So I'm sitting at my desk, quietly wasting time, and one of the women from the next office over comes into our office, and starts offering everyone potato chips.
"No thank you," I say.
"Oh come on, you're afraid of potatoes?" She says.
"No..."
"Try one then, its sweet potato"
"No thank you"
"But its just like at Thanksgiving!"
"No thank you, I'm not hungry"
"You know, like with marshmallow and cinnamon" She continues, ignoring me.
"No. Thank you." I say, and glare at her until she goes away.
What is it about working in an office thats 90% staffed by women over the age of 35? They're always bringing in everything that they're not supposed to eat, and shoving it down everyone elses throat. Its like, because they're not supposed to eat it, they have to make themselves feel better about eating it by making everyone else eat it too!
This kind of thing happens all the time. So and so gets chocolates for Mother's day. Where do those chocolates end up? Next to the printer in the middle of our office with a little sign saying "Please have one!" The chick at the far end of the office has a birthday, and cake is brought in. Cake that I don't care for. And at least 5 different people stop by my desk telling me to "go have some!" Someone decides they want a doughnut for breakfast. What do they do? They buy a huge box full of them, and put it out for the rest of us to have.
Look, I'm not against junk food. I LOVE junk food. In fact, I eat too much of it on my own. If I wanted junk food, I'd have gone out and bought some. So, if I'm turning it down, that means I REALLY don't want any. I weigh quite enough as it is, and I'm not interested in weighing more just because you people need to have someone join you in your dietary sins so you can "feel okay" about stuffing your face like a pig.
And please, don't give me that hurt look when I stifle my urge to tell you to fuck off because I don't need to add another 5 pounds to my ass, and instead politely say "no thank you, I'm not hungry." You may weigh 350lbs, but I don't want to.
GAH!
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Weirdnesses...
You ever have those days where things just felt... Wrong? You know, that "the milk smells fine, but I think its bad anyway" feeling?
My morning started out crappy.
The BF's cell phone made the speakers buzz at some insanely loud volume at about 5am. It didn't wake him up, but it snapped me out of sleep so hard that I just sat there for a good 15 minutes before being able to try and go back to sleep.
Then, at 6, the office line rings. This does wake the BF up, and me too of course, as he climbs over me to get out of bed... And the discussion that went on after that was loud enough that it kept me from getting back to sleep. I recall being in a half doze and hearing "OMG, Google's being investigated under anti-trust charges" and something about database corruption.
Then, at 7:30 or so, the kiddo comes in and proclaims to me (who is still trying to get some last shreds of sleep before having to get up at 8) in an overly chipper voice "Mom, I've been up since 5am!"
I slept in the car on the way to the office... And had really weird fucked up dreams. I hope I didn't end up talking in my sleep. Though, I might have, given the really strange look the BF gave me when I woke up and dragged myself out of the car. I can only imagine what I might have said... Eep.
And so, here I am at work, after a grande frappucino, still unable to keep myself even halfway awake.
Not that anything here at work is going right either...
Someone removed a stack of paperwork off my desk before I got in, apparently because I didn't get it done within 24 hours of having been given it in the first place. Only they didn't bother to tell me that. They didn't bother to tell me anything at all in fact. The folders just "poofed" and I'm assuming that the owners repossessed them. Hopefully that's the case, and the janitors didn't run off with them.
No one can decide on what the correct overhead rates for an account are supposed to be, and they're spamming the entire department with emails about it. I've half a mind to email them all and tell them to "take it private" -- as in, not on the departmental email alias that sends messages to everyone -- but I'm afraid I might get in trouble for that one.
The elevators are on the fritz again... Apparently one of them is "too good" to stop on the 5th floor (my floor), and the other one is confused about which direction it's supposed to be going at any given time. I'm counting the minutes before the building manager sends out email saying "use the freight elevator for the rest of the day, as both elevators are being serviced for the 15th time this month."
Oh yeah, and half the doors didn't unlock this morning. No, I don't mean that out of 40 doors only 20 got unlocked by someone. I mean, the electronic security system, which automatically locks and unlocks the doors on campus decided that it was only going to unlock the left hand side of all double doors. I may have hurt my shoulder by trying to open one of the right hand sides before becoming painfully aware of the fact that it was still very definitely locked shut.
*sigh*
At least I can go home soon, and spend the rest of my evening rescuing the most adorable Sporelings from Starving Bog Lords and Marsh Dredgers. I did that yesterday, and was most kindly rewarded with recipes for "sporeling snacks" and "clam bars." Yummy =)
My morning started out crappy.
The BF's cell phone made the speakers buzz at some insanely loud volume at about 5am. It didn't wake him up, but it snapped me out of sleep so hard that I just sat there for a good 15 minutes before being able to try and go back to sleep.
Then, at 6, the office line rings. This does wake the BF up, and me too of course, as he climbs over me to get out of bed... And the discussion that went on after that was loud enough that it kept me from getting back to sleep. I recall being in a half doze and hearing "OMG, Google's being investigated under anti-trust charges" and something about database corruption.
Then, at 7:30 or so, the kiddo comes in and proclaims to me (who is still trying to get some last shreds of sleep before having to get up at 8) in an overly chipper voice "Mom, I've been up since 5am!"
I slept in the car on the way to the office... And had really weird fucked up dreams. I hope I didn't end up talking in my sleep. Though, I might have, given the really strange look the BF gave me when I woke up and dragged myself out of the car. I can only imagine what I might have said... Eep.
And so, here I am at work, after a grande frappucino, still unable to keep myself even halfway awake.
Not that anything here at work is going right either...
Someone removed a stack of paperwork off my desk before I got in, apparently because I didn't get it done within 24 hours of having been given it in the first place. Only they didn't bother to tell me that. They didn't bother to tell me anything at all in fact. The folders just "poofed" and I'm assuming that the owners repossessed them. Hopefully that's the case, and the janitors didn't run off with them.
No one can decide on what the correct overhead rates for an account are supposed to be, and they're spamming the entire department with emails about it. I've half a mind to email them all and tell them to "take it private" -- as in, not on the departmental email alias that sends messages to everyone -- but I'm afraid I might get in trouble for that one.
The elevators are on the fritz again... Apparently one of them is "too good" to stop on the 5th floor (my floor), and the other one is confused about which direction it's supposed to be going at any given time. I'm counting the minutes before the building manager sends out email saying "use the freight elevator for the rest of the day, as both elevators are being serviced for the 15th time this month."
Oh yeah, and half the doors didn't unlock this morning. No, I don't mean that out of 40 doors only 20 got unlocked by someone. I mean, the electronic security system, which automatically locks and unlocks the doors on campus decided that it was only going to unlock the left hand side of all double doors. I may have hurt my shoulder by trying to open one of the right hand sides before becoming painfully aware of the fact that it was still very definitely locked shut.
*sigh*
At least I can go home soon, and spend the rest of my evening rescuing the most adorable Sporelings from Starving Bog Lords and Marsh Dredgers. I did that yesterday, and was most kindly rewarded with recipes for "sporeling snacks" and "clam bars." Yummy =)
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
My Bathroom Rant
Okay, so now both Tangerine Tease and another friend of mine (who I can't link due to the fact that she's finally managed to hide her blog from an online stalker) have both brought up little rants about the restrooms in their offices.
As such, I feel obligated to add mine as well.
There is someone on my floor -- I don't know who, as I haven't yet caught them -- who insists on not flushing the toilet after themselves. There is also someone in my building who insists on clogging the toilet with seat liners and an entire roll's worth of toilet paper. Every day. Every. Fucking. Day.
What in the hell is wrong with you, disgusting toilet sabotaging person? Didn't your mother or father or juvinile detention guard teach you to flush? Didn't they teach you that if you jam the toilet full of an entire roll's worth of paper, it doesn't work anymore?
I mean really. This is a freaking research group at a prestigious university. You people are obviously educated enough to either attend classes here, or work here. You can't possibly be brain dead.
So flush the goddamned toilet already!
