conversation that must have sparked... And for the sake of my sanity, I'm not even going to try!
I know my mom means well. Really, I do. And given that she works as a mammographer (taking mammograms all day, every day) its not as weird of a "gift" as it seems. But Oh. My. God! *laughs* That was SO the last thing I ever expected to get in the mail!
Monday, October 10, 2005
PeopleSoft 8.8 -- Software From Hell
Well here I am again, stuck not being able to work, and this time, its all PeopleSoft's fault.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with PeopleSoft -- the erectile dysfunction (I secretly think of them as PenisSoft, hehe) of the packaged software industry -- they are the company that designed the AP/AR software that UCB (as well as just about every other public college and university) uses.
We recently (2 weeks ago) upgraded from 7.02 to 8.8 -- a drastic change that moved us from a VPN based interface to a web-based interface -- during which our AP/AR system was down for 2.5 weeks. Yes, you read that right: 2.5 weeks. 2.5 weeks that we couldn't pay bills. 2.5 weeks that we couldnt process incoming payments. 2.5 weeks that several million dollars of grants could not be initialized. 2.5 weeks that NOTHING could be accomplished.
This is something that in the corporate sector would NEVER have happened. Having your AP/AR system down for more than a few hours in the middle of the night is pure business suicide! But this isn't the corporate sector now is it. Us non-profit folks don't need to hold ourselves to the ridgid business standards that the rest of the world lives up to... Ooooooh no.
Well fine. With all that downtime, when the system comes back up, it will be shiny and new, and work like a liberally oiled machine... Right?
Wrong! The first day it was up, it crashed the authentication servers for the whole campus! And every day there after, there were more and more bugs found. More and more weird error messages, less and less functionality. Tasks that originally took me an hour to finish using 7.02 now take up to five times as long, if I can get them accomplished at all... And today, today, 2 whole weeks after implementation, I can't even approve a fucking payment because of a "mysterious SQL error"!!
*Side note: I always think of SQL as "squirrel," and when there's an SQL error, I wind up envisioning a little squirrel inside my computer throwing a hissy fit because he can't find his acorns*
Well hell. Someone want to tell me why I even bother showing up to the office? I mean, if they want to pay me to sit on my ass and do nothing all day, can't I at least do it by the pool? Somehow I don't think that idea would go over well with HR... But I'm tired of this. Really sick and tired.
And in my humble opinion (Or maybe not so humble. Maybe rather indignant instead.) PeopleSoft needs some Cialis or something to get their asses in gear. It sure would be nice if we could charge them for every hour each staff member has to spend twiddling their thumbs instead of working because of whatever system glitch 8.8 has, and send us the fuck home on PeopleSoft's tab. That would sure wake them up quick. Pity theres things called indemnity clauses in contracts... *sigh*
For those of you who are unfamiliar with PeopleSoft -- the erectile dysfunction (I secretly think of them as PenisSoft, hehe) of the packaged software industry -- they are the company that designed the AP/AR software that UCB (as well as just about every other public college and university) uses.
We recently (2 weeks ago) upgraded from 7.02 to 8.8 -- a drastic change that moved us from a VPN based interface to a web-based interface -- during which our AP/AR system was down for 2.5 weeks. Yes, you read that right: 2.5 weeks. 2.5 weeks that we couldn't pay bills. 2.5 weeks that we couldnt process incoming payments. 2.5 weeks that several million dollars of grants could not be initialized. 2.5 weeks that NOTHING could be accomplished.
This is something that in the corporate sector would NEVER have happened. Having your AP/AR system down for more than a few hours in the middle of the night is pure business suicide! But this isn't the corporate sector now is it. Us non-profit folks don't need to hold ourselves to the ridgid business standards that the rest of the world lives up to... Ooooooh no.
Well fine. With all that downtime, when the system comes back up, it will be shiny and new, and work like a liberally oiled machine... Right?
Wrong! The first day it was up, it crashed the authentication servers for the whole campus! And every day there after, there were more and more bugs found. More and more weird error messages, less and less functionality. Tasks that originally took me an hour to finish using 7.02 now take up to five times as long, if I can get them accomplished at all... And today, today, 2 whole weeks after implementation, I can't even approve a fucking payment because of a "mysterious SQL error"!!
