"I have a one-step program for dealing with stress. Well, one step and a kick to be exact." -Maxine

It seems as if I'm saying to myself more & more often, "I should have just stayed in bed!"  I have more days when nothing seems to go right; when everything seems to be a struggle.  Today has been no different.

Is it still Festivus? Can I continue to Air my Grievances?

1. The suit-coat I was going to wear today was missing some crystals from its buttons. I had to change my clothes & all my jewelry & pack it away to Goodwill. Why do I even bother waking up?
2. It's still slick out so I had to wear flats to walk to my car, then change into my high-heel-boots, which is a pain in the ass because.....
3. My gloves make everything 100 times more difficult. Like locking my apartment door. First, I had the wrong key. Then I dropped the whole set. Then I had difficulty even locking the damn door. All while sweating my ass off in my winter coat & scarf.  Do I love winter? Not right now.
4. I'm having nightmares every time I sleep. Last night's was about a scary ghoul living in my ceiling. I'm blaming the tree-rats scratching in their nests in my walls/ceiling for this one. Damn squirrels. Where's Grandma's gun?
5. I was going to have a nice, easy day at work today because I wasn't going to give announcements. I hate giving announcements. Ah, but I received an email from someone (sent yesterday) asking me to give a special announcement. Dammit.
6. My arm still hurts like hell, after over a month of daily applications of Ben-Gay and now putting a heating pad on it all day long....Nothing is helping. And everything I do requires the use of it. Call my Gimpy.
7. If I have to fix one more goddamn toilet at the church, I'm going to scream.
8. I forgot my travel coffee mug.
9. I've realized I've become Maxine except I'm not happy about it like she is and I'm not funny. I'm just a bitch.

It's only 9AM.

I've decided I'm going to start what I've seen on Facebook-- I'm going to have a jar, starting January 1, and will write down the good things that happen to me, by me, and for me in 2013 & keep them in the jar. By the end of the year I'll be able read the ONE GOOD THING that happened to me throughout the year and hang onto it for dear life.

Because right now I'm struggling to think of anything good.

"It's Festivus...for the rest of us!" -Frank Costanza, Seinfeld

Well, the only thing that could make this day better is if I trip over my own feet, fall on top of Elvis & crush him, break my nose and still have to go to Christmas Eve services tonight....with two black eyes and a dead cat.

Happy Festivus, everyone!  It's the airing of grievances....and boy, do I have a lot of grievances!

Today started with an earlier-than-wanted wake-up due to pain in my gut. Must have been all the good food I ate yesterday. Since I was up early, I decided to head to the grocery store before it becomes a complete mad-house.

Have I said how much I love winter? I do. I really, really do. I do not, however, love wearing gloves or  bulky winter clothes. I feel like the Michelin man and if I were to fall down, which is likely, I wouldn't be able to get back up.

It's bitter cold outside. Bitter. Cold. So I got all bundled up and fought with getting my damn purse over my damn shoulder which is twice the size it usually is then fought with locking the damn door with the damn key while wearing damn gloves. Grrrr.

I made it out to my car without falling, surprisingly since the sidewalks are still covered in ice and........

The car's panic alarm started going off as soon as I unlocked the door. It wouldn't turn off. After it finally stopped, after two rounds @ 7AM (you're welcome, neighbors), the car wouldn't start.

Isn't anti-theft technology great? Not even the owner can 'steal' the car!

At least I figured out how to get the car started. I had to unlock the damn doors. *eye roll*  Then I called Todd Archer to tell them I want the damn thing disabled since this is now the second time the panic alarm has gone off all on its own. When I bought the car, I was told it would never go off unless I pushed the button on the key fob. Obviously. I hate the key fob. I don't even use it. Apparently, that's the issue. I lock the car using the power button inside the car and unlock it using the key.  The key fob is a pain in my ass. Especially in winter, wearing gloves. BUT, since I lock the car using the power button and unlock it using my key, the car, apprently thinks someone's breaking in. How retarded is that? And how completely random? Why doesn't it go off every single time I unlock the car? I think it's defective.  I told the dealer I would try only using the key fob or just the key and see what happens. Otherwise, I may be returning a car that I've fallen in love with driving since I was told the alarm can't simply be disabled.  I'll show you disabled!

I made it to the store & back with no incidents, other than my fingertips felt like they were in the beginnings of frostbite. I had difficulty loading up my Michelin-man arms with my groceries and I had to find another bag to put all the pizza's in since the grocery store bags broke, but Hey! What the hell! Bring it on! I can take more shit in a ONE HOUR PERIOD! 

I didn't even lock my car. Granted, it's sitting inside the garage, but I always lock my car. Always. I'm afraid if I leave it unlocked once or twice, it'll become a bad habit and I'll be leaving it unlocked sitting in the Walmart parking lot. Rather than a stupid panic alarm going off, I just won't have a car.

But I can't take another panic alarm today. I've had enough. I'm going to curl up on the couch with my new sherpa-blanket and try not to cause any harm to the cat. Try.

I will not be trying the Feats of Strength.  In fact, I think I've already failed the Feats of Strength. The day has won.

"You don't get rich writing science fiction. If you want to get rich, you start a religion" --L Ron Hubbard

I talk a big game. I say I won't allow a bully or threats or harassment to tear me down. When I say that, I believe it, wholeheartedly.

And then shit happens again and I'm physically, intellectually & emotionally exhausted and I begin to think, "I can't take this anymore."

Weighing the Harm of Staying vs. the Harm of Going. Which is the least harmful? Which is the most helpful? Which isn't going to drive me to.............

I am stressed. I am disheartened. I am so damn tired. My body is suffering. My brain is suffering. I don't eat. I barely sleep. My head hurts every damn minute. My right arm has been painful for 3 weeks. My neck is spasming. My jaw hurts like hell.

How much more can I take before I become the Hunchback of Notre Dame?

Tonight, my answer would be, "No more. I can't take anymore." 

Tomorrow, I believe & hope my answer will be, "Fuck you, you goddamn asshole. I'm not going to let you beat me down. I will take my lumps. I will learn my lessons. And I will kick a high heel to your crotch & smile while doing it."

"But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?" -Mark Twain

I am appalled by the tragedy that occurred in Connecticut.

You may think I think otherwise the further you read, but keep coming back to that first sentence. Appalled.

The more events of this type occur, the more & more I wonder about the perpetrator. Most people are concentrating on the victims. Media outlets won't even mention the perpetrator's name, but once, so as not to 'give him glory'.  Yes he committed a vile act. Yes it was atrocious. Yes it is a great tragedy.  I always wonder, though, what drove him (and it's usually a 'him') to commit such a violent, despicable act?

He & his family are as much victims as the children & adults who were gunned down by his own hand. A victim of what? Society. The media's talking about gun control, gun control, gun control.  How about we talk about the state of our mental health services or the lack thereof? It will take centuries to rid our country of the numerous legal & illegal guns on the streets and in our homes. Centuries....or a dictatorship. I say, if you're not in the military, you don't get a gun. You'll only get a gun when the country is invaded during war and every man, woman & child is needed to defend the great U.S. of A. That's what the second amendment means. It does not mean you, me & Joe Blow have the 'right to bear arms'.  I, honestly, don't think it will ever be done. Not with Republicans in Congress. We're too chicken shit. BUT, our provision of mental health services can certainly change NOW. And yet, I repeat myself, not while Republicans are in Congress.