As such, I feel obligated to add mine as well.
There is someone on my floor -- I don't know who, as I haven't yet caught them -- who insists on not flushing the toilet after themselves. There is also someone in my building who insists on clogging the toilet with seat liners and an entire roll's worth of toilet paper. Every day. Every. Fucking. Day.
What in the hell is wrong with you, disgusting toilet sabotaging person? Didn't your mother or father or juvinile detention guard teach you to flush? Didn't they teach you that if you jam the toilet full of an entire roll's worth of paper, it doesn't work anymore?
I mean really. This is a freaking research group at a prestigious university. You people are obviously educated enough to either attend classes here, or work here. You can't possibly be brain dead.
So flush the goddamned toilet already!
Monday, May 21, 2007
On the Outside...
I've always been a loner. You know from previous posts that I have very few friends, and the reasons I give for not wanting more. But here's the thing -- Even loners get lonely. And sometimes, as much as I cherish my solitude, I find myself wishing I had more friends.
I think, on some level, I never really learned how to be social. My upbringing encouraged me to distance myself from the people around me. I was different, and other kids didn't like "different," so I stayed away. I'd been hurt by the people around me, the ones who were supposed to love and protect me, so I thought everyone would hurt me, and I stayed away. Every time I convinced myself that I could be wrong, that I should try and trust people, I wound up getting hurt again. So I stayed away. Even now, I keep people at a distance. People I shouldn't. The BF for example, my son, my sister, most of the friends I have. It's a survival instinct, because I know I'm not strong enough to have my feelings hurt anymore.
But then there are the times where I see groups of friends together. They're laughing, and having a good time, telling inside jokes, and passing out hugs and kisses liberally amongst themselves. I see them, and I wonder -- why can't I have something like that? Why can't I find a group of friends like that, to just have fun with?
I try. I go with my BF to see his friends, and try to fit in. I'm alternative lifestyle like they are, so I should be able to fit in, right? But while some of them are the sweetest, most loving, caring, generous people in the world, I still can't quite bring myself to truly be a part of their little group. It seems like no matter how hard I try, I'm always on the outside. On the outside, looking in. And I always end up feeling more lonely than if I'd just stayed at home by myself. Afterall, the TV never asks me why I'm so quiet, or if I'm okay because I look uncomfortable. The couch never whispers to my BF, asking if he's sure I'm having a good time.
It's times like those I wish desperately that I were normal, somehow. I get tired of being on the outside. I get tired of feeling like I don't belong. But I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to put myself out there, and just relax around other people (at least, not without getting really horribly drunk). I never learned. I always had to have my guard up, always had to be ready to defend myself, always had to be bracing myself for the pain and suffering others would inflict upon me.
Yeah, I was a victim, and I still am. I know it. And while it's not exactly an excuse... It's an explanation. Yes, I need to get past it. I need to let all that go, and move on with my life so I can be happy. But honestly... I don't know how.
I think, on some level, I never really learned how to be social. My upbringing encouraged me to distance myself from the people around me. I was different, and other kids didn't like "different," so I stayed away. I'd been hurt by the people around me, the ones who were supposed to love and protect me, so I thought everyone would hurt me, and I stayed away. Every time I convinced myself that I could be wrong, that I should try and trust people, I wound up getting hurt again. So I stayed away. Even now, I keep people at a distance. People I shouldn't. The BF for example, my son, my sister, most of the friends I have. It's a survival instinct, because I know I'm not strong enough to have my feelings hurt anymore.
But then there are the times where I see groups of friends together. They're laughing, and having a good time, telling inside jokes, and passing out hugs and kisses liberally amongst themselves. I see them, and I wonder -- why can't I have something like that? Why can't I find a group of friends like that, to just have fun with?
I try. I go with my BF to see his friends, and try to fit in. I'm alternative lifestyle like they are, so I should be able to fit in, right? But while some of them are the sweetest, most loving, caring, generous people in the world, I still can't quite bring myself to truly be a part of their little group. It seems like no matter how hard I try, I'm always on the outside. On the outside, looking in. And I always end up feeling more lonely than if I'd just stayed at home by myself. Afterall, the TV never asks me why I'm so quiet, or if I'm okay because I look uncomfortable. The couch never whispers to my BF, asking if he's sure I'm having a good time.
It's times like those I wish desperately that I were normal, somehow. I get tired of being on the outside. I get tired of feeling like I don't belong. But I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to put myself out there, and just relax around other people (at least, not without getting really horribly drunk). I never learned. I always had to have my guard up, always had to be ready to defend myself, always had to be bracing myself for the pain and suffering others would inflict upon me.
Yeah, I was a victim, and I still am. I know it. And while it's not exactly an excuse... It's an explanation. Yes, I need to get past it. I need to let all that go, and move on with my life so I can be happy. But honestly... I don't know how.
You're Kidding... Right?
To my boss:
You came to my desk this morning, to ask why it is that Purchasing needs 6 weeks of lead time on requisitions over $25k. And while I answered your question politely, what I really wanted to say was:
You're fucking kidding me, right?
You've been working here for a good 12 years longer than I have, and probably make about triple the amount of money I do. You're supposed to be the one with the expertise, and you're the one who's supposed to answer these types of questions for all of us underlings. But no... You're coming to ME to find out the answers to these questions.
Are you seriously trying to tell me that in the 18 years you've spent working here, you never once bothered to find out why Purchasing needs 6 weeks lead time on requisitions over $25k? Are you seriously trying to tell me that in the 18 years you've spent working here, you don't know about the policy that says items costing more than $25k must researched to see if we can get a lower price? That you don't know there's STATE LAW that says we must do this?
And then you had the gall to ask me why the balance of a purchase order was the way it was -- after I had already researched the thing 2 times, and explained it to you a good 10 times over the past 3 weeks.
You're fucking kidding me... You've GOT to be fucking kidding me. I know your office is a mess, and you can't find any of the important documentation anyone submits to you for approval, but are you really so completely out of it that you can't recall a simple explanation that you've heard 10 times already? Really? Even my 8 year old can do better than that.
I'd like to think that you're testing me, to make sure that I know these things... But I can tell by the bewildered look on your face every time you ask me that you're not.
The sad thing is, when the department was re-organizing, and all the managers had to re-apply for their jobs, I applied for your job. And they turned me down.
They must be just as stupid as you are.
You came to my desk this morning, to ask why it is that Purchasing needs 6 weeks of lead time on requisitions over $25k. And while I answered your question politely, what I really wanted to say was:
You're fucking kidding me, right?
You've been working here for a good 12 years longer than I have, and probably make about triple the amount of money I do. You're supposed to be the one with the expertise, and you're the one who's supposed to answer these types of questions for all of us underlings. But no... You're coming to ME to find out the answers to these questions.
Are you seriously trying to tell me that in the 18 years you've spent working here, you never once bothered to find out why Purchasing needs 6 weeks lead time on requisitions over $25k? Are you seriously trying to tell me that in the 18 years you've spent working here, you don't know about the policy that says items costing more than $25k must researched to see if we can get a lower price? That you don't know there's STATE LAW that says we must do this?
And then you had the gall to ask me why the balance of a purchase order was the way it was -- after I had already researched the thing 2 times, and explained it to you a good 10 times over the past 3 weeks.
You're fucking kidding me... You've GOT to be fucking kidding me. I know your office is a mess, and you can't find any of the important documentation anyone submits to you for approval, but are you really so completely out of it that you can't recall a simple explanation that you've heard 10 times already? Really? Even my 8 year old can do better than that.
I'd like to think that you're testing me, to make sure that I know these things... But I can tell by the bewildered look on your face every time you ask me that you're not.
The sad thing is, when the department was re-organizing, and all the managers had to re-apply for their jobs, I applied for your job. And they turned me down.
They must be just as stupid as you are.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Please Dispose of Your Cheese Elsewhere!
To my office mates:
Whoever decided that the communal office garbage can was a good place to dispose of your really horrible rotting cheese "thing," made a BIG mistake.
