Though It's A Season Of Giving

It's wise to remember that not all things should be given.

Submitted by longtime Blahg booster Omer, I give you some home spun craftiness:

Source: http://kneelift.tumblr.com/image/105913546582

It's The Most Magical Time Of The Year

I'm thousands of miles from my family. My roomies have headed out for the holiday. It could be a sad story.

But . . . 

My leetle seester sent gifts that arrived back in early Dec.

Both my brothers sent me cards. One put in a ridiculous cash gift. 

I got home and my roomies had left a pile of brightly wrapped gifts on my bed: all in Crazy Christmas Red.

Two care packages arrived from my Moo. So now I'm listening to my very own Christmas CD while I assemble my new Charlie Brown Christmas Tree--my little brother's idea.

My room is wrecked because I had to make room for unpacking and putting out the presents. That's a pretty good problem to have.

I don't give a shit about presents. But this year I have been reminded of the awesome power of physical tokens of remembrance. I've also been reminded of the importance of human connection.

And that's how you end up feeling loved from across a continent. I've got music, I've got decorating duties, and I've got the knowledge that people out there have been thinking about me.

Gotta go, Johnny Mathis is singing.

He Said, "Bill, I Believe This Is Killing Me," As The Smile Ran Away From His Face

Today at work was not catastrophic. It was just more of the same soul crushing bullshit. It's hard when nothing feels better, when nothing gets better, when your exhaustion just won't quit.

I escaped to some outside benches for my lunch break. I tried to hide in a corner behind a trash can in the less crowded part of the area.

While there I had a really hard time not crying. It's not very often, but sometimes water just won't stop running down my face. Good think I wore the waterproof mascara today, for real.

Then a custodian wandered by to change the trash bag and he kept asking me what was wrong. He was trying to be nice, but why do people do that? "Is it your boyfriend, your parents?" I can't even remember all the things he listed.

I had to clap my hand over my mouth and run away.

Another stellar day.

You Laugh, But I Keep Telling You Fewls

They're calling this an allergic reaction. Bewl sheet, mayn!

http://edition.cnn.com/2008/HEALTH/conditions/02/28/medical.mystery/index.html?eref=yahoo

That's some bovine spongiform encephalopathy. That's some Cretzfeld Jakob's. That's some Mad Cow Disease, yo!

DEM PRIONS IS COMING FOR YOU

QUIT EATING BRAINZ, YOU FEWLZ

YOU BRING ABOUT YOUR OWN DOOM WITH THESE TRIFLING BRAIN EATING ZOMBIE SUPPORTING ACTIONS

Laugh it up, you kuru-mongering genocidal organ meat eaters. Laugh it up as you destroy the world.

(i'm right about those damn robutz, too)

Direct Quote From My Current Employer

"He doesn't own you. I own you."

Spoken to my face yesterday.

Blatherblahg offers no editorial or additional details at this time. We feel this one stands on its own.

Damn! We're In A Tight Spot

After moving across country and getting laid off, I've had several years now of difficulty trying to get work. I can count on one hand the number of interviews I've landed. Even when I've aimed low, just can't seem to work it out.

Naturally, not having a regular income combined with significant medical costs has left me quite destitute. I've burned through my sad little 401k, etc.

So, you would think accidentally getting a semi-decent job would be a boon, a benefit, a balm.

Instead it has been a misery.

I've been struggling mightily with this. As you can see, even on a day off my brain has me up at 5:30 a.m., my thoughts skittering after each other in an unpleasant and endless loop.

Why has it been so hard? I'm not sure I can accurately say at this point. I've spent a sickening amount of time trying to figure out why I'm so constantly offended, frustrated, and stymied by the people and the environment. It's so pervasive and so overwhelming that I've spent a great deal of time wondering if perhaps the problem lies with me. Maybe I've just gotten too old and grumpy. Or maybe, after all the shit life has thrown at me, I've finally just lost my ability to maintain. Shit, I've even wondered if maybe I never had my shit together in the first place and now it's just showing.