*Side note: I always think of SQL as "squirrel," and when there's an SQL error, I wind up envisioning a little squirrel inside my computer throwing a hissy fit because he can't find his acorns*
Well hell. Someone want to tell me why I even bother showing up to the office? I mean, if they want to pay me to sit on my ass and do nothing all day, can't I at least do it by the pool? Somehow I don't think that idea would go over well with HR... But I'm tired of this. Really sick and tired.
And in my humble opinion (Or maybe not so humble. Maybe rather indignant instead.) PeopleSoft needs some Cialis or something to get their asses in gear. It sure would be nice if we could charge them for every hour each staff member has to spend twiddling their thumbs instead of working because of whatever system glitch 8.8 has, and send us the fuck home on PeopleSoft's tab. That would sure wake them up quick. Pity theres things called indemnity clauses in contracts... *sigh*
Public Transit Code of Ethics
Okay people, Melissa's getting fed up with inconsiderate office mates, and I'm getting fed up with inconsiderate mass transit riders. There is an unspoken code of ethics when using public transit you know...
For example:
Respecting Personal Space: No matter how crowded the train, you never, I repeat NEVER, jam the crack of your ass against your neighbor's arm so hard that she can tell, without looking, what cut underwear you have on. And when that neighbor tries to extricate herself from your ass, you do NOT push back against her harder! Maybe you have an ass play fetish. I don't know, I don't care. A crowded train is not the place to get your fix, especially not at the expense of the complete stranger who is unfortunate enough to be standing behind you.
For example:
Respecting Personal Space: No matter how crowded the train, you never, I repeat NEVER, jam the crack of your ass against your neighbor's arm so hard that she can tell, without looking, what cut underwear you have on. And when that neighbor tries to extricate herself from your ass, you do NOT push back against her harder! Maybe you have an ass play fetish. I don't know, I don't care. A crowded train is not the place to get your fix, especially not at the expense of the complete stranger who is unfortunate enough to be standing behind you.
Shoe Choice: If you have chosen to wear stiletto heels on the train, either sit down, or stand perfectly still. Do not keep rearranging your feet. You run the risk of stepping on the toes of an innocent bystander. And when, invariably, you do put your 4 inch pencil point heel down on someone's foot so hard that they cry out in pain, the proper response is "Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you alright?" Glaring at them, and rolling your eyes, is unconscionably rude. After all, it was your stupid idea for you to wear stilettos and step on their foot, not theirs.
Escalator Utilization During Rush Hour: There are two lanes of traffic on the escalator during commute hours. The left side is for those of us who choose to run up, and the right side is for those of us who choose to stand still. If you are going to stand still, please stay to the right and let people pass you. Don't just stand in the middle, blocking everyone who actually has somewhere they need to be.
Turnstile Ettiquette: Have your ticket ready before you get to the turnstile. Don't stand there fumbling through your purse while everyone piles up behind you. Most of us have better things to do than stand around waiting for you to get your act together.
Backpacks, Purses, Briefcases, Laptop Cases, Etc.: Watch out! People do not appreciate it when someone swings around and bashed them in the knee with a briefcase. Similarly, we also do not appreciate being knocked in the face with a backpack, or having a stray purse hit us in the stomach. It's your responsibility to make sure that your baggage isn't accidentally transformed into a weapon of mass distruction, not ours.
Cell Phones: The train is always crowded and noisy. Your cell phone also will get horrible reception on the train. The proper way to deal with this is NOT to yell into the mouth piece at the top of your lungs about how your boyfriend is a lying, cheating, piece of shit. Turn off the damned phone, and wait til you're somewhere a tad less public. We really, REALLY don't need to know about the STD he caught from his whore (or possibly from you, 'cuz there was that one time you slept with what's-his-face from that club...OOOOH girl! That brotha was FYNE!), or that you're going to throw his clothes out on the lawn and burn them. Truly, we don't. And really, if you think about it, neither does the person you're screaming at through your cell.