Now, instead of the staff lounge (which I don't have to visit if I don't choose to) smelling like this miserable rotten mess, everyone in our office has to partake of this wretched stink for the entire rest of the day. Not only are we forced to partake while we are at our desks, but the odor is rather disturbingly melding itself with my hair and clothing, so even when I leave the office, I'm still tortured by this awful smell. And when I go home, it will saturate the interior of my car, inflict itself upon my family, until finally it insinuates itself into every article of clothing in my laundry bin. I have my doubts about how effective any amount of laundry detergent will be against this odiforous scourge... It may well follow me to my grave. So please...
Please dispose of your cheese elsewhere!
Whoever decided that the communal office garbage can was a good place to dispose of your really horrible rotting cheese "thing," made a BIG mistake.
Now, instead of the staff lounge (which I don't have to visit if I don't choose to) smelling like this miserable rotten mess, everyone in our office has to partake of this wretched stink for the entire rest of the day. Not only are we forced to partake while we are at our desks, but the odor is rather disturbingly melding itself with my hair and clothing, so even when I leave the office, I'm still tortured by this awful smell. And when I go home, it will saturate the interior of my car, inflict itself upon my family, until finally it insinuates itself into every article of clothing in my laundry bin. I have my doubts about how effective any amount of laundry detergent will be against this odiforous scourge... It may well follow me to my grave. So please...
Please dispose of your cheese elsewhere!
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Feeling Better Than Ever! =O
I have finally, FINALLY, discovered the one and only good use for MySpace.
The sole purpose of this site is so that those of us who have gone on to make something of their lives can go back and look up the people who treated us like shit in the past, and laugh at how sucky their lives are now.
Yes. Yes. You have to make a myspace account to do this. I know that for most of you this is akin to not just selling your soul to the devil, but to selling your soul to the devil, gift wrapping it, and shipping it to him for free. But take my word for it. Its fucking worth it!
Just for curiosity's sake, I looked up some people from HS that I used to know. LOL. The hilarity of their profiles is unparalleled. They're still totally single, still desperate, still in crappy jobs, still living in the same crappy town. They've gone nowhere. Which is really funny for me since, to them, I was the screw up. I was the one being teased because I wasn't dating anyone, or that I had a sucky job, or whatever else they chose to find wrong with me.
The feeling of empowerment from such a realization -- that I was really a hell of a lot better off NOT knowing these people anymore -- was awesome enough that I got up the courage to look up some old boyfriends. You know, boyfriends who crushed me like a cockroach. The ones I dumped, well, I couldn't care less really... I knew then that I was better than they were. No, I'm talking about those boyfriends that you really felt something for. The ones where when they dumped you, you cried for months. And I looked them up.
You know what? I'm really glad I did. I am SO glad that I looked them up.
You know why? Because after seeing the shit that they have in their profiles, and seeing the things they said... I am beyond thrilled that they dumped me. They've grown up to be complete and total assholes! One of them (who's married now, btw -- poor woman... ) even admitted in his profile that the only reason he even set up the account was so that his friends could send him pics of naked chicks there. LMAO.
Right now, I am feeling better than I have in years. Really. Years!
This, honestly, is the absolute BEST therapy tool I have ever discovered.
And I never thought I'd say this, but...
MySpace? I love you!
The sole purpose of this site is so that those of us who have gone on to make something of their lives can go back and look up the people who treated us like shit in the past, and laugh at how sucky their lives are now.
Yes. Yes. You have to make a myspace account to do this. I know that for most of you this is akin to not just selling your soul to the devil, but to selling your soul to the devil, gift wrapping it, and shipping it to him for free. But take my word for it. Its fucking worth it!
Just for curiosity's sake, I looked up some people from HS that I used to know. LOL. The hilarity of their profiles is unparalleled. They're still totally single, still desperate, still in crappy jobs, still living in the same crappy town. They've gone nowhere. Which is really funny for me since, to them, I was the screw up. I was the one being teased because I wasn't dating anyone, or that I had a sucky job, or whatever else they chose to find wrong with me.
The feeling of empowerment from such a realization -- that I was really a hell of a lot better off NOT knowing these people anymore -- was awesome enough that I got up the courage to look up some old boyfriends. You know, boyfriends who crushed me like a cockroach. The ones I dumped, well, I couldn't care less really... I knew then that I was better than they were. No, I'm talking about those boyfriends that you really felt something for. The ones where when they dumped you, you cried for months. And I looked them up.
You know what? I'm really glad I did. I am SO glad that I looked them up.
You know why? Because after seeing the shit that they have in their profiles, and seeing the things they said... I am beyond thrilled that they dumped me. They've grown up to be complete and total assholes! One of them (who's married now, btw -- poor woman... ) even admitted in his profile that the only reason he even set up the account was so that his friends could send him pics of naked chicks there. LMAO.
Right now, I am feeling better than I have in years. Really. Years!
This, honestly, is the absolute BEST therapy tool I have ever discovered.
And I never thought I'd say this, but...
MySpace? I love you!
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
ASPCA SVU?!
So Mother's Day my sister and I were discussing one of the TV shows that we normally watch (Animal Presinct), and trying to describe it to our mother.
To those that have never seen it, its a show shot documentary style -- kind of like cops -- in which NYC police officers are also functioning as ASPCA investigators, rescuing abused and neglected animals, and arresting the miserable excuses for human beings that abused and neglected those animals.
So, after giving my mother that explanation of the show, she says "oh, so like an 'ASPCA SVU?'"
My sister and I looked at eachother, and then both simultaneously said "NO!"
Apparently, my mother only ever watched Law & Order SVU long enough to figure out that SVU meant "special victims unit" and didn't bother paying attention to the fact that the SVU was in charge of handling sexual assault cases...
I can see it now... A whole show on Animal Planet dedicated to NY street cops asking people "Did you have intimate relations with this horse? No? Well we've gotten reports. We're going to have to take the horse in for vetrinary examination." (this is most ridiculous if you put a really REALLY heavy NY accent on it. You know, Stallone style -- YO! Adrian!.)
Needless to say, we corrected Mom on her misunderstanding... Then Sis, the BF, and I all laughed our asses off for a couple minutes making up lines from the "ASPCA SVU" show (like the above).
"Excuse me sir, sorry to bother you today, but we've had reports of someone molesting a cat on these premises. Can we come in and take a look around please?"
To camera: "Well, we found the cat with various molestation paraphenalia nearby. We're going to be seizing the cat, and bringing the owner in for questioning. From the evidence we found, this seems to be just one location in a large animal porn ring, and hopefully we'll be able -- with the cooperation of this suspect -- to track down the rest of them"
Ugh. Thanks Mom -- This is SOOOO what I need to be thinking about. *roll eyes*
To those that have never seen it, its a show shot documentary style -- kind of like cops -- in which NYC police officers are also functioning as ASPCA investigators, rescuing abused and neglected animals, and arresting the miserable excuses for human beings that abused and neglected those animals.
So, after giving my mother that explanation of the show, she says "oh, so like an 'ASPCA SVU?'"
My sister and I looked at eachother, and then both simultaneously said "NO!"
Apparently, my mother only ever watched Law & Order SVU long enough to figure out that SVU meant "special victims unit" and didn't bother paying attention to the fact that the SVU was in charge of handling sexual assault cases...
I can see it now... A whole show on Animal Planet dedicated to NY street cops asking people "Did you have intimate relations with this horse? No? Well we've gotten reports. We're going to have to take the horse in for vetrinary examination." (this is most ridiculous if you put a really REALLY heavy NY accent on it. You know, Stallone style -- YO! Adrian!.)
Needless to say, we corrected Mom on her misunderstanding... Then Sis, the BF, and I all laughed our asses off for a couple minutes making up lines from the "ASPCA SVU" show (like the above).
"Excuse me sir, sorry to bother you today, but we've had reports of someone molesting a cat on these premises. Can we come in and take a look around please?"