I'd like to point out that prior to this I've had a lot of success in the work place. It's been noted by multiple people over the years that I seem to have a knack for getting along with "difficult" people and making hard situations work. I compartmentalize pretty well, don't take things personally, and focus on end goals.

So what's going on? Have I just lost all my skills? Is this job so different and stressful that it's a uniquely terrible experience? Is this just another byproduct of having no thyroid and the constant life changes that accompany that?

Honestly, I can only get so far in my estimations before it all becomes too depressing to contemplate.

The people I'm working for offend me. From my perspective, they are not terrible people, but they aren't very good managers. There's an appalling dearth of basic social skills and awareness coupled with an embarassing level of self involvement. There is constant intense demand for efficiency and perfection, but no consistency in what is requested and no tools provided to achieve those requests. In fact, a sure way to get something wrong is do exactly as you've been instructed. And instructed is a strong word there, it's less instruction and more "the thing I told you about briefly but can't be arsed to actually define what I want so I'll just toss it out at you before I disappear behind closed doors and you are Not Allowed to ask me questions about it so get it done so I can reject it later on with no feedback other than: it's wrong."

All of which might be tolerable, if the office itself wasn't designed for failure. Or if not failure, then the sure maintenance of a sub standard environment in which no improvements are possible and nothing can really get better. Do your job correctly and use these tools and procedures, just ignore all the bits that don't make sense or are blatantly incorrect. Use these systems, but we get grumpy if you "waste time" by actually attempting the meager training.

Perhaps it's just my weird personal hang up, but when my ability to actually do my job correctly is compromised or impeded, I get really cranky and distressed. I'm not familiar with the work, don't know what I'm doing, don't have a model or guide, and often can't even use basic logic because these people are illogical.

So, of course, all of that is just my perspective. And I've spent a great deal of time trying to think, strategize, and rationalize myself out of the feelings my perception has created. I'm very disappointed in myself. Why can't I rise above the petty problems of a workplace? Why can't I employ some zen acceptance? Why am I letting this situation bother me? Why can't I make this work?

I haven't had a steady job in years. I should be glad to be making any money. I should be hanging in there to try and get health insurance. I should be grateful that I can take these paychecks and devote them all to debt payment. Right? I should be doing everything in my power to make sure I keep this job, right? I should suck it up and get over whatever this thing is. I should be practical.

I consistently try to understand the workings of things, to get to the core of feelings, actions, motivations. But I am beginning to wonder: at what point should one cease searching for explanations and simply react to the situation? Is there a point where the healthy response becomes "I don't have to know why it makes me miserable, I just need to know that it makes me miserable."

Even thinking that way feels like a cop out, a shirking of intellectual and emotional duty. But I am forced to consider this perspective when the misery of a situation has started to color everything. Perhaps I will never be smart or strong enough to figure out how to deal with this situation. Maybe that means I should just admit defeat.

All Ye Need Know Of French In One Sentence: Nous sommes calmes

Nous sommes calmes: We are calm.

It's pronounced: new sum cahlm.

New sum cahlm.

Nous sommes calmes.

Notice anything there? That's right. All three of those words end in an s. And not a single one of those s-es gets pronounced. Nosireebob! Not a one.

Vive le fromage!

My Life Is A Movie

It's just the wrong one.

The vile fluorescent light over my desk is flickering. Well, it's actually strobing.

You guys remember that scene from Joe Vs. The Volcano?

It's a lot like that.

p.s. does this mean i have a (gesture). . . Brain Cloud?

Trick Questions And Wandering The Interwebz

I'm such a nerd. Got a holiday weekend and I've wasted a bit of it online. I don't even play cool games (never did beat 2048, now that I think about it). No, instead I've lost my mind and decided to take online courses.

ALL THE COURSES.

I'm starting with languages, since I'm eternally fascinated by them but have no real practical knowledge. It may very well be that my fascination is summarily killed by the influx of practical knowledge, but that's a risk I'm willing to take.

I have to. I'm Batman.

