So, I’m dying from this virus given to me by the co-workers. Therefore, this will be dark and broody… to put it nicely. To put it another despairingly way, I’m going to be all emo about life. In fact, as I walking around the office with my head hanging down, and one of the more edgy drug counselors told me I can’t be all emo walking around the office. Here’s the thing, when I’m dying, I can’t be bothered to hold my head up. All that to say, if you don’t want to listen to me whine, just turn it off. I mean, close the window. See! Proof I’m not feeling well at all.
Apart from accepting my demise, today also brought my credentials… Well, the piece of paper I had to pay for that says I’m working on my credentials. I get I’m dealing with peoples’ lives, and one ought to be trained and meet standards to do such things. However, the more cynical side of me, knows it’s the filthy government wanting more money. Horrible, horrible greedy government. This also happens to be the day I got my first full paycheck.
I happen to know for a fact, I’ve never made this much money before. It’s not like I’m wealthy, especially considering my education level. But I’m definitely making well above minimum wage. Hell. I’m even making more than minimum wage in Seattle. It was kind of shocking to see such a deposit in my account. And now I actually have to start paying back my student loans, which will make my grown up paycheck no so grown up. Or too grown up.
Somehow, I was hoping for the poetic justice of hearing back from one of the publishers I’ve submitted to today. I mean how beautiful would that be to get my associate’s credential and paycheck the same day I hear about my career as a writer. Yet, another week passes with crickets. I’d love to be able to lie to myself and say that’s a great sign. It shows they’re considering my manuscript. But what I really believe is that it was such rubbish that they’re not even going to bother to respond to my query. Or they don’t take simultaneous submissions but failed to mention so on their submission guidelines.
I gave myself a month grace period to get used to the new schedule before I started writing again. My month is up starting on Monday. Well, close enough. It’s definitely time to start doing something that gives my life more meaning. And I need to start making sure I’m doing self-care. So, this is whole grown-up thing is really happening.
Posted in Awkward, Culture, Dreams, Geek, Language, Life, Mornings, Musings, Politics, Ramblings, Reality for the win, Sick, Spinsterhood, Work, Writing
Less than a month into my new job, I caught a cold. It’s the middle of fucking summer and I have a cold. I also have no sick time occurred. It’s a rather new cold and has been keeping people out of work all week, but yesterday that shit got me. I sneezed like ten times in a row. I’m more of a three max in a row type of person when things are going good. Today, I left work a half hour early with the intent of taking a nap after work.
I totally crashed for a bit after work, but then people started moving about the house. I was at my house and not where I’m house sitting. Had I been at the latter and heard people walking around, the subject of this blog would be different, if it would be writ at all. Right so off topic now… back to napping. I love naps. Naps give me strength and keep me going, unless of course your co-workers are trying to kill you with the latest virus. Which, in my case, I believe they are. Because I’m not paid to believe the best about them, but also there’s been no evidence they’re not out to kill me.
So, napping this afternoon just left me with the primary main objective of getting to bed. I’m talking about even bypassing the TV. (A moment whilst you gather yourself from this upsetting shock.) That is how shitting I’m feeling. You know in Alien when there’s that scene where the alien burst through the fella’s tummy? Well, my sinuses are wanting to reenact that scene but in my head. I took a steamy shower and some pressure reliever for the sinuses, as well as some other potions. That’s when I noticed the beeping.
At first, I didn’t know where it was coming from. All I knew was that it had to die regardless of if were a dying robot or not. You may think that’s far-fetched, but you don’t know my friends. They’re the type to have a robot and unwittingly leave it my care to die. But eventually I found the source of the sound. The smoke detector. That battery sucking piece of… Well you know. I’m tempted in my drugged and potioned up haze to take the battery out. I have family who work for fire departments in various capacities. I like playing with fire. In theory I get the greatness of the smoke detector… I really do.
Right now, as mentioned before my sinuses are about to burst out of my face and I don’t have any sick leave to pay me if I have to call in tomorrow. I really need uninterrupted sleep. And the smoke detector is standing in my way of said sleep. OR at least rest. I realize it’s too hot to sleep but every few minutes or so… the beeping. Hey. Wait. I do believe the beeping has stopped. Perhaps the smoke detector sensed its life was in peril and decided to go out its own way.Or maybe it’s just waiting until I’m relaxed to start again. Either way, presently, I’m going to enjoy the silence.