To camera: "Well, we found the cat with various molestation paraphenalia nearby. We're going to be seizing the cat, and bringing the owner in for questioning. From the evidence we found, this seems to be just one location in a large animal porn ring, and hopefully we'll be able -- with the cooperation of this suspect -- to track down the rest of them"
Ugh. Thanks Mom -- This is SOOOO what I need to be thinking about. *roll eyes*
Monday, May 14, 2007
Why Should I Have to Ask?
Mother's Day.
This year, us girls celebrated Mother's Day for our mom on Saturday, not Sunday. My sister and I planned the whole thing out on the phone before hand, never having to really talk to Mom to find out what she wanted. She wanted what she's always wanted -- just some family time with her kids, to kick back and relax and be able to enjoy the day.
So my sister and I cooked for her. Mom picked up some of the groceries involved, because as much as she likes just relaxing, she feels like she has to help with everything somehow... But I stopped and picked up all the special stuff, so she didn't really know what she was in store for.
Sis helped me put together a fun anti-pasto dish -- tomato basil mozzarella salad, bell pepper salad, salami, olives... And then we made home made, completely from scratch, manicotti. It was fun, and I got to give a little bit of a cooking lesson, teaching my sister how to make the pasta shells (we use an old family recipe which involves making pasta "crepes", then rolling the filling up in them), and even showing the BF how to do it too. Mom kept trying to help, but we kept kicking her out of the kitchen, telling her to go play with the kiddo. I was on my feet cooking basically all day, but I was having a ball. My kitchen at home is tiny, and always dirty (yes, I'm lazy), so being able to cook in a big roomy clean kitchen was kind of a present for me in and of itself. Mom couldn't quite fit her head around that idea, so she looked at me like I was insane every time I told her... And I had to keep telling her, because she kept trying to get me to give her something to do, and kept asking if I was sure, cuz it's mother's day, and she thought I was working too hard. Heh. Cooking, to me, is not work. It is pure fun. Always =)
And after dinner, we all just sat around talking until we got to tired and HAD to go home.
The next day, Sunday, Mother's Day proper, was supposed to be about me... The kiddo, sweetheart that he is, and spurred by his teacher, made me a card, and gave me "coupons" for various things, one of which was doing laundry (woot! I may take him up on that one!).
From the BF tho... I got an e-card. There were no gifts. No special things done for me. It was just another day really. And that made me sad. It made me mad even, because the BF said that I'm hard to do/get things for because he can never tell if its a good time for me or not, so "what would you like to do today?"... He made it seem like in order for me to get anything -- special treatment included -- I had to flat out ask for it. Which kind of defeats the purpose of having a day dedicated to me... I mean, what kind of "gift" do you have to ask for? If you have to ask for it, its not really a gift anymore, in my opinion. And all that "what would you like to do today" said to me was "I don't care enough to put any effort into figuring out what would be nice to do for you, so you do all the work, and figure it out for me instead."
Besides, I'm super easy to make happy. You don't have to do fancy things like take me out to an expensive restaurant. You don't have to organize complex outings. You don't have to get me expensive presents or take me shopping. It's really simple. Think about the things in life that make me stressed out, and take care of one of them for me. Something as simple as cleaning the kitchen (so I can cook, like I love to), or cleaning the bathroom so I can take bubble baths without feeling like a pile of dirty clothes is going to fall into the tub, or doing some laundry so that I don't have to... Any one of those things would be great, and I'm sure, given that genre of "gifts" to choose from it wouldn't be hard to find some more. But I didn't get those things. All I got was an E-card, and an excuse.
Even my 8 year old did better than that... The BF should be ashamed.
I wasn't happy. I was beyond not happy. I was miserably and horribly MAD. So miserable that my body decided it wasn't having anything to do with me being mad, and tried to make me fall asleep instead. So mad that several times during the day I felt like picking something up and hurling it at the wall as hard as I could. But I didn't do that. Instead, I bottled it (as I usually do), then beat myself up over being mad, so I ended up feeling not just mad, but guilty and depressed at the same time.
And what's worse? I can't get over it. I'm not usually one to blame my emotions on someone else -- I always seem to find a way to explain how I did it to myself -- but the BF made me feel like complete and total shit. And I still feel like shit, because I'm here at work, and people are talking about what their families did for them for mother's day, and I get to say "I got an e-card." Needless to say, I've been avoiding the subject all together. So now people are under the impression that I'm even more anti-social than I really am... When in truth, I'm just upset that I don't have anything equally touching to share.
I wish I had an easier time talking about the things that upset me... Then maybe I'd have the guts to tell the BF just how pissed off and hurt I am, and I could get past it more quickly.
This year, us girls celebrated Mother's Day for our mom on Saturday, not Sunday. My sister and I planned the whole thing out on the phone before hand, never having to really talk to Mom to find out what she wanted. She wanted what she's always wanted -- just some family time with her kids, to kick back and relax and be able to enjoy the day.
So my sister and I cooked for her. Mom picked up some of the groceries involved, because as much as she likes just relaxing, she feels like she has to help with everything somehow... But I stopped and picked up all the special stuff, so she didn't really know what she was in store for.
Sis helped me put together a fun anti-pasto dish -- tomato basil mozzarella salad, bell pepper salad, salami, olives... And then we made home made, completely from scratch, manicotti. It was fun, and I got to give a little bit of a cooking lesson, teaching my sister how to make the pasta shells (we use an old family recipe which involves making pasta "crepes", then rolling the filling up in them), and even showing the BF how to do it too. Mom kept trying to help, but we kept kicking her out of the kitchen, telling her to go play with the kiddo. I was on my feet cooking basically all day, but I was having a ball. My kitchen at home is tiny, and always dirty (yes, I'm lazy), so being able to cook in a big roomy clean kitchen was kind of a present for me in and of itself. Mom couldn't quite fit her head around that idea, so she looked at me like I was insane every time I told her... And I had to keep telling her, because she kept trying to get me to give her something to do, and kept asking if I was sure, cuz it's mother's day, and she thought I was working too hard. Heh. Cooking, to me, is not work. It is pure fun. Always =)
And after dinner, we all just sat around talking until we got to tired and HAD to go home.
The next day, Sunday, Mother's Day proper, was supposed to be about me... The kiddo, sweetheart that he is, and spurred by his teacher, made me a card, and gave me "coupons" for various things, one of which was doing laundry (woot! I may take him up on that one!).
From the BF tho... I got an e-card. There were no gifts. No special things done for me. It was just another day really. And that made me sad. It made me mad even, because the BF said that I'm hard to do/get things for because he can never tell if its a good time for me or not, so "what would you like to do today?"... He made it seem like in order for me to get anything -- special treatment included -- I had to flat out ask for it. Which kind of defeats the purpose of having a day dedicated to me... I mean, what kind of "gift" do you have to ask for? If you have to ask for it, its not really a gift anymore, in my opinion. And all that "what would you like to do today" said to me was "I don't care enough to put any effort into figuring out what would be nice to do for you, so you do all the work, and figure it out for me instead."
Besides, I'm super easy to make happy. You don't have to do fancy things like take me out to an expensive restaurant. You don't have to organize complex outings. You don't have to get me expensive presents or take me shopping. It's really simple. Think about the things in life that make me stressed out, and take care of one of them for me. Something as simple as cleaning the kitchen (so I can cook, like I love to), or cleaning the bathroom so I can take bubble baths without feeling like a pile of dirty clothes is going to fall into the tub, or doing some laundry so that I don't have to... Any one of those things would be great, and I'm sure, given that genre of "gifts" to choose from it wouldn't be hard to find some more. But I didn't get those things. All I got was an E-card, and an excuse.
Even my 8 year old did better than that... The BF should be ashamed.
I wasn't happy. I was beyond not happy. I was miserably and horribly MAD. So miserable that my body decided it wasn't having anything to do with me being mad, and tried to make me fall asleep instead. So mad that several times during the day I felt like picking something up and hurling it at the wall as hard as I could. But I didn't do that. Instead, I bottled it (as I usually do), then beat myself up over being mad, so I ended up feeling not just mad, but guilty and depressed at the same time.