Anyhoo, some of the learning sites ask you: What language do you want to learn first?

Ha ha. What a question. My answers, in no particular order and based solely on what is offered, go something like:

Dutch, Russian, Mandarin, Hebrew, Romanian, French, Italian, German and Greek.

But that's just silly. What it should be is:

Spanish, Spanish, Spanish, German, French, and Spanish.

Realistically speaking, Russian and Mandarin are kind of insane goals. They should probably be third/fourth+ language choices, what with the entirely different alphabets and stuff.

German would probably be easiest and has some people I can practice with in real life. However, limited environmental applicability.

Spanish is the solid leader, as a base Romance language as well as something I could easily practice reading, watching, and speaking.

Which leads me to the question: so what the hell am I doing trying to learn Dutch. The hell? I have these other language models queued up, but really I just do those sections so I can go back and do the Dutch part.

As with all my schemes, I imagine this one will drop off after a brief time.

For a look into online free language courses, check out:

http://www.duolingo.com/

http://livemocha.com/

What I Love About Bruce Springsteen Is. . .

. . . How he can write a sharp political protest song and still make me giggle like ze leetle girl.

Bruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuce!

Living In The Future
Magic
Bruce Springsteen, officially
Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band, in reality

Dear Mom: Don't Read This One

There i am, on the phone back home,  just whining away about my sorry life when I hear someone on the other end coughing in the background.

It's a horrible, wet, squelching sound. It rolls on and on and I can hear the cougher struggling for breath, almost sobbing at one point.

It sounds like it hurts.

How can I have the gall to be mad at the world when I have done nothing of substance to help the people that have helped me? How come I haven't been out using this supposedly great brain to figure out some cure, some way to make it better? Why haven't I made a boatload of money so I can pay for the best treatments?

It was such a terrible sound.

When To Call It, What To Call It

Here's one way to tell it: 

• Woke up and my foot is still a problem. The blister has left a crater in my heel. Were I a grosser, more sadistic person, I’d post a photo. Shoes hurt.
• Running behind, can’t stop for breakfast. And by breakfast, I mean my RDA of the Pepsi Colas and the Dr. Peppers. 
• Get to parking garage, lock keys in car.
• Locked out of computer at work. (Noticing a theme here?) Spend 10-20 minutes on hold with IT trying to get back on.
• Get pulled into surprise conference call at work. Literally have a phone to each ear as I try to coordinate getting locksmith.
• Locksmith arrives 30 minutes early. Good thing I finally answered my phone.
•  Locksmith can’t get into parking garage. Clock out from work and walk down to garage. . .
•  . . . Where I proceed to give the locksmith the wrong street entrance. Twice. Good times.
• Somewhere in all of this, traditional period cramps return with a surprising amount of vigor.

  

It’s fair to say that somewhere in all of this I got extremely flustered. But there’s an important point here of which I try to remind anyone who thinks my life is too awful:

In this world, there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so. The story is all in how you tell it. Because: 

• I’m wearing my most comfortable pants and a fairly pretty new shirt today.
• My hair is not perfect, but it looks a bajillion times better than it did Monday. Also the zit on my nose mysteriously disappeared overnight.
• On a hunch and motivated by financial desperation, I called Ye Olde Credit Carde Company. I get AAA-like benefits and can get my car unlocked for free.
• I packed my dorky and inappropriate but very comfortable sandals. I wear them to run down to the garage.
• The sun is out and it’s a beautiful day.
• Even though I totally bollocks the directions, the locksmith is super friendly and nice when I finally do meet up with him.
• I use my clock out time to grab some beverages and jerky. To go.

"I'll take a glazed doughnut. And a bottle of anything. . . to go!"

Upon returning to the office, I decided to invoke a McConaugheDay, modified, of course.

For those of you new to the concept, a McConaugheDay is when, no matter what, everything is just “alright, alright, alright.”

It’s related to No Fucks Given. I’ve only invoked them in the past on a day off. Usually bowling is involved.