So, what would drive a person to kill his mother and then kill little children?  I'm not sure we'll ever truly know what was in the mind of this killer; since he did himself in, he takes those last thoughts with him.  But I have to wonder if he had some sort of psychotic break and his mind was no longer his to control. Or maybe he was abused and finally just snapped. Maybe something happened to him at that school and he wanted others to feel as much pain as he felt. I hope that, whatever the reason, society will finally take some responsibility for the actions of its citizens and realize that we're as much to blame as the shooter himself.

I am mostly sickened by people whose child was spared saying, "An angel was in the room".  Really?!? And where was the goddamn angel when the other 20 children were gunned down. Oh, right. He/she/it was busy saving your child but I guess those other children just weren't 'holy' enough.  How utterly ridiculous. I wish people would take 10 seconds to ponder what's about to come out of their mouths. Just 10 little seconds. Religious people are so busy trying to justify why their god sat by while this tragedy occurred (free will; he doesn't go where he's not wanted...that's the best one I've heard so far), they're not living in reality. There isn't 'evil' & 'sin' in this world as you think of it from the Bible.  There are only sick, sick people.

God may bring you comfort. I don't know how. I don't think I'll ever understand it. It goes beyond comprehension, logic, reason, sanity.

Why call him god, indeed.

I don’t know what your problem is, but I’ll bet it’s hard to pronounce.

Wow. Quite a rant Tuesday evening, huh? Amazing how much anger one tiny little person can feel. I don't think I've ever been that angry before. Always a first time for everything. I had so much angry energy, I couldn't sit still. I had to burn it off. I did not want to drink. I put in my ear buds & cranked the volume. I went for a walk. Didn't work.  I did at least 100 curls/shoulder presses. Curl to shoulder, press to ceiling, down to shoulder, uncurl. Over & over & over & over & over, all to the beat of Eminem and Linkin Park, the angriest music I own. Every time Norah Jones came through my ear buds, I'd scan to the next song. No sappy music for me, thanks. After I couldn't lift my arms anymore, I paced & paced & paced & paced. I ended up sitting on the floor in my hallway. It's my soothing place. I sang at the top of my lungs and didn't give a rat's ass if my neighbors were annoyed. They could have been pounding on my door. I wouldn't have known because I couldn't hear anything but angry music in my head. I was finally able to go to bed, much later than usual.

I didn't even eat dinner. I hadn't eaten since Monday evening and even that was just a bowl of cereal.

Danger, Will Robinson! Danger.

An alcoholic needs to remember HALT: Don't get Hungry, Angry, Lonely or Tired. Well, hell, 3 out of 4 ain't bad.

I woke up @ 3AM feeling like I had the worst hangover in the world. My mouth was dry. My stomach was nauseous. My head was killing me. But I wasn't hungover. I was sober. I would remain sober. I had no regrets; no remorse; no guilt; no shame.

I'm taking the next right step and can I just take a moment here to pat myself on the back? I'm damn proud of myself. From August 2011 to now, I've done the next right thing. I needed help. I got it (thanks to Ma & Pa & many friends). I've done everything I can do to stay sober. I go to AA. I call my support. And I work my ass off, all throughout an incredibly stressful & difficult period in my life. When confronted with a horrible situation, I took the next right step. I did everything I should have done. And now that the result hasn't changed the horrible situation, I'm, again, taking the next right step. 

I am one resilient bitch. I will not back down. I will not allow this wrong to continue. I will not put up with this bullshit any longer. There is nothing anybody can do to hurt me.

I'm an alcoholic. I've already been to my own personal hell. This is nothing. This is a cake-walk. Bring it on, bastards. Bring. It. On.

"Men never commit evil so fully and joyfully as when they do it for religious convictions." - Blaise Pascal

Bear with me folks. This one's going to contain A LOT of cuss words. Sometimes they're the only words that, in a fury, a person can think to use. Tonight, I actually said the phrase, "Christ on a stick!" I'm so damn mad.

In fact, I'm so fucking pissed off, I can't even watch television and that just infuriates me even more. Because, how am I supposed to calm down? Television is my 'wind-down' and now I don't even have that. Instead, I'm listening to music really, really loud and singing at the top of my lungs. I'm sure my neighbors are pleased, but fuck them. I put up with enough of their shit, they can deal with this for one goddamn night. Can you guess what I'm shouting? You betcha. Thanks Christina. Thank you for 'Fighter'. Don't know what I'd do without it. I'd definitely drink, that's what, and don't think that hasn't crossed my mind. More than crossed my mind. I considered driving straight to my parent's house tonight, but decided Elvis wouldn't survive another minute without my attention. I wish I'd only stopped to load Elvis into his carrier and then driven straight there, no matter the consequences of dogs & cats living together. I want nothing more than to drink. No, that's not true. I want nothing more than to cause major physical harm to....my voodoo doll, apparently, because I am incapable of causing physical harm to another being. But what about a being so evil it's beyond human comprehension? Is physical harm o.k. then? *head shake* I can't even imagine it then. 

So, instead, I called my dad and prepared him for the onslaught of verbal abuse he was going to have to listen to on behalf of the major dickhead/asshole/prick/bastard/sonofabitch in my life who I'm unable to rant & rave at. I love my dad for listening to my verbal vomit in my "I-can't-think-of-anything-better-to-say-so-I'm-going-to-use-every-cuss-word-in-my-repertoire" and then also wanting to pummel said-dickhead on my behalf.

And then I sobbed. And sobbed. And sobbed. I hugged Elvis. I sobbed some more all over him. He licked my hair and then I thought, Fuck This. Fuck that goddamn asshole (not Elvis). I will not cry one more fucking tear over what he's done to me and what he will continue to do to me, no doubt. This will not cause me to drink. Fuck him for threatening my goddamn sobriety. I will not give him that goddamn satisfaction, motherfucker.

Apparently "Fuck" and "Goddamn" are my go-to words, huh. I have more.

You evil son-of-a-bitch. How dare you. How dare you be so fucking arrogant, you teeny tiny little shit. You're the most incompetent, vile piece of shit I've ever encountered, and trust me, I've encountered many evil men in my life...but you! Oh, YOU! You take the cake you fucking rat-bastard and that isn't something you should be proud of. In fact, you should crawl back to that fucking hole you dug yourself out of. You're a user. You're a spineless, weak man. I am going to do everything within my power to undo everything you've done. I hope your soul rots in whatever hell you believe in. I was mostly ambivalent before. Now you've unleased my wrath and you will be sorry, you sick SONOFABITCH.

My voodoo doll can't take much more punishment. But I guess that's the point, isn't it?

Those might look like cute whiskers poking out of voodoo's cheeks. They're not.

"You know the message you're sending out to the world with these sweatpants? You're telling the world, 'I give up. I can't compete in normal society. I'm miserable, so I might as well be comfortable.'" -- Jerry Seinfeld, The Pilot

I love re-reading posts from just days ago. Part of me cringes; another part of me thinks, "What the hell changed?"; and another part of me just rolls my eyes & smirks.

I believe at the end of my last post I said something about feeling pretty darn good and that maybe, just maybe, I can make it in this world. It was a Thursday. My. Day. Off.

I swear, the next day and the day after and the day after that, I was thinking the exact opposite: What's my exit strategy for this world?

Who thinks like that?

This whole job-thing is really getting me down. Why isn't there a job out there that pays me what I'm worth, challenges me, excites me, and doesn't come with incompetent idiots? Why doesn't my job, now, satisfy those needs? Why am I surrounded by judgmental fools?

The real question is and always is: What have I done to make it so bad?