And what's worse? I can't get over it. I'm not usually one to blame my emotions on someone else -- I always seem to find a way to explain how I did it to myself -- but the BF made me feel like complete and total shit. And I still feel like shit, because I'm here at work, and people are talking about what their families did for them for mother's day, and I get to say "I got an e-card." Needless to say, I've been avoiding the subject all together. So now people are under the impression that I'm even more anti-social than I really am... When in truth, I'm just upset that I don't have anything equally touching to share.
I wish I had an easier time talking about the things that upset me... Then maybe I'd have the guts to tell the BF just how pissed off and hurt I am, and I could get past it more quickly.
A Lack of Personal Malleability
This post by Encarmine mirrors some of the things I've been saying to a couple people lately -- that people never really change. Not really. Not on the inside. Not where it counts.
The thing is, no one wants to believe that. They want to think they can change the things about their significant other that bother them so much. They want to think that they can change themselves. They want to think they can change their bosses, or their co-workers, or their parents, or siblings. They see that people can change on the outside -- hair color, style of clothing, speech mannerisms, social standing -- and they think that same malleability exists on the inside. What they don't realize is that most of what we all display on the outside is an affectation -- it isn't who we truly are.
I recently asked someone: "In the ten years we've known each other, do you think I've really changed?"
"Of course you have," they said.
"No, I haven't," I said, "I'm still the exact same person I was ten years ago. I'm still the exact same person I was TWENTY years ago."
Sure, I'm in a different place in life. I have a good job (I use the term good loosely -- as in, it pays okay), I'm a mom now, I'm slightly more responsible with my money, I have goals I'm working towards that I didn't have back then. I dress differently, I wear my hair differently, I even speak differently (I swear more, and I care less about it), I eat differently. I'm on medication to manage my medical problems. I SEEM different. But am I really?
Do I view the world any differently than I used to? Do I interface with it any differently? No. I don't. I still struggle with myself the same way I always have. I still hate people (in general). I still hate stupidity. I'm still hung up on the details. I'm still a worrier. And I always will be. Even after all this time, after all the things I've been through, and all the changes I've made to my life, everyone who knows me describes me the same way they did a decade ago.
And everyone I've known for any length of time, well, I don't see any of them as having changed either.
My ex is still the same person he always has been. So are his parents, and his sister. My parents are the same people they've always been, so is my sister. Friends from high school are still the same people too. Sure, over time there are things about them that have changed... But inside? Inside they are exactly the same people, with the same hopes and dreams and fears and faults that they've always had.
My ex is still a liar and a freeloader who's incapable of taking care of himself. His Mother still complains about everything, but takes action on nothing. His Father still turns a blind eye to everything he doesn't want to deal with. My Mom is still afraid of change, and of being alone. My Dad is still an absentminded workaholic who can't get his personal priorities straight. My sister is still amazingly intelligent and strong willed, with a well defined sense of right and wrong. My friends from high school are still overly judgemental and self centered (which is a pity -- I'd always hoped that was just an affectation to fit in with everyone else).
The long and short of it? People never really change. And insisting that they will only sets you up for a lot of hurt and disappointment.
I should know. Its a lesson I wish I'd learned a long time ago
The thing is, no one wants to believe that. They want to think they can change the things about their significant other that bother them so much. They want to think that they can change themselves. They want to think they can change their bosses, or their co-workers, or their parents, or siblings. They see that people can change on the outside -- hair color, style of clothing, speech mannerisms, social standing -- and they think that same malleability exists on the inside. What they don't realize is that most of what we all display on the outside is an affectation -- it isn't who we truly are.
I recently asked someone: "In the ten years we've known each other, do you think I've really changed?"
"Of course you have," they said.
"No, I haven't," I said, "I'm still the exact same person I was ten years ago. I'm still the exact same person I was TWENTY years ago."
Sure, I'm in a different place in life. I have a good job (I use the term good loosely -- as in, it pays okay), I'm a mom now, I'm slightly more responsible with my money, I have goals I'm working towards that I didn't have back then. I dress differently, I wear my hair differently, I even speak differently (I swear more, and I care less about it), I eat differently. I'm on medication to manage my medical problems. I SEEM different. But am I really?
Do I view the world any differently than I used to? Do I interface with it any differently? No. I don't. I still struggle with myself the same way I always have. I still hate people (in general). I still hate stupidity. I'm still hung up on the details. I'm still a worrier. And I always will be. Even after all this time, after all the things I've been through, and all the changes I've made to my life, everyone who knows me describes me the same way they did a decade ago.
And everyone I've known for any length of time, well, I don't see any of them as having changed either.
My ex is still the same person he always has been. So are his parents, and his sister. My parents are the same people they've always been, so is my sister. Friends from high school are still the same people too. Sure, over time there are things about them that have changed... But inside? Inside they are exactly the same people, with the same hopes and dreams and fears and faults that they've always had.
The long and short of it? People never really change. And insisting that they will only sets you up for a lot of hurt and disappointment.
I should know. Its a lesson I wish I'd learned a long time ago
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Confruddost?
So today has been a weird day, as evidenced by my last post. But it seems like a lot of days lately have been weird days.
Two days ago, I get a call from my ex asking me for money (which I did NOT give him, btw), then telling me all about his "girlfriend" the "model" who's in jail --again-- for a reason that is so far fetched, I have to wonder if it's made up. The things I'm hearing just don't add up, and given my ex's propensity towards creating fictions that are so elaborate even he believes them... I can't help but think this is another one of those situations. Either that, or I have to believe that both a) he is stupid enough to want to have anything to do with someone who lands themeselves in jail for really BAD things, and thinks I'm going to be okay letting my son be around that too, b) there is some girl out there who is so incredibly stupid that she is either lying to him about who and what she is, or that she's really THAT stupid and THAT desperate to want to be with him -- who she's never even met face to face before.
Do I want to believe any of that? No, not really. But what choice am I left with? I hate thinking the worst of someone. I'm always the one wanting to think the best, the one giving more chances than I should, the one having faith that the "real" them will eventually shine through... But I can't afford those delusions when it comes to my kid, even if those delusions are the reason my kid even exists in the first place.
Then yesterday my ex calls me AGAIN, begging for cash AGAIN. Like I'm some sort of millionaire. Like I have money to throw around now that I'm the one supporting my son full time. Sure, I have a job that pays pretty well. But a third of that check is taken out in taxes, and I've got debts of my own. I can afford to eat out a lot of the time, but thats only because I make myself afford it because I hate washing dishes so much. I eat out instead of buying myself new clothes (which I sorely need, btw), or buying new music, or buying movies (I buy maybe one a month, if that, instead of the 6 or 8 that I used to). Maybe the money I spend on eating out would be better spent hiring a maid to wash my dishes for me... I dunno. That's not the point really. The point is I live from check to check. I don't have extra money to just throw away on loans that won't ever be re-paid. And the sucky thing is that he didn't want to take no for an answer. He kept on with the "I'll pay you back in 3 weeks" and the "but it's only $350" and all. Hell, he still owes me $200 from a previous banking problem... Like I'm going to give him more...
And I've just been out of sorts anyway. Friday night I got a really horrible muscle spasm in my neck and left shoulder. One so bad that I had shooting pains down my arm. The BF ended up having to run out and get me a tube of Bengay just so I could try and get some sleep before going back to work on Monday.
Things have been stupid weird, and stupid weird always makes me feel uneasy. And feeling uneasy makes me stress out, which makes me over anxious, which makes me depressed... So I cry for no reason. Or I cry for a reason that I can't quite make myself verbalize. That happened Monday night... And the BF still hasn't learned quite how to handle me when I get like that, so it ended up in him getting pissed off at me, and me crying myself to sleep.
Sad thing is, all I really wanted was to feel good for 5 minutes... But I couldn't bring myself to say that. I couldn't bring myself to admit that I was feeling miserably bad, both physically and emotionally, despite the fact that I was sitting there crying while trying (to no avail) to massage the knots out of my own neck and the muscle cramps out of my legs (from sitting at my desk for 8 hours).