But here’s the thing about life: it tends to get easier the more slack you cut other people. There may not even be such a thing as true altruism, from my perspective, since most things are done to indirectly benefit the self, in some way. Rather than focus on the depressingly selfish side of that, I like to think of it as a really great incentive to make the world a better place.

So I’m calling it a McConaugheDay. It’s gonna be a test of my Zen and ability to Give As Few Fucks As Possible. But I think it’s worth a shot.

And no sooner was I looking up that lovely David Lee Roth image above than the Senior Partner comes over to educate me about how the expense report I submitted was wrong* and how I should stop my boss from doing such thing**.

And you know what? I ain’t even mad. Not upset, not victimized. not guilty, not picked on.

Perhaps the McConaugheDay is more powerful than I credited. We shall see.

*he don’t know the half of it. srsly.

** as if! ha!

here's what you need to know about how the healthcare system "works"

i am out the medication that is required for me to stay alive. that's not an exagerration. barring spontaneous organ regeneration, if i don't get this medication i will eventually slip into a coma and have multiple organ failure.

now, when i ordered this medication, the pharmacy didn't tell me that it required info from my doctor to fill it this time.

the mail order pharmacy, chosen for ease of use ha ha ha, didn't tell me jack shit. i found out when i realized that it had been about 10 days since i placed my order and there were no meds.

when i questioned it, they deigned to tell me it required input from my doctor.

why they didn't get this info on their own, as they have done before, is a mystery.

call and email my doc. he rings me two days later at 7:00 pm on a friday. he has never heard from the pharmacy and blah blah complication-cakes, looks like he can't get the authorization through. in keeping with the themes of my life, the phone number i gave him didn't work.

so i contact the pharmacy again and ask, again, for contact info that my doc can use.

pharmacy responds that they have faxed him. "what?" i hear you ask. i don't know either.

(by this time, with all these delays, i am out of my medication? i'm not even gonna talk about how this wouldn't be a problem if there weren't idiotic refill date constraints. god forbid i get all of my mediation sooner than i immediately have to have it--wouldn't want that. )

so i email them both, again, and provide all the info i can and wait for monday.

monday comes. no response from anybody.

so, when you hear me talking about legalizing all drugs and making them available to the average joe, think on this situation before you decide i'm some kind of radical nutjob.

i can't get medicine that i've been ordering for years, medicine required to fucking live, because somebody dropped the ball and my pharmacy and doctor can't communicate.

i'd be furious if it wasn't so typical that i'd gotten used to it.

this is my life. i'm tired of explaining why it's less than inspiring. i try so hard to be aware and thankful. maybe one day the world will give me something to be thankful for, other than disaster aversion. i'm not holding out much hope at this point.

So I Walked Outside And My Car Is Gone

No shit.

Been home sick yesterday and today. Which means I hadn't moved my car since Tuesday morning, when I re-parked it on the correct side of the road for street sweeping that day.

Ventured out to the drugstore on foot today, noticed my car was not around. Uh-oh.

Long story short, looks like I parked in front of a fire hydrant and got towed and impounded. I didn't even realize we had hydrants on that side of the street. Bonus points because I had to move my car to that spot to avoid a ticket for parking on the street cleaning side. If I had not moved the car or if I'd gone to work, no towing would have occurred.

So, it's better than the car getting stolen. So there's that.

Apparently the ticket for the fire hydrant (i should take a picture, it's a zillion years old and was once, maybe, painted a dull yellow) is a separate charge from the $300+ I had to pay for towing and impounding.

Did I mention I've just been basically writhing around in pain, waiting for my period to start, with none of my clothes fitting, ranging from uncomfortable to painful? Because that's still going on.

My life is so stupid.

Marooned On The Couch

This is not good.

Unexpectedly, I have today off. There is an event I want to attend later this evening. It would also be very, very smart to do any of the following: walk over to small shopping center and search for a few items, go to grocery store, shine shoes, trim nails, sort and file, and probably lots of other things I don't even remember right now.

Upcoming TMI warning.