And then I start ragging on myself. I'm a horrible person. I'll never make it anywhere. I'm incapable of compassion and sympathy. I could care less about humanity. I hate people. I'm defensive. I'm angry. I'm stubborn.  I'm self-righteous. I'm judgmental. I'm right. You're wrong. But I'm also wrong because I'm stupid, too. I have no self-confidence. I'm a complete & total fake. I'm full of fear- fear someone will recognize that I suck; fear that I'll be fired; fear that I'll drink again; fear that I'll never make it.

Is there a job out there that requires a person to not speak or interact with another human being? That's the only job I'll ever be able to get. I'll become that person-- the one who works from home; weighs 500 pounds; rarely, if ever showers; and has absolutely no social skills whatsoever, except with cats.

Hell, I'm practically there already. I'm gonna go put on my sweats.

The Post Thanksigiving Post and Other Ramblings

Thanksgiving is quickly becoming my favorite holiday and it's all due to these people:



The cousins



Probably getting lice from great-grandma's hats



Ahhhh, grandma!



I don't know how it happens, but every single year is just about as perfect as it can get. We don't just spend time together. We don't just talk. It's like a full dry body heave set to talking (not music, as Seinfeld would say). I laugh. I laugh so hard I cry. I practically pee my pants. The day could not have been any better, but here's what I noticed. I have to keep going. There can't be a moment of me sitting there with my own thoughts....or no thoughts at all. My brain needs to stay completely engaged, otherwise I start to feel like I'm surrounded by all these amazing, amazing people, yet I'm all alone. I wonder why that is.

I did not want to come home. I wanted to stay with these people forever. I wanted more. More fun. Good god, I miss fun. And certainly more food. That's the only downside to visiting for Thanksgiving-- no leftovers. :)

On a completely random sidetrack-- I wonder if Elvis staring at me for hours-on-end is the same for him as it is for me staring at the television for hours on end?

I highly doubt it. I'm not as interesting as television. I think he's trying to mind-meld with me, to mentally send me mind-control thoughts to make me pet him. It's seriously creepy, whatever it is.

And on yet another sidetrack-- I bought a new car yesterday. I finally have power windows & locks again; cruise control again! I have the key-fob that will automatically open the trunk at the push of a button. I. AM. IN. HEAVEN. What other people take for granted because they've bought it year after year, I appreciate more fully because I haven't. I'm not a miser or a scrooge, but I don't want to spend more than I think is reasonable. And I think it's ridiculous that cars cost so much. I also think I should be able to buy a house for $25,000.  My financial world is, obviously, not reality.

Today is Thursday. I woke up at 5AM and while that pissed me off to no end, I feel pretty darn good....like, maybe I can make it in this world. Just maybe.....

The weather today is cloudy with chances of suspicion & a moderate risk of paranoia.

I'm not sleeping well.  I fall asleep just fine but I wake up an hour later or sometimes 5 hours later, terrified & sweating from a horrific nightmare (or 2 or 3). Every damn day for a week and even during my beloved naps! It's just wrong.

 My nightmares aren't like other people's. Of course they're not. I'm unique & special! Mine aren't monsters or boogie men or falling out of a plane or death (though I think one was close to death). Nope. Mine are more along the lines of "What the hell is going on here? Why did I move to Atlantic, IA of all places? Why is my cell phone so weird and what's all this shit around my apartment?"  Mine are simply a sense of being out of whack; out of place. And that sense doesn't end upon waking up. It takes me a good minute to realize, "It was just a dream. You didn't move to Atlantic. There isn't shit everywhere. Your cell phone is still from 1980."

I'm sure all of my dreams stem from the unsteadiness I feel in real life. It wasn't until my 30's that I realized the importance of security-- job security, to be exact-- and that security is tenuous right now. I feel a great sense of paranoia (obviously, since I blocked my blog and only you fine readers are allowed to see the inner sanctum of my mind-- aren't you lucky?)  I don't want to divulge anything to anybody. I feel like those I trust are running around talking to people I most definitely do not trust. So I simply keep my mouth shut. Do you know how damn hard that is for me to do? Just ask my parents. I don't think I've shut my mouth in 37 years. That might explain why my mom hums all the time.

Not only do I not want to talk to anybody, I'm paranoid about acts of kindness. A couple from church took me out to dinner last night. Nice. What do they know that I don't? Are they being nice because they heard all the negative talk about me? Do they know I'm going to be fired and this is my last supper? WHY ARE THEY BEING NICE?!? 

*sigh* Ignorance truly is bliss. I don't want to know. I want to live in my own little terrifying insane world and just not know. I believe our dreams are our subconscious' way of purging the insanity from our insides in a safe environment. Trust me, you do not want what's going on in my dream-world to manifest itself in real life. That would be bad for everyone, but especially me. Actually, it might be a little bit fun for all. I'm imagining a cross between the movies "Inception" and "Godzilla" with a far-lean towards Godzilla.

I can only please one person per day. Today is not your day. Tomorrow is not looking good either.

It's said that what you tell yourself over & over will eventually come to pass. So if you tell yourself you're bad, you're horrible, you're never going to amount to anything, well then, you probably won't amount to anything.  But, if you tell yourself you're a good person, you're smart, you're going to get what you want, then.....

Well, let's face it, that's a bunch of hooey.

I have to be the opposite of everyone else. I can't tell myself I'll get that job, that raise, that perfect man, that perfect cat. I have to tell myself I have no chance, I'm most definitely not going to get it. Only then will I be o.k. In school, every time I thought I got an A, I'd fail miserably. But every time I thought I failed, I got an A. Go figure.

I am ok. Really I am. I had a moment yesterday, prior to hitting the grocery store, when the thought of drinking my life away seemed appealing, but the sober, smart, logical part of me won-out. What's drinking going to do except make everything worse? Exactly.

I do not, however, want to talk about any damn thing relating to my life. I can write about it all I want, but I do not want to talk about it. I'm sick of it, quite frankly. It's hard telling someone, "I didn't get it" and seeing (or looking away from) the look on their face of pity, hearing the "poor you" in their voice, or listening to the platitudes. Ugh.  Who needs that?

So forgive me if I don't want to talk about it. Read my damn blog! That's what it's here for....just for moments like these.

And thanks...really & truly...for all the happy thoughts you've sent my way and for caring. I may not show it; I may hardly say it, but I do appreciate it. Now leave me the hell alone.

“I can’t tell if it’s killing me or making me stronger….”

The crushing weight of disappointment is palpable. 

“Freddie experienced the sort of abysmal soul-sadness which afflicts one of Tolstoy's Russian peasants when, after putting in a heavy day's work strangling his father, beating his wife, and dropping the baby into the city's reservoir, he turns to the cupboards, only to find the vodka bottle empty.” ― P.G. Wodehouse, The Best of Wodehouse: An Anthology

I realized this morning, I've protected myself for years from feeling this particular emotion. Keep your expectations low; have none at all so you won't have to feel this disappointment. I had my next two weeks all planned out. I had my resignation letter written. I pictured the moment of joy in turning it in. I relished a new opportunity, a new challenge, new people. I was so damn excited.  

The behavior of a person following a crushing disappointment says a lot about them. My behavior right now is pretty damn pissy. However, I'll get over that. I'll shed my tears. I'll feel anguish. I'll be in a downright bitchy mood the rest of the day, but tomorrow I'll get up; I'll stand up straight & strong; I'll realize it's not the end of the world. I will not, however, allow my expectations to exceed reality again. 