Unnecessary Conversation With Strangers: One sentence -- Don't talk to me. It's either way too early in the morning and I'm on my way to my crappy job, or its late and I'm on my way home from my crappy job. Either way, I'm not in a good mood and don't want to make idle chit chat or hear your life story. The fact that I have earphones on with the volume cranked so loud that anyone within 5 feet of me can hear what I'm listening to is not an invitation to ask me about my iPod. Quite the opposite. It's meant to deter morons like you from asking me stupid questions like "What does an iPod do?" and "Oh, so you need a computer to use an iPod?" I am not an Apple representative, I am not an information kiosk, I am not the latest issue of Consumer Reports Magazine. Leave me alone!!
All that said, go over and check out Melissa's office ettiquette rants, which served as inspiration for this post.
Friday, October 07, 2005
Between A Rock And A Hard Place
I don't know how you do it. All you people who are faithful to the jobs you hate so much. How do you get up every morning and make yourself get to the office on time? How do you convince yourselves to do the work you find so monotonous, and such a waste of your talent? How do you do it, day after day, not taking time off?
Don't you ever resent your job, your supervisors, for wasting your life? Don't you ever find yourself wishing you could just quit? Wishing that you could stay out all night on a Wednesday and not have to worry about aking up the next morning, or having to work all day with a hang over? Envying those friends who have their dream jobs, who can work whatever hours they want, who telecommute while lounging by the pool?
I hate my job. I find myself resenting every minute I spend in my office; resenting it for everything I give up just to be able to show up here. The parties, the trips to tahoe, the late night social gatherings, the sleep, the time... Most of all the time. God the things I could do if I only had the time...
It feels like my potential sufferes and bleeds away with every second I spend at this job. And yet, without the paycheck it generates, I wouldn't have the money to do any of the things I want to do. Hell, even with the paycheck I don't have the money to do half the things I want to do.
I work, so I can afford the life I want... I work, so I don't have time to live the life I want.
Stuck between a rock and a hard place... Perpetually.
Don't you ever resent your job, your supervisors, for wasting your life? Don't you ever find yourself wishing you could just quit? Wishing that you could stay out all night on a Wednesday and not have to worry about aking up the next morning, or having to work all day with a hang over? Envying those friends who have their dream jobs, who can work whatever hours they want, who telecommute while lounging by the pool?
I hate my job. I find myself resenting every minute I spend in my office; resenting it for everything I give up just to be able to show up here. The parties, the trips to tahoe, the late night social gatherings, the sleep, the time... Most of all the time. God the things I could do if I only had the time...
It feels like my potential sufferes and bleeds away with every second I spend at this job. And yet, without the paycheck it generates, I wouldn't have the money to do any of the things I want to do. Hell, even with the paycheck I don't have the money to do half the things I want to do.
I work, so I can afford the life I want... I work, so I don't have time to live the life I want.
Stuck between a rock and a hard place... Perpetually.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Pepper Spray & A Cell Phone
Monday night, a man followed me home from the train station.
I was minding my own business, standing outside the station waiting for the 82 bus. It was almost 7pm, later than I usually am because I'd gone to the gym after work, and it was starting to get dark. The failing light didn't bother me. I've been taking public transit my whole life, at all hours of the day and night, in and through all manner or neighborhoods (many worse than where I was right then), and had never had any trouble.
So I'm standing there, not far from several other people, and a man I've never seen before turns to me and asks if I'm going home. Definitely not an unusual question, as I'm used to people making small talk while waiting for the bus, and I've definitely been asked weirder things. So I say that I am, he nods, and wanders off a ways.
When the bus shows up, a group of us get on, the man who'd talked to me included, and the bus got on its way. Everything seemed normal enough -- no one sat unnecessarily close to me, no one talked to me -- except that that guy kept staring at me. Eh, whatever, I thought. Plenty of guys stare at me on this bus. I'm always the only white chick, and I always look out of place.