The thing is, I'm hella crampy and bloated. But my period still hasn't started. It's just lingering, painful and foreboding, on the edge of existing. And I'm downing NSAIDS like I own stock in them. Did I mention I'm uncomfortable to the point of pain? (in addition to actual pain).

And there's nobody in the house so I'm sitting on the couch with a heating pad. And even though I really should go to that get together later tonight, it would be good for me, I'm just not feeling like doing anyfuckingthing right now.

*sigh*

i'm my own worst enemey

dear uterus: YUNO act right?

I'm Trying Real Hard To Be The Shepherd

I'm not talking about how I really feel because there's nothing good to say. People aren't interested in how you feel when how you feel is nothing but negativity. They don't need that in their lives.

(if you doubt this, try listing off some of your darker thoughts to somebody and feel them close up like a flower, shrinking away from you)

I have bills I can't pay.

There are aspects of this job that actually will cost me money. Example: I don't get any benefits until I make it through three months. That's around Feb 2015. Meanwhile, having a job invalidates my current Health Care status (not that I've seen ANY benefits from that, but whatever). In order to get intermediary coverage I have to reapply. Last time it only took them around 8 months to process my application. See where this goes?

Added fun: still have a heap of expenses from my supposed "covered" period. Supposedly I can file to have these somewhat reimbursed. How? Well, that's a good question. Let me pull out one of the 10 or so acceptance/rejection letters and try that old contact number again that goes to the voicemail that is full.

Just an example. Just my life.

I take deep breaths and tell myself to just take it easy, that I'm blowing things out of perspective.

I'm exhausted, truly exhausted. I feel old and stupid. I can't tell if I'm making mistakes because I'm tired, because I'm old and slow, or because I'm completely stressed out. Guess it doesn't really matter when the results are the same.

I have new people in my life that are dancing on my last nerve, laughing in my face, and begging for me to tell them to Fuck Right Off. Overreaction? I keep telling myself that.

But what if the truth is that I'm just too old and tired to deal with this kind of bullshit?

But thoughts like that are self indulgent. So I'll suck it up, go somewhere and have somebody put their pansy ass little bad moods on me, try to stay unaffected, and maybe it won't all be so bad soon.

I try so hard to be mindful, to be objective, to see the other side, to be grateful.

But I'm tired, Ringo. I'm real tired.

My God It's Beautiful Outside Right Now

I woke at 4 am with a headache. My stomach is sour. My eyes are killing me. I feel like shite.

But it rained last night through this morning in the city of angels. The sun has risen and golden light is peeking through a smattering of grey clouds and low, lazy, white drifts. It's still soft outside and nothing is brilliant yet.

The air is cool and damp and wonderful. It's the first real chill of the season.

I will always love Autumn. It is the coolth of a gentle cloth on my fevered brow; it is the soothing breath; it is the cleansing balm of my soul.

Lord Jebus Give Me Strength

My new boss just shot me with an air bazooka for asking a stupid question about some abbreviations he made up.

Seriously.

This is why I don't own firearms. I would have taken out my pistol and shot his dumb ass.

Repeatedly.

Now I have to Not Think About This because I have more work to do for this asshat.

Maybe Jebus shouldn't give me strength. Maybe he should just give me the upcoming lottery numbers. Or a tank.

If I Fall Any More In Love With Rick Grimes This Is Going To Get Awkward

Vague The Walking Dead spoilers through S5E3 to follow. You know, you could probably consider the title a spoiler. Whatevs.


It's already embarrassing.

I'm not sure when this Rick-Love started, but I realized how bad it was tonight when I was watching S5E3 and I said, out loud, alone in the living room, "Oh lord Rick please don't do anything stupid or get hurt or anything bad because if something bad happens to you i just don't know what i'll do!!!!!"

That is soooooo pathetic. I mean, this is The Walking Dead. The minute you think you can't live without a character is the minute they become zombie food.

Except Daryl.

Believe it.