I have another interview Friday. I'm not hopeful. 

"People that hate cats will come back as mice in their next life." - Faith Resnick

I feel like the lowest form of a being. I'm pond scum. I'm lower than pond scum.

I'm ready to return Dale (aka, the cat from hell) or put her up for adoption. I'm giving the guy who gave her to me first dibs. After that, Dale's up for free adoption on Facebook. Do real mom's ever do this? I bet they want to once or twice....a week.

Anybody want a cat? One that will drive you insane? One that will track litter throughout the bathroom or down the hallway? One who will eat anything (literally, anything...leaves, bugs, whatever)? One who will find the least conducive place to plop down? One who will meow incessantly? One who will cuddle with you when she wants to? One who will entertain the pants off you? One who is adorable?

I think the problem is...we're too much alike. I don't like me. I don't want to hang out with me all day. I annoy me.

I'm ready to be a 1 cat household.....and maybe, eventually, a no-cat household.  I can't imagine what it would be like to not step on litter every time I walk into the bathroom, or cat food in the kitchen. I can't imagine not having a being to talk to when I get home. Maybe this will force me to get a man. Or a fish.




Dale - Up for grabs! She could be yours!

Update: Forgot to mention....a dog peed on my car while at the vets. I hate that place & whoever that horrible person was who allowed their dog to do that. Gross.  Everybody raves about this particular vet. I can't stand the place. I've not had one good experience there. Not one. And trust me, with Dale, I've been there enough times to know. Grrrr. I think it's time for a nap.

Update Update: Sorry folks, you waited too long. Dale is no longer up for grabs. The person I got her from took her back tonight. It was a traumatic experience for everyone (except Elvis) but it's over and I am delighted to say, my toilet paper is back on the roll! 

“What is the use of straining after an amiable view of things, when a cynical view is most likely to be the true one?” -George Bernard Shaw

My hopes are up. Way, way, way up. It's a dangerous place for me to be because in all likelihood, my hopes will be dashed.

Am I a pessimist? I guess I just might be after reading the above sentence. I tend to think I'm a realist, though. Let's look at the odds. I've applied for 100's of jobs. I've interviewed for, maybe, 5. Nobody has offered me a job. So, the odds are not in my favor.

However, I can't help but feel hopeful. This time it's a position that fits me perfectly. It's at an organization I trust, admire, and could thrive at. And most importantly, I know someone. Not someone directly involved in the position, but someone who works for the organization and "it's not what you know, it's who you know".

I'm off to write my resignation letter.

"I don't at all like knowing what people say of me behind my back. It makes me far too conceited." --Oscar Wilde

I had an okay day yesterday.

Today -- not so much.

A friend called me this morning to check in and see how I was doing. I was doing just fine; as fine as I could be, all things considered. However, by the end of our conversation, I was ready to spew vomit all over myself. I would have preferred spewing vomit all over someone else, but of course, he was nowhere to be found.

My friend suggested that folks were going to start blaming me. For what, I wonder? For the state of the church? Let's see. I've been here over 6 years. I haven't changed, but let's see.....what else has? Oh yeah, THAT. And what do I have to do with people attending worship or not? I'm pretty sure they aren't coming here for the announcements, so it can't be that. I'm behind-the-scenes. Over half of these people don't even know all that I do.  

Are they going to blame me for the awful flyer that was sent out regarding a certain individual? Puh-leeze. Like I would take the time & especially spend the money to do that. *eye roll*

But, what else is there?

My friend then told me there may be a group of individuals writing complaints against me.

Geezy lou.

Listen, I've pissed off plenty of people in this job. I can name a handful without even thinking about it. I have to tell people "no" all the time. It's my least favorite part of my job because I know it's going to piss people off. But do I do it? You betcha. Because it's my damn job. I have to develop and implement policy. Developing policy is easy. Anybody can write policy. It's the implementation phase that gets tricky. The enforcement-phase. "So what, you got a policy? I'm going to do what I want to do."  I have to say, ummm, no, it's not going to work that way and be the person that pisses people off.  I swear, that's why I was hired. I was hired to fire; to do the dirty things the pastor didn't want to do & couldn't do. I was okay with that....when I had a pastor; when I had someone supporting me; someone who had my back.

I feel so completely unsteady. I'm on a boat in rocky waters and I have slippery shoes on. Where are those damn boat shoes?

Here's what I tell myself:

1. There haven't been any (additional) complaints.....yet.
2. Even if there are, what can they be? Oooh, she hurt my feelings.....5 years ago! Well, for pity's sake, get over it already.
3. I've known for almost my entire 6 years here that 2 or 3 individuals hate my guts. Literally. Hate. My. Guts. So what else is new? So they put it in writing...Whoop-di-do. This isn't anything new to me.
4. I will find a new job.
5. I will laugh my way out of this one.

OR

1. I'll be fired tomorrow, or the next day, or the next day.
2. I'll never find another job. I'll be homeless. I might as well start drinking.
3. I'll be a street bum. In CB. Not a pleasant thought.
4. I'll sell myself to earn money for my insane drinking habit.
5. I'll be dead within a year.

Either option seems okay to me. Because, Hey!

When you don’t know what to do, walk fast and look worried.

I. AM. EXHAUSTED.

Is that what happens when one actually works? Or perhaps my exhaustion stems from having to be fake all morning long. Slap a stupid smile on this stupid face, tamper down every single molecule in my body telling me to punch someone, withhold my right to speak openly and this is what happens? It's exhausting being me. Or fake-me, as it were.

However, nothing makes me feel more alive than a good, honest day's work.  Oh, wait, did I say 'honest'? I meant 'lying-through-my-teeth' day's work. But still...I feel so energetic while at the same time feeling exhausted. Dual personality? Yep, I am a true Gemini.

I wage a battle within me during each personal interaction: Can I trust this person? Will they understand where I'm coming from? Whose side are they on? I'm almost to the point that I just don't give a shit anymore. Almost, but not quite. The battle comes from wanting to be a good employee. A good employee doesn't speak negatively about their boss, their organization, their HR department, etc, etc, etc. A good employee toes the line.

Do you see me ever being a Stepford employee? Me either.

I, obviously, have no compunction pointing out wrongdoing; making suggestions for a better way. Nobody has to listen to me, but I feel compelled to point things out. I'm right, dammit; just listen to me!

I've felt so alone throughout all of this and that's partly my own fault. I've hidden out, avoided people since I don't know if they're going to punch me, yell at me, shoot me or, on the flip-side, care for me. Today, however, I had to be in the middle of everything all morning long and it wasn't horrible. Nobody yelled at me. People actually smiled at me. I even introduced myself to a hot-dude, we've all been wondering, "What the heck is his name?" I was ON.

It's so draining.

"Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake." --Napoleon Bonaparte

There have been a couple of comments made that I'm "overfunctioning".  Huh? What does that even mean? I've been led to believe it's less-than-savory; that I've done some sort of harm to the organization; that I've led the church down some dark, dirty road. Puh-leeeeeze. Can you see me rolling my eyes? Imagine it, because I am.

I've done a bit of research on overfunctioning.  Am I any of these things?

Do I do things for others that they can do for themselves?
Do I feel responsible for others?
Do I have goals for others that the other people don't have for themselves?
Do I give advice without being asked?
Do I talk more than listen?
Do I periodically burn-out?
Do I do the work because I want it to be up to my standards?
Do I fear that I'll need to fix or re-do the work when it's not done well the first time?
Do I want to be liked and resist asking others to do the work?
Am I impatient with the process & time it takes to train others?
Am I afraid of the natural consequences that will come if I don't overfunction?
Do I overcompensate for "impossible" people & faulty systems to make things right for the organization?
Do I possess the best of intentions to care for others and provide unsolicited advice?