Of course, the BF has a really bad habit of trying to get me to talk while I'm in tears. He asks me "is there anything I can get you?" and "what's up?" and actually expects an answer. I mean really. I'm crying. Why don't you try to calm me down a bit before asking me questions I don't know how to answer. Why not just hug me, and hold me, and stroke my hair, and wait for me to stop sobbing first? And why doesn't he think of that on his own?
I shouldn't be surprised really. Most of the time I have to ask for hugs and kisses. Most of the time I have to ask for him to cuddle with me. And even then, I get half assed hugs, kisses, and cuddling in response. It's like now that we're living together, he's lost any interest in being passionate with me. Not that I'm saying we don't have "adult time" -- we do. But I'm always the one to initiate it, and it always takes a TON of work to get him to realize what I want (at least, thats what it seems like. Maybe he's just playing dumb?). And then, just like the hugs and kisses, his side of things are half assed. It's like he's not even really trying. I know he's not trying. Cuz when he does try, the whole world disappears, and all I can do is --feel--... *sigh*
Wow, now I'm really rambling huh. I guess I'm more ... I dunno... What's the right word for what I am right now? Frustrated? Confused? Lost? Befuddled? Confruddost?
Anyway, I'm more of whatever I am than I thought I was, and I just threw it all up into your laps now didn't I. *sigh*
I need a break.
Two days ago, I get a call from my ex asking me for money (which I did NOT give him, btw), then telling me all about his "girlfriend" the "model" who's in jail --again-- for a reason that is so far fetched, I have to wonder if it's made up. The things I'm hearing just don't add up, and given my ex's propensity towards creating fictions that are so elaborate even he believes them... I can't help but think this is another one of those situations. Either that, or I have to believe that both a) he is stupid enough to want to have anything to do with someone who lands themeselves in jail for really BAD things, and thinks I'm going to be okay letting my son be around that too, b) there is some girl out there who is so incredibly stupid that she is either lying to him about who and what she is, or that she's really THAT stupid and THAT desperate to want to be with him -- who she's never even met face to face before.
Do I want to believe any of that? No, not really. But what choice am I left with? I hate thinking the worst of someone. I'm always the one wanting to think the best, the one giving more chances than I should, the one having faith that the "real" them will eventually shine through... But I can't afford those delusions when it comes to my kid, even if those delusions are the reason my kid even exists in the first place.
Then yesterday my ex calls me AGAIN, begging for cash AGAIN. Like I'm some sort of millionaire. Like I have money to throw around now that I'm the one supporting my son full time. Sure, I have a job that pays pretty well. But a third of that check is taken out in taxes, and I've got debts of my own. I can afford to eat out a lot of the time, but thats only because I make myself afford it because I hate washing dishes so much. I eat out instead of buying myself new clothes (which I sorely need, btw), or buying new music, or buying movies (I buy maybe one a month, if that, instead of the 6 or 8 that I used to). Maybe the money I spend on eating out would be better spent hiring a maid to wash my dishes for me... I dunno. That's not the point really. The point is I live from check to check. I don't have extra money to just throw away on loans that won't ever be re-paid. And the sucky thing is that he didn't want to take no for an answer. He kept on with the "I'll pay you back in 3 weeks" and the "but it's only $350" and all. Hell, he still owes me $200 from a previous banking problem... Like I'm going to give him more...
And I've just been out of sorts anyway. Friday night I got a really horrible muscle spasm in my neck and left shoulder. One so bad that I had shooting pains down my arm. The BF ended up having to run out and get me a tube of Bengay just so I could try and get some sleep before going back to work on Monday.
Things have been stupid weird, and stupid weird always makes me feel uneasy. And feeling uneasy makes me stress out, which makes me over anxious, which makes me depressed... So I cry for no reason. Or I cry for a reason that I can't quite make myself verbalize. That happened Monday night... And the BF still hasn't learned quite how to handle me when I get like that, so it ended up in him getting pissed off at me, and me crying myself to sleep.
Sad thing is, all I really wanted was to feel good for 5 minutes... But I couldn't bring myself to say that. I couldn't bring myself to admit that I was feeling miserably bad, both physically and emotionally, despite the fact that I was sitting there crying while trying (to no avail) to massage the knots out of my own neck and the muscle cramps out of my legs (from sitting at my desk for 8 hours).
Of course, the BF has a really bad habit of trying to get me to talk while I'm in tears. He asks me "is there anything I can get you?" and "what's up?" and actually expects an answer. I mean really. I'm crying. Why don't you try to calm me down a bit before asking me questions I don't know how to answer. Why not just hug me, and hold me, and stroke my hair, and wait for me to stop sobbing first? And why doesn't he think of that on his own?
I shouldn't be surprised really. Most of the time I have to ask for hugs and kisses. Most of the time I have to ask for him to cuddle with me. And even then, I get half assed hugs, kisses, and cuddling in response. It's like now that we're living together, he's lost any interest in being passionate with me. Not that I'm saying we don't have "adult time" -- we do. But I'm always the one to initiate it, and it always takes a TON of work to get him to realize what I want (at least, thats what it seems like. Maybe he's just playing dumb?). And then, just like the hugs and kisses, his side of things are half assed. It's like he's not even really trying. I know he's not trying. Cuz when he does try, the whole world disappears, and all I can do is --feel--... *sigh*
Wow, now I'm really rambling huh. I guess I'm more ... I dunno... What's the right word for what I am right now? Frustrated? Confused? Lost? Befuddled? Confruddost?
Anyway, I'm more of whatever I am than I thought I was, and I just threw it all up into your laps now didn't I. *sigh*
I need a break.
What In The HELL Is Going On?
So this morning I wake up and I turn on the news. The weather comes on, the traffic comes on, and then suddenly I'm looking at a mugshot of my Middle School science teacher, and hearing all about how she's been arrested on sexual assault charges for molesting one of her students.
WHAT THE HELL?
You can read a version of the story here: http://www.nbc11.com/news/13279724/detail.html?taf=bay
You can read another version of the story here: http://www.insidebayarea.com/timesstar/localnews/ci_5846770
I left a comment on this one, which reads as follows:
I'm in shock. Really and truly in shock. I keep sifting through any information I can find on the matter to try and make sense of it -- to no avail.
You know, you always see this stuff on the news, but you never think you're going to see someone from your home town; someone you had as a teacher.
Its just too weird.
WHAT THE HELL?
You can read a version of the story here: http://www.nbc11.com/news/13279724/detail.html?taf=bay
You can read another version of the story here: http://www.insidebayarea.com/timesstar/localnews/ci_5846770
I left a comment on this one, which reads as follows:
This story doesn't make a whole lot of sense. One person has come forward, 13 years after the fact (why not sooner?), to accuse Mrs. Sorg of being a sex offender. That same person alleges that the crimes took place not during an age range that she would have been in middle school, but during an age range that she would have been in high school, and not a student of Mrs. Sorg..
Personally, I have to wonder if these allegations are false in some way. They simply do not add up, given Mrs. Sorg's history of being an amazing teacher who was never publically inappropriate with any of her students.
I've had lecherous teachers. I've even had one who later had sexual harrasment charges made against him. No one was surprised by that -- he was a bit of a pedophile, and everyone knew it -- especially his students.
Mrs. Sorg, on the other hand, never EVER exhibited any of the tell-tale signs of a sex offender. She never looked at her students in an inappropriate way. She never touched her students in an inappropriate way. She never said inappropriate things, or brought up inappropriate topics. I am extremely shocked to see these kinds of accusations made against her.
Also, growing up in Albany, I'm familiar with the teeny tiny police department -- a police department that has never had to deal with anything even close to this level of severity. I have to wonder if they really have the expertise to properly investigate such a claim.
There are a lot of things about this story that just don't add up for me... And I'm sure they don't add up for a lot of people.