Anyhoo, The Walking Dead is wearing me out. It's not just about the Rickle Pickle. When Daryl stumbled out of the woods at the end of this ep there was about 3 seconds where he didn't speak. In that three seconds I thought:

OHMYGODDARYLPLEASEDONTBEBITTEN

AIIIIGGAAAWDWHYARENTYOUTALKING

OHJAYSUSHELPMECAROLWHERETHEFUCKISCAROL??????????????

Or something to that effect.

I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to giggle when Rick said "Carol and Daryl." Pretty sure I was supposed to be horrified after he macheted that douchebag Gareth to death--but I wasn't.

Pretty sure I was supposed to empathize with Maggie and Glen's horror at the church carnage. I didn't. Think I was supposed to feel bad when Michonne got her katana back. I cheered.

The Walking Dead: When The Zombie Apocalypse Is More Cheerful Than Your Life.

My Moo Doesn't Understand Some Of My Posts

I had to explain to her, "This is all just random, here. There is no narrative."

"Ah," she replied. "That helps."

"I've transcended the narrative."

"You've transcended the narrative, all right."

heh

Some People Say My Blog Is Funny

I don't really understand what they mean. I mean, I guess it's cool that people can laugh at my pain? I don't know. I'm just telling you the TRUFAX of what happens in my life. Is it my fault that it seems like a French farce had a baby with Woody Allen* and that's my life.

*and they managed to stop him from marrying it this time!~ed. apologize for obligatory Woody Allen joke, included at authorial insistence despite strong advice to the contrary.

If you think my blog is funny, that is like thinking the problem of Worst Cats is some kind of joke.

MEOW MEOW MEOW

It's no joke.

No joke at all.

~ed. the entertaining part of this entry was brought to you by linlin

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Welcome back to Ways I Know My iPhone Is Fucking With Me! It just created a random brand new playlist and it's all impossible male vocals, falsettos, reggae, ben folds five, fuuuuuuuuuuck. I really hope the neighbors can't hear this. Gawd, why do I own so much depressing music? This damn phone doesn't even know how to connect a call or ring properly: HOW THE FUCK IT KNOW HOW TO GIVE ME ANXIETY ATTACK? Apple: Making You Feel Unworthy Of Our Tech. Fook.

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Can you still see that gif of the cat moving? It's unsettling yet strangely hypnotic, yes?


*******************************

Tomorrow I start a job for which I am wholly unprepared. I haven't even looked up the two things the boss told me to (one work, one trivia). I've been a little preoccupied. And in a mall. Those places are institutionalized vampirism. 

Here's Why Helping Other People Is The Best Medicine

(I got stuff. Thangs.)

It's nothing noble: that notion to reach beyond yourself in moments of darkness. That urge to help another person isn't some altruistic act that elevates you to a Zen plane.

It's purely selfish.

When help another person, you take the opportunity to write the script for what you wish the universe was saying to you at that very moment. It's like you're writing instructions: see? see? THIS is what I need to hear!

You get to pour every ounce of love, compassion, honesty, empathy, gentleness, importance, and sympathy into it that you wish the world were showing you.

You get to live out what you need by becoming what you want. Tricky bit of business, that. Takes a particular type of neurotic not to almost make happiness out of that.

Fuck all dis noize!!! Imma jam on The Walking Dead!

spoilers of the broadest kind for Walking Dead to follow

Hush yore pretty little mouf, baybay. No worries. I got 600lbs of Walking Dead here. Aw yeah!

I'm Rick Grimes, biatch! Do I love Rickle Pickle because I aspire to be like him? Or do I love Sheriff Friendly because he aspires to be like me? Mobius strip of mutual admiration.

I don't know if my roomate's noticed, but every time I try to do Rick's voice I end up sounding like Bill Clinton. Damnit, Andy Lincoln! How you gonna make a southern-escapee not be able to do your accent?

Sorry, I laughed way too much at this one not to include it. It's okay if you don't get it. It's sort of the pinnacle of an Internet meme. You also have to be deeply, morbidly disturbed to think it's funny. I don't know how I ended up with so many Rick gifs.