All right, all right. Shut your pie holes. Yes, I do many of these things....pretty much all except "possess the best of intentions to care for others".  I don't give a flying rat's ass if a particular person or two fail miserably. In fact, I would love it and probably die laughing. I can't tell you how many times I've said to the other staff over the last two years, "If you keep covering for him, he's never going to learn" or "If you keep doing for him, he's going to continue to expect you to" or "For God's sake, stop chasing after him if he misses an appointment! If he misses one or two or 10, maybe other people will finally see what we see!"

Boundaries. Define your life.

However.....

However, I do feel an incredible sense of responsibility to do good for the organization.

I'm an all-or-nothing kind of gal.  Obviously.  Meet me for just one drink? Awww, shit, that never happened. If I'm gonna drink, I'm gonna drink! What's the point, otherwise? So when it comes to overfunctioning, I'm either fully responsible or not responsible at all.

For example, we're at that time of year when people's terms are ending on various committees. We need to replace them.  What's happened in the far past was that the pastor & I would meet, discuss various replacements, divvy up the chores and git 'r done. What's happened the last two years? I've taken care of my two committees. Nothing has happened with the others-- the one's he is responsible for.  And that's okay with me. They're his responsibility. "Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake".  Thank you for that, Napolean. Thank you.

It's been enlightening reading about Overfunctioners (OF) and Underfunctioners (UF).  OK, it's been more fun reading about the UF's because it so clearly matches what I've been putting up with:

1. Act irresponsible (yep, doesn't take responsibility for a damn thing)
2. Float without goals or set goals and then don't follow through with them (you have no idea)
3. Frequently become emotionally and physically ill (ummmm, surgery, cancer, surgery, surgery; when is it going to end?)
4. Ask for advice rather than thinking things out for themselves (constantly- I swear, some people can't make a decision to save their own lives!)
5. Gets others to help when they don't really need help (ALL. THE. TIME.)
6. Tend to become addicted to substances (Wait? What? This sounds more like me....or maybe....)
7. Seem unwilling to do almost anything for themselves (Hello? Can you say helpless?)
And my all-time favorite...
8. Frequently asking for or alluding to needing help (Oh, the stories our custodian could tell).

Is it any wonder I've been overfunctioning??? How could I not in the face of all of that? How could I allow things to not be completed because they were left to the UF? How could I let the organization look bad because of someone else's incompetence? I couldn't. Plain & Simple.

oh boy, oh boy, oh boy I cannot wait until our next session with our mediator! Now I'm armed with information and information is power! No more will I shrink down into my seat when someone says, "You're overfunctioning".  My response will simply be, "No shit, Sherlock. Thank you for stating the obvious."

"You have a cough? Go home tonight, eat a whole box of Ex-Lax - tomorrow you'll be afraid to cough." ~Pearl Williams

I'm healthy as a horse and will live forever.

However, my test results did come back positive for 'moderate dysplasia'. On a scale of mild to moderate to severe, of course, I fall right smack in the middle.  Not "no big deal" and not "oh my god this is bad". I returned to the doctor the day after finding out my results and received a laser treatment, where he burned off all the bad cells inside me.  Yes, burned them off....inside my body. I'm sure millions of women across the globe have experienced this blissful joy, but it was a first for me and goddamn better be the last.

I did not ask my mother to drive me. I should have.

Any male doctor who tells you, "it's no big deal" and hasn't actually experienced the procedure himself should be strung up with piano wire by his nails.  And I even love my doctor! I really do! But, geesch, I thought he was trying to hurt me as much as possible. I started to wonder, "What did I do to piss you off?!? You don't go to my church, do you?"

I cried. And cried. And cried.

Yes, the procedure was uncomfortable. Yes, I felt like he was driving a bloody knife into me. But was that why I was crying? No. That procedure just gave my brain & body the excuse it needed to let the goddamn tears flow that have been building in me for weeks, even months. Finally, a release!

I sit in my apartment and think about work and feel wave after wave of panic and fear, but do I cry? Nope. Not even after someone screamed for my resignation. Not even then. My eyes are so dry I'm using drops. However, I'm on the verge every minute of every day and look out if your in my vicinity when the dam finally breaks.  The doctor will never be the same.

"A little rudeness and disrespect can elevate a meaningless interaction to a battle of wills and add drama to an otherwise dull day." -Calvin & Hobbes

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Got you singing, didn't I? I don't know how anybody could read those letters and not start belting out Aretha. Kudos to you if you didn't. 

I've been thinking a lot lately....too much actually...but thinking is what I do; it's how I manage my life and my reaction to life. If I didn't ponder things so thoroughly, who knows how awful my reaction(s) would be to all the idiots in the world? I can't imagine....

I've been thinking a lot about my interactions with people, especially after reading the complaint that was written against me. I think the complaint is baseless. In fact, I'm sure it is. However, I can recall other times, with other contractors and people, when I've had to put my foot down, be a little more stern & authoritative than usual and I'm sure their reaction was, "Bitch". *eye roll* Like "bitch" is a bad thing, right?  Why is it men can be forceful and be respected, but when a woman does it, she's a bitch? Society sucks.

I can recall another time, at another place of employment, when I dressed up (for Halloween) as another employee who we all detested. It was just a big joke. Now that was disrespectful! I feel bad about it. I do. I really do. And that's what got me thinking....maybe I really am disrespectful in all of my interactions! OK, maybe not all, but certainly a few.

So I went to work Friday with a renewed vigor to be more pleasant and respectful. It lasted all of an hour.

I wonder, how do you change something about yourself that's so ingrained and part of you?

In small baby steps. Maybe start with one person; someone a little bit easier, than say, the person who has caused you the most angst recently. Start with someone you actually like. That's my focus. Don't say anything derogatory or unpleasant about just one person and go from there. I'm hoping it will spread to others....but don't count on it.

“What is said of a man is nothing. The point is, who says it.” Oscar Wilde

Nastiness is flying around everywhere and while I believe everyone is entitled to their opinion, it doesn't mean everyone else has to listen to it. I've, today, become the recipient of that nastiness as I foretold to others last week. Once that door is opened and nastiness is allowed, it will spread and it will spread to any target available.

I take it all with a grain of salt. Do I believe the specific content of my own nasty-filled-letter? Absolutely not.

So why is my stomach in knots and I feel like I could vomit and I'm shaking (could be residual effect of the stomach flu) and why am I thinking maybe I should quit to save the church?

Because people not liking me confirms what I think of myself. I don't like me. I know I'm rough. I know I'm a bitch. Hell, my own father says I have an acid tongue that I don't know hurts other people. True. Very true. I know the thoughts I have in my head that I try to withhold from the public. I KNOW. When other people point out my character flaws, it simply brings to the forefront everything I try to squash down and hide about myself. It confirms that I'm a bad person and that now other people know I'm a bad person. It's a very scary feeling.

Thoughout all of this, from the very beginning, I've cranked, jammed to, sang along with, screamed at the top of my lungs, read and taken to heart the following song from Christina Aguilera, "Fighter". It rings even more true today.