After what seemed like years (but was only 3 songs on my Ipod) my stop comes up, and I get off. And so does that same guy. Thats when the alarm bells started going off inside my head. No one gets off at my stop after 5pm except for me. And on the off chance that someone does, they never walk the same direction I do. But this guy was following me, walking the same way I was, keeping pace about 15 feet behind me, even when I walked faster.
I tried to keep my cool. I focused on walking fast, but not too fast. I focused on getting my keys out of my pocket. I focused on acting like I hadn't noticed him, and everything was just fine. All the while I was creating a mental image of the guy just in case.
My height, latino, short black hair, brown eyes, brown skin, khaki shirt, dark blue carpenter style jeans, black work shoes, no scars, no tattoos, no limp, no goddamned distinguishing features...
It was less than a block, but it seemed like an eternity before I got to my building, like life was happening in slow motion.
Time seemed to speed up when I got to the front security door, and I couldn't get it unlocked at first, fumbling with the key, as the guy got closer and closer. Finally, just before he got through the lobby door, I got through the security door, and pulled it shut behind me, my heart pounding in my chest as I leaned back against it gratefully (thank GOD for security doors!).
I nearly screamed when he hit the door, I was so caught off guard. Looking over my shoulder, I hurried down the hallway as he kept pounding on the door, and rounded the corner to the mail room. Safely out of sight, I could still hear him pounding, POUNDING, on the security door while I waited for the elevator.
You're fine, I kept telling myself as I made my way through the building to my apartment He can't get in. He didn't see where you went. He doesn't know which apartment is yours... But I was shaken, severely, and I still had to pay my rent and take out the trash.
There are a couple of ways to get to the manager's office (which is empty that time of night), the quickest being to leave the building and cut across the parking lot. So, as I was just about to step out onto the lot, I saw someone studying the back gate. It was the guy who had followed me. He couldn't get in the front, so he'd gone around the back to try that way!!
I freaked. I lost my cool entirely, and ran back into the building, slamming the door behind me. I took the long way, through the building, to the office and back, practically hyperventilating the whole way.
Unfortunately, there's no way to get to the dumpsters without leaving the safety of the building... And stubborn me was determined to take out the damned trash. Now, I've never liked taking out the trash, but I've never been afraid to do it. Now though, I was terrified. Terrified to leave the building alone. Terrified to walk the 30 feet from the front door to the dumpsters. But I went anyway, holding my keys between my fingers in a fist, looking over my shoulder every other step... I did it, and once I was back in the building safely, without incident, I cried the whole way back to my apartment.
So... I've lived in, and travelled through, some of the most dangerous parts of the Bay Area, and I have never had anything like that happen before. NEVER. I've lived next door to drug dealers, ridden the bus with "gang bangers" and wanna-bes with guns in their pockets, seen drive by shootings (no one hurt, thankfully), had cars broken into, been accosted by homeless people, been felt up on the train... I hear sirens scream by my building every night. But I've never been afraid for my own safety. Not ever. Until now.
The guy I'm seeing dropped everything and came right over as soon as he found out... Which was incredibly sweet, and I adore him to death for it, but I still had nightmares all night that night, dreaming of being chased down narrow corridors by someone or something I couldn't see. I don't like being afraid. Not truly afraid, for myself, or people I care for.
So yesterday, on the advice (and scoldings) of several people, I took the afternoon off work and bought pepper spray and a cell phone. The bright yellow pepper spray canister has taken up permanent residence on my hip, and the cell phone has matching prime real estate on my other hip, and from here on out, I will never leave my apartment without either one. They don't exactly make me feel safer... I just feel a little better equipped to deal with whatever might come my way.
I was minding my own business, standing outside the station waiting for the 82 bus. It was almost 7pm, later than I usually am because I'd gone to the gym after work, and it was starting to get dark. The failing light didn't bother me. I've been taking public transit my whole life, at all hours of the day and night, in and through all manner or neighborhoods (many worse than where I was right then), and had never had any trouble.
So I'm standing there, not far from several other people, and a man I've never seen before turns to me and asks if I'm going home. Definitely not an unusual question, as I'm used to people making small talk while waiting for the bus, and I've definitely been asked weirder things. So I say that I am, he nods, and wanders off a ways.