So as I’ve praised the mighty TV of my friends, this may come as no shock to anyone, but I have utilized the DVR as well. Since you binge watch the Weather Channel for only so long, I DVR’d Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy the other night. I’ve seen it before, and it’s one I enjoy. Tonight, as I write this blog I’m attempting to watch it for a third time, hoping this is the attempt I don’t fall asleep watching. I feel it should be noted the past two attempts have been made after consuming alcohol. Not that I’m a lush, it’s just a film that lends itself to post drinking watching.
Anyway, third attempt to watch this bad boy. Which means… This the third time in as many days that I’ve had to tolerate the questions racing through my head. Questions such as: Why is Mos Def not in more films? (Subsequently, that is Mos Def, right? It’s not that I think all black people look the same. It’s that I think all rappers turned actors have a similar vibe. Race doesn’t even come into play in the confusion.) Other questions include: Why is Zooey D… (however the hell you spell her last name) still a thing? Am I taking crazy pills or is she the female equivalent to Keanu Reeve’s acting ability? And finally the most important question, when in the hell is the new series/season of Sherlock going to come out, because it feels like I’ve been waiting for fucking forever.
I have high hopes for making it through the entire film without having to rest my eyes. Albeit I have seen this part of the film for the third time in as many days, and as much as I enjoy said film, I don’t know if I enjoy it that much. Although to be fair, I’m not sure I enjoy any film that much. In fact it kinda feels like how Martin Freeman and Mos Def feel when the alien guy is reading his poetry. Right, I know what you’re thinking… For as much as I’ve been watching the movie lately, I ought to know said characters’ name. To which I reply, I’m currently learning all my clients’ names; obviously that’s more important. And yes I totally mean to sound pretentious.
In other news, I’ve figured out a cure for the insomnia. And it is Hitchhiker’s. Actually, if I remember correctly (I totally do), it’s so much easier for me to fall asleep to quality films than the rubbish I tend to indulge in. I don’t know why this is the case with me, but it was this discovery that led to the creation of bad movie night. So, I’m not the only one who has such issues. Not that any of this justifies more than one attempt to get through a great film… even if it has Zooey D in it. Perhaps if I fast forward to the part I last remember watching, I’ll have better luck getting through the entire thing. Fingers crossed.
There’s nothing as intimate as looking for a friend’s cheese grater. No, I’m not speaking in innuendo or metaphor. I literally cannot find my friend’s cheese grater. I’m almost at the point of bringing one over from my home just so I can stop searching her cupboards. At first, I looked in where I thought it would be. The random utensil drawer. The dishwasher. The drainer by the sink. Soon, my search led me to the other cupboards.
I now know my friends have a fancy juicer. And a various assortments of knives. There are all sorts of other gadgets and kitchen thingies that kitcheny people own. They keep their baking goods in a drawer. The dishwasher is full of cups and pans and various other sundries. Sitting my the fridge is an empty box of Pabst… Pabst for fuck’s sake!!! That’s something I do not even want to think about. My friends’ have fantastic taste in alcoholic drinks. Not that they’re lushes because they’re not.
My search for the cheese grater has extended out of the kitchen. I searched bookshelves, because sometimes you think a cheese grater would make a fantastic bookend. I searched the crowded table. Even though it’s covered with non-food related items, one never knows.Who’s to say they weren’t sitting at the kitchen table the night before they left to grate a huge pile of cheese for their vacation adventures. (Right you may scoff, but you probably don’t know my friend.) I checked both the wine rack and liquor cabinet. I iterate, they are not alcoholics. Regardless of what you may think of my friends’ drinking habits, the cheese grater wasn’t in either of those places.
There are places I have yet to check, such as the box of seemingly random shit hanging out in the entry wall. There are also several shoeboxes I have yet to check. Upstairs there are the rooms, and I haven’t looked too closely for the cheese grater up there. Also, the bathrooms and office which remained unexplored. Because really? Who the hell would store the cheese grater in the bedroom?! NO! I am not going to to think about that.
I suppose I could something practical like text my friend demanding where the hell the cheese grater is. But that’s not how I roll. I prefer to take the more difficult route. Albeit the much more intrusive route in this case.
I’m staying with my friends’ cat whilst they’re away having a well-deserved vacation. (Which only causes slight levels of jealousy within me but that’s beside the point). I’ve expounded on the joys of my alone time. I’m most particularly enjoying no one speaking to me in the morning, even if the cat randomly yells at me in the middle of the night. And I love the fact I get to have alone time and access to cable television.
Cable television… Sigh… I watched a lot of TV growing up; I’m not ashamed to admit it. However, as an adult, I don’t usually watch that much television. This is mostly due to the fact, my dad has control issues with the TV and will whine like a child if he doesn’t get to watch his shows. So, when I do get unlimited, whine-free access to the television, I “may” go a bit overboard. Such as falling asleep in front of it every night, because I watch it until I’m so tired I can’t even move. Fuck the fact, if I’m on an uncomfortable couch, by George there are tornados to relive and informerials to watch.