After all that you put me through,
You think I'd despise you,
But in the end I wanna thank you,
'Cause you've made me that much stronger

Well I thought I knew you, thinkin' that you were true
Guess I, I couldn't trust called your bluff time is up
'Cause I've had enough
You were there by my side, always down for the ride
But your joy ride just came down in flames 'cause your greed sold me out in shame

After all of the stealing and cheating you probably think that I hold resentment for you
But uh uh, oh no, you're wrong
'Cause if it wasn't for all that you tried to do, I wouldn't know
Just how capable I am to pull through
So I wanna say thank you
'Cause it

Makes me that much stronger
Makes me work a little bit harder
It makes me that much wiser
So thanks for making me a fighter
Made me learn a little bit faster
Made my skin a little bit thicker
Makes me that much smarter
So thanks for making me a fighter

Never saw it coming, all of your backstabbing
Just so you could cash in on a good thing before I'd realize your game
I heard you're going round playing the victim now
But don't even begin feeling I'm the one to blame
'Cause you dug your own grave
After all of the fights and the lies 'cause you're wanting to haunt me
But that won't work anymore, no more,
It's over
'Cause if it wasn't for all of your torture
I wouldn't know how to be this way now and never back down
So I wanna say thank you
'Cause it

Makes me that much stronger
Makes me work a little bit harder
It makes me that much wiser
So thanks for making me a fighter
Made me learn a little bit faster
Made my skin a little bit thicker
Makes me that much smarter
So thanks for making me a fighter

How could this man I thought I knew
Turn out to be unjust so cruel
Could only see the good in you
Pretend not to see the truth
You tried to hide your lies, disguise yourself
Through living in denial
But in the end you'll see
YOU-WON'T-STOP-ME

I am a fighter and I
I ain't gonna stop
There is no turning back
I've had enough

You thought I would forget
But I remembered
'Cause I remembered
I remembered

That's my response. I'm a fighter. I'm not going to be bullied. I'm not going to take a threat lying down. I'm going to behave as I always do in the public eye. This isn't going to take me down. It isn't going to ruin me. It isn't going to make me drink.

I may, however, go home & cry & bury my head under the covers as any little girl would do. 

"To die will be an awfully big adventure." --J.M. BARRIE, Peter Pan

My appointment finally arrived.

I fully expected to spread my legs for yet another imbecile, pay hundreds of dollars for it (no, I did not purchase a gigolo, though that would have been more productive) only to be told, "You're fine".  What is it about all this that pisses me off? It's that the whole process is not my idea of fun and if I'm shelling out money, there better be a result. To go through all this and be told "Nothing is wrong" defeats the whole damn purpose. I may as well have stayed at work! That's right folks. Work would have been better. Now you know...that's just plain wrong.

And, let's face it. I'm fatalistic. Or nihilistic. It isn't that I think life has no meaning. It does! It means whatever you want it to mean. For me, life is death. Hey, it's a friggin' miracle I've lived this long, let's face it. I never intended to live this long. It just happened. I don't anticipate living to the ripe old age of 80, either. That isn't logical. Not for this body or mind.

So, being told I needed to have a biopsy wasn't a death-sentence for me in the way it is for other people. Other people are scared. Other people fear death. Other people strive to live and will do anything to stay alive. Me? I'm more like, "Eh, why fight it? I'm going to die eventually anyway. Might as well go out on a good note!"  I think death really is an awfully big adventure.  Nobody knows what's on the other side. Will we all just be worm food? Is there really an afterlife? Will I become a ghost and get to haunt all the bitches & asshats who did me wrong? Good golly, I hope so!  

Yesterday came & went and all is exactly as it should be in the world. I prepared (& was a bit giddy) about the worst....let's see....Who would take the cats? How would I get rid of everything in my apartment? Can I take Elvis with me when I go to live with mom & dad in my last dying days?....I had it all planned out. And because I had it all planned out, exactly the opposite happened, as I knew it would. Whatever I want in life, I get the opposite. I should start wanting different things. 

A biopsy was taken but even if it comes back positive, it's really no big deal. I'm going to live forever. It's so damn depressing. lol

I feel such a sense of relief that the day is over; that the doctor's office was absolutey superb; that I did not pass out or have a seizure; and that, yes, I am going to live....forever.

"May the forces of evil become confused on the way to your house." -George Carlin

That is my hope for myself.....that I am so private about where I live and how to contact me that when the shit hits the fan, nobody can bitch to me because they can't find me! 

What is it about an emergency- a crisis- that makes me function at a better level than usual? Give me an emergency every day and I'm in a good mood. Gas leak? I'll take care of it! Smell smoke? Call me! Child vomits in the office? Mom-mode kicks in! Lynch mob? Nope. You're on your own with that one. Crazy people scare me.

There is currently a tremendous amount of chaos, dissension, anger, fear and dysfunction all around me. I love it. I live for this shit. It isn't that I'm thrilled and happy it's happening. Hell no. I'm as pissed off about it as the next guy and I guarantee, I'm going to be wiped out by the end of the week. But for pity's sake, we can all handle it. We might come out a little more bruised and battered than we were before but Hey! That's the fun of life. 

What comes next?

Next is a doctor's appointment that has taken a long time to arrive. It's tomorrow. I'm not dreading the outcome. I'm dreading my brain's reaction to any tests that might be performed. My brain- the lovely, uncontrollable, unpredictable little organ that it is- tends to go into its own little world when it doesn't like what's happening.  I don't like not being in control. Shocker, huh? This worry-- while I poo-poo it and say "I know everything is going to be JUST FINE!"-- has been constant the last month and now that the moment has arrived.....well, let's just say, I hope I get some sleep tonight. 

So on top of the chaos & dysfunction surrounding me at work, I'm also wondering....will my brain stay completely awake tomorrow or is it going to shut-down?  Oh, and I guess I also wonder.....what will the outcome be? That might be a teeny-tiny, itty-bitty bit of worry I carry as well.  I hope for one thing and I usually get the opposite.

It's a miracle I'm not guzzling beer. 

Though, I don't want to miss this roller coaster that I'm on.  Who knows what will happen next?  Hell, I want to be sober as a church mouse so I don't miss anything! 

I'm as dysfunctional as the rest of 'em.  Where's the closest bar? :)

“I tell everybody, I'm tired of being jerked around, okay? So let's just not pretend. I don't have fuck for a heart. You people are not going to make me feel anything. You are not going to get to me.” --Chuck Palahniuk

I have so much to blog about, yet nothing at all.

If I were honest with you, dear reader, I'd scare the shit out of you. Let's not let that happen. Not that I'll be dishonest. I will simply omit some heart-truths.

People ask me how I'm doing and my reply is simply, "Same Shit, Different Day". However, the saying should be "Same Shit, Same Day" because every day is the same. Nothing seems to change. Thus, I have nothing at all to blog about.

Seinfeld was a show about nothing. They somehow managed to produce 180 episodes about nothing. Surely I can do the same for you (though, don't expect as much hilariousness as Seinfeld).

I think, every day, what a miracle it is that I'm not drinking. Every day. Thankfully, I realize it isn't the answer. It isn't a cure. It isn't going to help. It would only make things infinitely worse.

However....

It takes nothing to slide back into it. If a person wants to self-destruct-- chooses to, in fact-- nothing will stop them. Look at Lindsay Lohan. Geez, she's the prime candidate for someone to take over her life. I wonder what that would be like? It seems to have worked for Britney Spears (I had to google how to spell Britney. I'm proud of that fact...It shows I don't pay attention to her).

I don't want anyone to take over my life. I just want a different life.  I want to be someone else. Bob, our custodian, said I could have his life. I told him I should have been more specific about whose life I wanted. 