The vagueness of the story, and the differences of the facts published by the press certainly doesn't help the matter.
NBC reported that Mrs. Sorg was arrested in "a home in Berkeley" whereas you're saying she was arrested in Oakland. NBC said that the search warrants were executed after her arrest, you're saying the searches were part of the previous 6 month investigation.
Like I said -- Things just don't add up here.
I hope someone in media can get us the real story -- the full story
I'm in shock. Really and truly in shock. I keep sifting through any information I can find on the matter to try and make sense of it -- to no avail.
You know, you always see this stuff on the news, but you never think you're going to see someone from your home town; someone you had as a teacher.
Its just too weird.
Monday, May 07, 2007
I Never Have to Stop and Think
I never have to stop and think. Really. I'm always thinking. Usually about all the wrong things, but I am thinking. It's getting myself to stop thinking that's the hard part -- and it shows.
My son, however, never thinks. I swear. He doesn't. Sure, he's 8, and he's still a little kid really, but he acts as if he hasn't got a single brain cell in his head, let alone one he's actually making use of. Sometimes I think there must be something desperately wrong with him -- some sort of mental defect... But then he goes and says something so infinitely intelligent that I know he's in full working order. Like the other day. He says to the BF on the way to pick me up from work: 'What are the numbers on the houses for?' If you stop and think about it, thats actually a rather deep question. Instead of just following the herd and accepting that houses are supposed to have numbers on them, he actually wanted to know the reason for it. But ask him to tell you what the one page story he read 30 seconds ago was about, and all he can say is "I don't know."
Its actually making things really hard on me and the BF. We're at the point where we don't know what to do. I mean, how do you teach a child to want to understand a story? No one had to teach me... I just wanted to know what happened. I wanted to know more than just what happened. I wanted to know who the characters were, and what they were feeling, and why... I always loved reading and stories. If I read something, not only could I tell you what it was about, but I could recite it for you almost verbatim (semi photographic memory... it's picky about what it photographs, and what it doesn't, as well as being a relatively bad photographer -- severed heads and the like).
I also can't seem to get him to recognize the passage of time. We gave him a clock... But he doesn't seem to have made any sense of what the thing actually is, or why he should care.
And he "forgets" everything we ask him to do, or acts shocked when he has to do something that he's done at the same time every day for months -- like going to pick me up from work, like they do every day.
I have a feeling that most of this behavior is just him distancing him from the world around him. The lack of care he got with his dad is telling. The fact that he's now being asked to be responsible for some of the things in his life (like actually doing his homework himself, instead of having someone feed him the answers, and cutting his own finger nails when they get too long, and washing his own body instead of having mommy do it). That he always thought Mom's house was for playing games and having fun, except now that he lives there full time, it's not anymore. He's adjusting. And not really doing it very well.
The BF has been a saint about it, being the positive male role-model the kiddo needs, picking him up from school, making sure homework gets done, etc., etc., a million times etc. I, on the other hand, haven't been adjusting well at all either.
I'm one of those people that needs peace and quiet (from people that is -- I can't live without the TV or stereo or both on all the time). I need to be alone, to have low stress environments, to not have to share my personal space if I don't want to. Having my son more than the every other weekend I used to have him has taken away my space. It's taken away my time. It's taken away who and what I am, at my core, because I'm not allowed to be that person any more.
I can't help thinking of myself as a horrible Mom because I resent the fact that I can't do what I want, when I want anymore. Eventhough I know these are feelings that every mother has at least once in their lives, if not every day. I feel bad that I don't want to spend every waking moment with my child. I feel bad that sometimes I wish I could have just left him with his dad until the end of time (especially bad about that, given how bad things were at his dad's). I feel bad that sometimes I cry because I just want my life back. Eventhough I know these are things that every mother thinks and feels at some point, you can tell me that what I'm feeling is completely normal until you're blue in the face, it's not going to change the guilt I feel for feeling that way.
Growing up, all I ever saw were TV shows and movies that showed moms who, no matter what, always felt only love for their children. Mom's who didn't want their children to move out of the house, mom's who didn't want to go back to work because they wanted to stay home with their kids, mom's who fought to have their children with them full time, mom's who worked 3 jobs and walked away from a social life to raise their children. And I was brainwashed to believe that feeling anything other than the purest, most unconditional, love for your children every second of every day was bad, that it wasn't normal, that only junkies and alcoholics and crazy people didn't dote on their children the way the Cleavers or the Bradys did.
But isn't it normal to want to be treated like the woman that you've always been, instead of just the mom that you are right now?
I want to be able to sleep naked on hot summer nights again. I want to be able to moan as loud as I want when I get off. I want to be able to just lay in bed all day on a weekend, with no one and nothing but my favorite books. I want to be able to stay home sick from work and actually be able to rest. I want to watch horror movies before 9 o'clock at night. I want to get drunk when I get home from a bad day at work. I want to have conversations about art and literature and philosophy without having to stop and explain that I am NOT talking about a video game.
I want.
I want.
I want.
*sigh*
I've got another 10 years left... If I'm lucky... But then it will be too late. Won't it.
My son, however, never thinks. I swear. He doesn't. Sure, he's 8, and he's still a little kid really, but he acts as if he hasn't got a single brain cell in his head, let alone one he's actually making use of. Sometimes I think there must be something desperately wrong with him -- some sort of mental defect... But then he goes and says something so infinitely intelligent that I know he's in full working order. Like the other day. He says to the BF on the way to pick me up from work: 'What are the numbers on the houses for?' If you stop and think about it, thats actually a rather deep question. Instead of just following the herd and accepting that houses are supposed to have numbers on them, he actually wanted to know the reason for it. But ask him to tell you what the one page story he read 30 seconds ago was about, and all he can say is "I don't know."
Its actually making things really hard on me and the BF. We're at the point where we don't know what to do. I mean, how do you teach a child to want to understand a story? No one had to teach me... I just wanted to know what happened. I wanted to know more than just what happened. I wanted to know who the characters were, and what they were feeling, and why... I always loved reading and stories. If I read something, not only could I tell you what it was about, but I could recite it for you almost verbatim (semi photographic memory... it's picky about what it photographs, and what it doesn't, as well as being a relatively bad photographer -- severed heads and the like).
I also can't seem to get him to recognize the passage of time. We gave him a clock... But he doesn't seem to have made any sense of what the thing actually is, or why he should care.
And he "forgets" everything we ask him to do, or acts shocked when he has to do something that he's done at the same time every day for months -- like going to pick me up from work, like they do every day.
I have a feeling that most of this behavior is just him distancing him from the world around him. The lack of care he got with his dad is telling. The fact that he's now being asked to be responsible for some of the things in his life (like actually doing his homework himself, instead of having someone feed him the answers, and cutting his own finger nails when they get too long, and washing his own body instead of having mommy do it). That he always thought Mom's house was for playing games and having fun, except now that he lives there full time, it's not anymore. He's adjusting. And not really doing it very well.
The BF has been a saint about it, being the positive male role-model the kiddo needs, picking him up from school, making sure homework gets done, etc., etc., a million times etc. I, on the other hand, haven't been adjusting well at all either.
I'm one of those people that needs peace and quiet (from people that is -- I can't live without the TV or stereo or both on all the time). I need to be alone, to have low stress environments, to not have to share my personal space if I don't want to. Having my son more than the every other weekend I used to have him has taken away my space. It's taken away my time. It's taken away who and what I am, at my core, because I'm not allowed to be that person any more.
I can't help thinking of myself as a horrible Mom because I resent the fact that I can't do what I want, when I want anymore. Eventhough I know these are feelings that every mother has at least once in their lives, if not every day. I feel bad that I don't want to spend every waking moment with my child. I feel bad that sometimes I wish I could have just left him with his dad until the end of time (especially bad about that, given how bad things were at his dad's). I feel bad that sometimes I cry because I just want my life back. Eventhough I know these are things that every mother thinks and feels at some point, you can tell me that what I'm feeling is completely normal until you're blue in the face, it's not going to change the guilt I feel for feeling that way.