When the bus shows up, a group of us get on, the man who'd talked to me included, and the bus got on its way. Everything seemed normal enough -- no one sat unnecessarily close to me, no one talked to me -- except that that guy kept staring at me. Eh, whatever, I thought. Plenty of guys stare at me on this bus. I'm always the only white chick, and I always look out of place.
After what seemed like years (but was only 3 songs on my Ipod) my stop comes up, and I get off. And so does that same guy. Thats when the alarm bells started going off inside my head. No one gets off at my stop after 5pm except for me. And on the off chance that someone does, they never walk the same direction I do. But this guy was following me, walking the same way I was, keeping pace about 15 feet behind me, even when I walked faster.
I tried to keep my cool. I focused on walking fast, but not too fast. I focused on getting my keys out of my pocket. I focused on acting like I hadn't noticed him, and everything was just fine. All the while I was creating a mental image of the guy just in case.
My height, latino, short black hair, brown eyes, brown skin, khaki shirt, dark blue carpenter style jeans, black work shoes, no scars, no tattoos, no limp, no goddamned distinguishing features...
It was less than a block, but it seemed like an eternity before I got to my building, like life was happening in slow motion.
Time seemed to speed up when I got to the front security door, and I couldn't get it unlocked at first, fumbling with the key, as the guy got closer and closer. Finally, just before he got through the lobby door, I got through the security door, and pulled it shut behind me, my heart pounding in my chest as I leaned back against it gratefully (thank GOD for security doors!).
I nearly screamed when he hit the door, I was so caught off guard. Looking over my shoulder, I hurried down the hallway as he kept pounding on the door, and rounded the corner to the mail room. Safely out of sight, I could still hear him pounding, POUNDING, on the security door while I waited for the elevator.
You're fine, I kept telling myself as I made my way through the building to my apartment He can't get in. He didn't see where you went. He doesn't know which apartment is yours... But I was shaken, severely, and I still had to pay my rent and take out the trash.
There are a couple of ways to get to the manager's office (which is empty that time of night), the quickest being to leave the building and cut across the parking lot. So, as I was just about to step out onto the lot, I saw someone studying the back gate. It was the guy who had followed me. He couldn't get in the front, so he'd gone around the back to try that way!!
I freaked. I lost my cool entirely, and ran back into the building, slamming the door behind me. I took the long way, through the building, to the office and back, practically hyperventilating the whole way.
Unfortunately, there's no way to get to the dumpsters without leaving the safety of the building... And stubborn me was determined to take out the damned trash. Now, I've never liked taking out the trash, but I've never been afraid to do it. Now though, I was terrified. Terrified to leave the building alone. Terrified to walk the 30 feet from the front door to the dumpsters. But I went anyway, holding my keys between my fingers in a fist, looking over my shoulder every other step... I did it, and once I was back in the building safely, without incident, I cried the whole way back to my apartment.
So... I've lived in, and travelled through, some of the most dangerous parts of the Bay Area, and I have never had anything like that happen before. NEVER. I've lived next door to drug dealers, ridden the bus with "gang bangers" and wanna-bes with guns in their pockets, seen drive by shootings (no one hurt, thankfully), had cars broken into, been accosted by homeless people, been felt up on the train... I hear sirens scream by my building every night. But I've never been afraid for my own safety. Not ever. Until now.
The guy I'm seeing dropped everything and came right over as soon as he found out... Which was incredibly sweet, and I adore him to death for it, but I still had nightmares all night that night, dreaming of being chased down narrow corridors by someone or something I couldn't see. I don't like being afraid. Not truly afraid, for myself, or people I care for.
So yesterday, on the advice (and scoldings) of several people, I took the afternoon off work and bought pepper spray and a cell phone. The bright yellow pepper spray canister has taken up permanent residence on my hip, and the cell phone has matching prime real estate on my other hip, and from here on out, I will never leave my apartment without either one. They don't exactly make me feel safer... I just feel a little better equipped to deal with whatever might come my way.
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