And while I piss & moan about what a shitty life I have, I get this on Facebook:


"Surprise! In your handwriting ____ Love you more!"


My niece tattooed my sign-off, "Love you more", on her foot...in my own handwriting.  When I first saw it, I couldn't stop smiling. I mean, come on! How awesome is that? I feel immortalized. Like, I'm not leaving any spawn on the earth, but my handwriting will forever be on my niece's foot.  I wonder, What the hell was she thinking? My handwriting sucks! And then I think, Is she pulling my leg? She didn't really do that, did she? I'm getting too smiley, too happy and then someone's going to pull the rug out from under me. She didn't do it. It's a joke. She can't love me that much. I mean, Dammit, I'm unlovable.

How can I be anything but strong & survive this shitty rathole after that? For her?

"Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness!" -July in the movie Annie

It's been a rough week. Rougher, certainly, than I anticipated. Am I surprised, though? Hell no. Anybody in my position would crack at some point after carrying this enormous weight for such a long time. I'm only surprised I could carry it for so long without cracking.

However, the crack did happen. It was a fissure. Reminded me of two tetonic plates sliding against each other, constantly grinding rock against rock and eventually-- somethings gotta give. It wasn't Mount Vesuvius. I didn't spew fiery, molten lava or anything, though I did shed a few tears. And now I'm just a hard crust.

It started Monday. No, it actually started Sunday with me taking the brunt of the hits. Then Monday rolled around and another hit came. That was the straw. Camel? Back? Couldn't hold it. I actually had the thought Monday, "I need a meeting".  Did I go to one? Hell no, but I did think about it. Come on....go outside my comfort zone? I don't think so! Who do you think I am? Then Tuesday appeared and Starbucks faked me out by making my decaf Pumpkin Spice Latte CAFFEINATED.  Bastards. Me & caffeine do not mix. At all. I was funky all day long and still upset about numerous things and I just didn't want to do this anymore.

I didn't want to do this anymore. This. Life.

Danger Will Robinson! Danger!

Before I left work, I called friends. I talked. I laughed. I tried not to cry. I couldn't just go home when 'going home' meant passing numerous gas stations and grocery stores where purchasing alcohol is just too damn easy. I should consider having "ALCOHOLIC" tattooed across my forehead. Would that stop a clerk from selling me booze? I doubt it. Anything for a buck.

I didn't just go home. I went for yogurt with a friend. I continued to try not to cry. On my actual way home, I called another alcoholic. "Just get me past this damn Kum & Go and I'll be fine".  Really? That's all it takes? No, no it doesn't. It takes a whole freaking village to make this idiot o.k.

Once home, I just stood in my dining room, staring at the floor while Dale bit my feet and Elvis stared at me. There was a pretty flacid (yes, flacid) debate going on in my head. It wasn't much of one.

Should I? Shouldn't I? I can't abandon these damn cats but I'll read about this and see what the side effects are. Maybe it will be soothing. I need soothed. I just want to drift off to some dark, empty world. Well, it sounds soothing but is it really or will I just make myself violently ill? I don't like being violently ill. That's certainly not soothing.

Shut this shit down and go put your pajama's on. You just need sleep.  And more talk with more friends.

I'll be damned (interesting phrase, isn't it? I think I've been damned and continue to be damned, so how does this phrase really have any meaning in my context?) But....I'll be damned if I'm going to have this kind of reaction because of evil, horrible, un-Christ-like asshats and bitches. Karma's a bitch, baby, and they'll get what they deserve.

Stick around and see what happens.....

A new day dawned......and I'm still here and I'm still sober, thank the FSM.

Wednesday wasn't a better day. In fact, it was infinitely worse. However, I had finally cracked and just laughed at the insanity and ridiculousness of everything.

WAMH

Next tattoo?

Can you see, just by reading this short blog, how sick & demented my brain is? It's fitting, then, that 'we're all mad here' is my new motto.

After the madness of this short week, I find myself in a place of anxiety-filled-terror, deep thoughts of sadness and fear, bouts of laughter w/ friends (& the t.v.) and random moments of calm. Crazy people never ask themselves if they're crazy. Only sane people do that. Am I crazy? Absolutely. WAMH.



“People who want to share their religious views with you almost never want you to share yours with them.” -Dave Barry

I just mentioned in an email to a friend how much I missed getting together for drinks. I used to be fun. I don't know what happened to that person. Just because I'm not drinking anymore, does that mean 'fun-me' went away? I guess so.

I used to host game night. My brother and friends would come over. My brother & I would drink plentious amounts of beer. We'd all laugh our asses off. I don't do that anymore. I'm too damn tired to laugh.

I used to go over to friends houses or meet them at the bar and we'd spend all night catching up, complaining about work, gossiping about horrible people, and making fun of those around us.

I don't do that anymore either...and for others, it's probably a good thing. I could get pretty evil. But fun-evil, ya know?

I miss having fun, yet fun without booze confuses me. How does it happen?

*Update* I do not, however, miss being a falling-down-drunk-crying-mouth-tastes-like-ass-worthless bitch.

"People who work in accounting departments often work 12 hour days creating reports that nobody cares about. This gives them a very bad attitude. Do not attempt humor around them." - Dilbert

Oh, I have so much I want to blog about. So, so much. Yet I refrain from doing so because I don't want to hear people's unsolicited advice. I hate unsolicited advice. Can't a person just vent anymore? I think that's why I love blogging so much. I can vent & vent & vent and not have to hear all of (your) thoughts on the matter. Especially since so few of you ever comment. :) 

I hate, after sharing something personal with someone, we're suddenly talking about them. Wait. What just happened here? I thought we were on me. Now we're on you? How did that happen? Oh, my thing is so insignificant, we just gloss over it like it's no big deal? I want to go back to my thing. Let's talk about me, just for one teeny-tiny, itty-bitty split second. Can you spare that?  And no, I don't want to hear how you or your family member or your cousin's neighbor or your neighbor's pastor's dog went through this same thing and it was no big deal. Really. I could care less. This is me. This is my thing. Fuck all those people and the damn dog. Let me dwell in this land for a little bit. Let me feel this. Allow me that much at least.

Or I refrain blogging about specifics out of a sense of duty. Or some warped sense of loyalty. Or simply to save my own ass from reprimand or knowing that what I think is just plain wrong.

I continue to float here in limbo-land. I think the Catholic's call it purgatory. I don't think there's a hell. If there is, this must be it. I hate limbo. I don't like leaving things unresolved. I need completeness in my life. I need a list of things to do so I can check them off at the end of the day and feel good about accomplishing something. Anything. Limbo doesn't allow me to check things off. They just keep getting passed from one day to the next. On & on & on.

And the not knowing.  This is how people go crazy. Just not knowing.  There's something hanging over my head -- actually 2 somethings -- no, wait, actually 3 somethings -- ah, nope, 10 -- and I simply have to wait.  I feel like I've been waiting forever. I thought I could handle it. I thought it wouldn't be a big deal. Yet, as the wait continues, my patience wears thin. It's so thin, I can see through it. It's practically invisible. *Poof* Patience is gone.

Maybe I'm simply having a bad day. I'm tired. I'm sick of pondering the possibilities. I want resolution already! I'm ready to move on to the next thing...whether it be good or bad...I don't even care! Let's just MOVE!

You tried your best and you failed miserably. The lesson is 'never try'.- Homer Simpson

I had a pre-job-interview this morning. I was excited about it. Hopeful. On my way home, I lost that hope.