Growing up, all I ever saw were TV shows and movies that showed moms who, no matter what, always felt only love for their children. Mom's who didn't want their children to move out of the house, mom's who didn't want to go back to work because they wanted to stay home with their kids, mom's who fought to have their children with them full time, mom's who worked 3 jobs and walked away from a social life to raise their children. And I was brainwashed to believe that feeling anything other than the purest, most unconditional, love for your children every second of every day was bad, that it wasn't normal, that only junkies and alcoholics and crazy people didn't dote on their children the way the Cleavers or the Bradys did.
But isn't it normal to want to be treated like the woman that you've always been, instead of just the mom that you are right now?
I want to be able to sleep naked on hot summer nights again. I want to be able to moan as loud as I want when I get off. I want to be able to just lay in bed all day on a weekend, with no one and nothing but my favorite books. I want to be able to stay home sick from work and actually be able to rest. I want to watch horror movies before 9 o'clock at night. I want to get drunk when I get home from a bad day at work. I want to have conversations about art and literature and philosophy without having to stop and explain that I am NOT talking about a video game.
I want.
I want.
I want.
*sigh*
I've got another 10 years left... If I'm lucky... But then it will be too late. Won't it.
Blog-verse Annoyances
So, out of the need to distract myself from the absolute boredom that is my day job, I've been blog surfing using the "next blog" button on the blogger bar.
Why is it that the "next blog" button seems to cycle through 10 blogs, then repeat itself?
Why is it that the "next blog" button always seems to take me to those annoying blogs that play music, and don't have a "next blog" button?
Why is it that the "next blog" button tends to also take me to those really REALLY annoying blogs that pop up a little window that says "hi! I love you!" and require you to TYPE something into them to get past it? And if you don't want to type something in, you have to manually crash your browser to get it to leave you alone?
Why is it that these same annoying blogs always have pop-up ads that clutter my screen?
It makes me wish that blogger didn't allow people to modify their templates in such attrocious ways (did I spell that right? I dunno. I'm too lazy to hit up the dictionary to check).
Fine, fine, people want to be original and unique and whatnot. But please, can't they do that without making complete nuisances (again, spelling, who cares) of themselves? I mean, if I wanted to be bombarded with virus laden pop-up windows and horrible music, I'd go browse porn sites.
Bleh.
Today is sucking.
Maybe I'll post something more meaningful later.
Update:
OMFG! Now, all I get when I hit the "next blog" button are video porn blogs!
Jeezus Fucking Christ people, I'm at WORK here!
Thank god its a damned govt job, or I'd probably get fired for my accidental porn viewings.
And for the record, it was NOT pretty. Not. NOT. NOT pretty.
*gags*
Why is it that the "next blog" button seems to cycle through 10 blogs, then repeat itself?
Why is it that the "next blog" button always seems to take me to those annoying blogs that play music, and don't have a "next blog" button?
Why is it that the "next blog" button tends to also take me to those really REALLY annoying blogs that pop up a little window that says "hi! I love you!" and require you to TYPE something into them to get past it? And if you don't want to type something in, you have to manually crash your browser to get it to leave you alone?
Why is it that these same annoying blogs always have pop-up ads that clutter my screen?
It makes me wish that blogger didn't allow people to modify their templates in such attrocious ways (did I spell that right? I dunno. I'm too lazy to hit up the dictionary to check).
Fine, fine, people want to be original and unique and whatnot. But please, can't they do that without making complete nuisances (again, spelling, who cares) of themselves? I mean, if I wanted to be bombarded with virus laden pop-up windows and horrible music, I'd go browse porn sites.
Bleh.
Today is sucking.
Maybe I'll post something more meaningful later.
Update:
OMFG! Now, all I get when I hit the "next blog" button are video porn blogs!
Jeezus Fucking Christ people, I'm at WORK here!
Thank god its a damned govt job, or I'd probably get fired for my accidental porn viewings.
And for the record, it was NOT pretty. Not. NOT. NOT pretty.
*gags*
Friday, May 04, 2007
Working Class Hero
I heard Green Day cover this song today...
And once again, I am reminded of the God John Lennon was.
Working Class Hero
by John Lennon
As soon as you're born they make you feel small
By giving you no time instead of it all
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years
Then they expect you to pick a career
When you can't really function you're so full of fear
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV
And you think you're so clever and class less and free
But you're still fucking peasants as far as I can see
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
There's room at the top they are telling you still
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill
If you want to be like the folks on the hill
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
I first fell in love with Lennon when it wasn't just Lennon, it was The Beatles. Their music touched me in places no other music ever had. They were my introduction to "rock n' roll" and I've loved it ever since. I didn't realise at the time that it was art. I didn't know what art was. I was a kid, liking it when mom played her records.
Later, I heard some of Lennon's solo work -- "Imagine" which is still one of my most favorite songs, no matter who sings it, simply because of the hope and sadness of the song... hope, and sadness, at the same time. Do you have any idea how hard it is to make someone feel hopeful, and deeply sad at the same time? I've never been able to pull it off, even with my best poetry. And believe me, I've tried. I'm not Lennon. No one is. I don't know of a single writer, or poet, or singer who is anywhere near on par with his insight into the human condition, and his ability to make people FEEL.
I'd never heard "Working Class Hero" before. I feel kind of bad that as much as I adore Lennon, I haven't gone out of my way to aquire more of his music. But I heard it today, sitting at my desk, contemplating just how much I hate this god awful job, and it hit home. Especially the lines that go
When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years
Then they expect you to pick a career
When you can't really function you're so full of fear
I know that feeling. I know it intimately. Its me. The whole song is me. It's like he took a time machine into the future, and climbed inside my head, pulled out all my feelings, and wrote them into a song.
I wish I had his talent. But at the same time, I'm glad I don't. As much as I wish there were more people in the world like him, I wouldn't want to cheapen his memory or his work by having anyone who could do it just as well, or better.
John Lennon is, and forever will be, legendary.
And probably, a bit of a hero... To me anyway.
And once again, I am reminded of the God John Lennon was.
Working Class Hero
by John Lennon
As soon as you're born they make you feel small
By giving you no time instead of it all
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years
Then they expect you to pick a career
When you can't really function you're so full of fear
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV
And you think you're so clever and class less and free
But you're still fucking peasants as far as I can see
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
There's room at the top they are telling you still
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill
If you want to be like the folks on the hill
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
I first fell in love with Lennon when it wasn't just Lennon, it was The Beatles. Their music touched me in places no other music ever had. They were my introduction to "rock n' roll" and I've loved it ever since. I didn't realise at the time that it was art. I didn't know what art was. I was a kid, liking it when mom played her records.
Later, I heard some of Lennon's solo work -- "Imagine" which is still one of my most favorite songs, no matter who sings it, simply because of the hope and sadness of the song... hope, and sadness, at the same time. Do you have any idea how hard it is to make someone feel hopeful, and deeply sad at the same time? I've never been able to pull it off, even with my best poetry. And believe me, I've tried. I'm not Lennon. No one is. I don't know of a single writer, or poet, or singer who is anywhere near on par with his insight into the human condition, and his ability to make people FEEL.
I'd never heard "Working Class Hero" before. I feel kind of bad that as much as I adore Lennon, I haven't gone out of my way to aquire more of his music. But I heard it today, sitting at my desk, contemplating just how much I hate this god awful job, and it hit home. Especially the lines that go
When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years
Then they expect you to pick a career
When you can't really function you're so full of fear
I know that feeling. I know it intimately. Its me. The whole song is me. It's like he took a time machine into the future, and climbed inside my head, pulled out all my feelings, and wrote them into a song.
I wish I had his talent. But at the same time, I'm glad I don't. As much as I wish there were more people in the world like him, I wouldn't want to cheapen his memory or his work by having anyone who could do it just as well, or better.
John Lennon is, and forever will be, legendary.
And probably, a bit of a hero... To me anyway.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
And Stupidity Ensues...
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... =)
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... =)
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...
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