Last night I fell asleep watching educational programing. Evidently there is a show called “How to Grown-Up” or something similar. I never realized they had entire series devoted to my latest struggle. If I were on the ball, I would have taken notes. But as it stands, I absorbed it all through osmosis. Now I know how to grown-up like the pros. Look out world! Except… I reiterate, I fell asleep watching TV on the couch and have done so the past three nights. So, maybe I ought to take those notes. Also, like normal people I use my phone as an alarm, and I left my charger at home. It now has one bar of battery. Here’s hoping I wake up tomorrow morning… On time for work, I mean. I don’t think I would never wake up. Damn it all to hell, I’ve now gone and worked myself up about dying in my sleep. Super.
But, holy shit, if I am going to die in my sleep tonight, I’m going to die in a bed. That’s right. Tonight, I’m actually going to make it upstairs before the paralysis of shitty television sinks in. I will lie on the bed. I will close my eyes. And I will sleep until morning, when my alarm goes off. I feel it should be noted, I got a fortune cookie today that said If I think I can, I can. So you know, I have that going for me.
When contemplating the worst title for a blog, this is what I came up with. The best part is that it’s entirely true. I do have a popped blister and my clothes are now furry. It’s been a good day. Actually technically speaking, the lancing of blister occurred a couple days ago and the cat hair covered clothes happened last night as well as while I type these words.
I blame being a grown-up on the blister. Well, at least my attempt at being one. So, not only do I have to pay bills and taxes, but I wear shoes. SHOES! At least five days a week. Not flip-flops, but actual shoes. Okay sometimes non-flip-flop sandals. I was finally advised to lance the damn thing by a runner who is used to blisters on the feet. So, I took her advice. It doesn’t feel any better. And my whole foot aches because I’ve been walking on it funny. It’s a clear sign this grown-up business is wretchedly dangerous. Sure people warn you about the stress and lack of time. But rarely do they mention the blisters. I have had THREE blisters in two weeks. That’s not to say I don’t love my shoes, because I do. I just wish they didn’t hurt my feet.
So the painful shoes go nicely with the fur the covered trousers. I’m spending time with my friends’ cat whilst they’re out of town. He (as in the cat) has long white fur. My trousers are a nice black color. Needless to say it’s a brilliant combination. Makes me feel like I’m amongst the greats of single, crazy, cat ladies everywhere. OR it annoys the crap out of me to no end. And for the first time since I’ve started my job, I used the lint roller left in the cabinet by the woman whose position I took over.
And that sums up my weekend and Monday. Now, I may take some zzzquil and go to bed.
That is how I spent the past two days. Sitting on my ass in a hotel ballroom wishing I was in my office learning critical tasks to my job. Instead, I listened to a financially privileged woman rehash topics which got into a massive amount of debt but in a less helpful, more self-congratulatory manner. In order to pay attention to day, I played a modified version of cinemasins. (If you don’t know what cinemasins is check them out at cinemasins.com or on the youtube.) In order to save space on my sins page, I only did hash marks for when she repeated herself for emphasis.
Of course there was partner/group work. And today, I ended up with a partner who was in a similar situation. Lets just say it led to some “interesting” topics. And since we were sitting next to each other, there “may have been” a running commentary on the lecture of the day. Had you looked at that corner of the conference room, I doubt you’d have been able to tell the two women talking under their breath were both in fact mental health clinicians. But that just adds enigma to my otherwise baffling communication style… or you’d be able to tell that the two of us had an education about communicating.
The worst part was at the end. Now, I know you’re thinking, “But. But. But, you should be glad that’s it over.” Oh I was… Until that bitch made us go around the room and say what we’re taking away from the training. Awkward. Because what I really took away from the training is that my agency says that they communicate a certain way, yet when they sacked my boss last Friday, they proved otherwise. I couldn’t really say that to the room, even if it was a “safe space”. Because well, I’d like to keep my job. Instead, I ended up giving some bullshit answer about the interactions and listening for the person rather than from my past.
There also may have been a point in time I shouted at the facilitator. I didn’t mean to. Seriously. If you know me, you know I have two volumes: loud or quiet. She asked me something, and I answered in my regular quiet voice. She didn’t hear, and so I answered in my other volume. She may have looked a bit taken back and may have not looked at me for the rest of the time until I had to share my bullshit. I feel kind of bad. I wasn’t shouting at her, well not really. I may have been frustrated to be there and answered in a loud voice. That’s not shouting at someone, right?