I was fired from a job less than 10 years ago. It lingers. It never goes away. It hurts. I'd like nothing more than to learn from it and forget it. That's impossible when applying for a new job. Applications and interviews don't allow you to forget it. It seriously hinders a person's chance to promote themselves.

I was feeling pretty hopeless on my way home and had a bit of a "Fuck it" attitude. I pulled into the Kum & Go near my home and bought.....

Just now I realized what I could have bought. Just now. Not before I pulled into the parking lot @ Kum & Go. Not as I was walking into the store. Not even when I was standing in the store choosing the largest candy-bars they offer.  Not even then. Not once did it even cross my mind to buy booze.  That brings tears to my eyes.

I'm not sure the candy bars are any better....though they won't alter my mind.

As I was waiting in line to buy my arm-load of candy-bars with the full intention of eating every single one in one sitting, I saw this.....

Even though it is in the shape of a heart, which I find incredibly annoying, the message is clear.

I don’t suffer from stress. I’m a carrier.

I think being anxious, stressed, a bit depressed and angry on a daily basis for too, too long, has allowed me to more easily embrace a good day.  It's the little things that usually make me happiest.

A day off from work.
Waking up early (grumble, grumble)
Hitting Walmart before the crazies do.
Filling my fridge with groceries & soda.
Finishing laundry
AND BUYING A NEW T.V.!

Damn that Walmart for sucking me in with their low, low prices.  It was a bargain I just couldn't pass up. However, I really needed groceries. I was down to soup. Soup in 100 degree weather doesn't even taste good. Why is that? I can drink scalding hot coffee all day long, but eat soup? Yuck. So my car was loaded with groceries but I still wanted that damn t.v.  My car is the size of a gnat's ass so filling it with groceries was all I could do.  I knew that, so I did not buy the t.v.....right away.  I thought I'd be smart, find out how long it would be that price, go home, research the name-brand, quality, etc, then come back another day & buy it. 

Nope, didn't happen.

It was definitely an impulse buy and they had me as soon as I saw the bargain. Damn that Walmart.

I had to call a friend to meet me @ Walmart, put the t.v. in his truck, and deliver it to my home.  I owe this friend, big time. Lunch for a week! 

It's hooked up & working beautifully. The 'old' t.v. is also hooked up in my bedroom. I'm now anxiously waiting for Elvis to try to jump onto the t.v. cabinet, thus knocking over the new t.v. That will be my day. Eagle-eye-Amy watching acrobatic-Elvis.

A new t.v. might not seem like a simple thing...but this will.  Dale has a problem, still...and more than one.  I put newspaper under the litter box to catch excess litter from their little paws. Dale likes to shred the newspaper. Wakes me up multiple times a night, playing with the newspaper. Bitch. And Gross, right?  So I bought a plastic boot tray at Walmart to take the place of the newspaper.  I also had to buy a new rug for the bathroom because Dale likes to play with the old rug which didn't have the rubber matting on the bottom anymore (old) so it would 'slide' across the floor....into the newspaper.  This was driving me crazy so the old rug & newspaper are gone and.....I'm sure she'll find something else to destroy/ruin. 

Those simple, little things and everything working on just right and being in a good mood have all made for a good morning...but this was the best news yet.

Thursday's are my day to write my letter/card to my niece, who's in basic training for the Air Force.  I was getting ready to sit down to do just that and thought, "She's been gone a long time...when does she graduate?"  Luckily, I texted my brother and SHE'S GRADUATING RIGHT NOW! He's in Texas with her, watching her graduate. I'm so happy for her & proud of her....I still get to send her cards since she'll be in Texas for awhile, attending school.  Glad about that because I just bought new cards. While Walmart can cut prices on televisions, they don't seem able to do that with cards. Bastards.

Brother Chris & his daughter, Zoe

So, simple things=happiness? You betcha.  A shiny, big, new t.v. doesn't hurt either.

"Dying is a very dull, dreary affair. And my advice to you is to have nothing whatever to do with it." -W. Somerset Maugham

I'd like to find the person who first said, "When it rains, it pours" and shoot them in the foot because I'm sure if they hadn't ever coined that phrase, it really wouldn't pour when it rains.  Yet, that's where I've found myself.....I was going to say the past few weeks, but let's face it. My whole life has been a "when it rains, it pours" kind of life. Isn't everyone's?  However, the past few weeks have been exceptionally stressful and I don't see any light at the end of this tunnel.

It's pitiful to bitch about such insignificant life experiences after attending a funeral. My aunt passed away last week after a long battle with cancer. She lost. It sucks. I'm betting, eventually, it will kill all of us. Hell, I will be seriously disappointed if I don't at least get lung cancer.  What the hell do I smoke for? (re: sarcasm) My aunt was one of those rare truly good people. The funeral was well attended. My mother told me once, "nobody will attend your funeral".  I wonder, is that the point of life...to see how many people will come see me in death?  I don't think so.  And like I'll care, right? I'll (hopefully) be ashes at that point. No embalming, horrible makeup, bad hair, dressy clothes for me. Roll me into a ditch and set it on fire. I hate funerals.

I'm not a 'good' public crier. Is anyone, really?  I'm worse. If I let loose, I'll sob. Snot will roll down my chin. I'll shake uncontrollably.  It's not a pretty sight. I'm horribly uncomfortable at funerals.

"The purpose of a funeral service is to comfort the living. It is important at a funeral to display excessive grief. This will show others how kind-hearted and loving you are and their improved opinion of you will be very comforting." P. J. O'Rourke, Modern Manners, 1983

I try, desparately, to hold in my tears. It's not easy, but it would be worse to unleash the storm. I couldn't hold it in any longer, however, when my older brother gave me a hug at the cemetery. Bastard. I tried to deflect and told him, "Ben & I decided you have to handle mom and/or dad's funerals. We can't handle it...."  He laughed and said, "Thanks". 

That's what funerals make me do. I know I should be remembering the person who has passed, celebrating their life, comforting those who remain.  Oh no. Not me. Selfish Amy? Hellloooooooo!  I'm thinking about myself, how I would react if my mother passed away. I told Ben he might as well commit me to a rubber room for the rest of my life because I'm absolutely positive, I couldn't handle the death of any of my immediate family. Any of them.

I'm a horrible person.

On a somewhat brighter, wierder note....On the way South to the funeral, my brother & I passed a broken down, decrepit barn.  As we passed, I saw this:



Not the actual barn. Ben wouldn't stop for pictures...

 I'm fascinated by this. The Cat in Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland said this to Alice.  Her response was, "How do you know I'm mad?"  There's something....delightful?....about this to me. I can't quite explain it or  understand it myself, yet I keep picturing the barn and the quote in my mind's eye. It makes me smile.

I'll be picturing this a lot this afternoon. Work is incredibly stressful and even though I've popped 2 pain pills so far today, my lower abdomen is not helping the situation by rearing it's alien-ugly-head for the past two days. Could someone please tear open my body & take out what's hurting me? Please? I may even pay you. Or at least I'll stop bitching about this shit.

So, this afternoon, while I'm again, probably, struggling to hold in my goddam tears, I'll be picturing this beat-down barn and wondering about the person who spraypainted, "We're all mad here" and thinking, "Yes, Yes we are". 

"I pledge allegiance to the flag of THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA"

I don't know if this is 'for real' or not, but even still-- I've never been happier to be a Pepsi drinker.

(via r/atheism)