Okay, seriously, is he just always eyefucking the camera? That looks like a godamn cologne ad.

It is also worth noting that many nice things happened to me today, including getting invited to a thanksgiving, congratulated by the gas station guy, and loaned $.25 in line to get sodas.

and that's why helping other people is the best medicine

Here's A Moment

I've been out all day and just got home. There is an offer of employment sitting in my inbox. Haven't read it yet.

I bet the Germans have a word for the apprehension of disappointment coupled with the resignation of acceptance.

I don't even want to look at the damn thing. But it will ease my mind to some degree.

In any event, looks like I have to go shopping. I hate shopping for pants. And shirts.

It's been a while since I had to look presentable.

Edit:

This is the part where I sound ungrateful.

Well, the offer is around ~18% less than I was making when I moved here (my initial salary here was actually a little shy of me being able to completely support myself). After only 120 days of employment, I am eligible for unspecified health benefits and the ability to accrue up to 5 whole days a year in sick leave. The hourly rate is $4.04 more than I was making on my last job (for a friend) in Panama City.

Yesterday I met a former lawyer (they're fucking everywhere) who moved to SoCal six weeks ago. He has already booked two jobs, attends classes, and goes on auditions almost daily.

fuck my stupid life

fuck it fuck it fuck it

Have You Found Yourself Saying "Bananas" Lately?

I've found myself using the word "bananas" as slang for crazy or over the top lately. I'm assuming I picked it up somewhere, maybe online? Since I caught myself saying it, I've noticed it being typed/said quite a bit.

Now, this may be a case of "you always see what you look for." But I can't help but feel that somehow "bananas" is part of some language virus that's spreading. Like douchebag.

Unexpected Phone Interview

There is nothing like being loopy and totally unprepared for a phone interview. Cheese and rice, that was stressful.

And he was a lawyer. Normally, I'd be ready to go. But I am not myself today and having some congestion medication loopiness. Took stuff this morning because, I foolishly thought, "I got nothing going on today. Don't even have to drive anywhere."

Ha ha. Handy J needs a ride to work after all. Lawyer calls to grill me. Yikes.

Also unexpected: landing an interview from this phone call. I have to go buy some kinda suit for my fat ass. Yuck.

While this is good news, in a sense, it's mostly filling me with an unspecified dread. This is a real job, not something I can just screw off and do. I will have to learn stuff.

I obvs need to do this, because financial reasons. Furthermore, I should probably give up the ghost on any of my dreams and start getting real about my future.

I've had all this time to make something happen and I haven't. Doesn't that mean it will never happen? Maybe I'm not hungry enough. Maybe I didn't try hard enough? I am not sure what to do even now, so I think that's probably a given. Maybe I just didn't have what it takes to really go for it.

Today's Morning Grumpus

Get rid of the six foot table, printer, and stack of papers in the hallway: nobody notices.

Leave a Costco bag half full of clothes in the living room: everybody comments.

That about sums it up. Now, off to screw with the cable box. Again.

That Was Worth It

The tile is brought to you by Sarcasm.

Finally made it to the "mental health" facility that took a month to get into.

This was strictly an "intake" appointment--no doctor consultation, no prescription refills.

After waiting 45 minutes due to server problems (why do server problems delay a face to face meeting? I don't know), I met with two different girls. The first was all paperwork. The second was more paperwork and a few questions.

It's always lovely to be asked to open up about your personal details to someone with a clipboard. It really makes you feel heard, recognized.

After about 5 minutes of questions I was told that I didn't qualify for any of their counseling programs. Apparently, I am too mentally healthy to make the grade. Interesting.

I was then told that since I didn't qualify for counseling, that I couldn't get any medication from that service. Better and better.

So, I don't get to see a counselor, I don't get to see a doctor, and I'm SOL on medication refills.

Guess it's a good thing I went ahead and weaned myself off a few weeks back, sensing that a gap in availability was forthcoming.

In truth, I've been dicked over so many times while I was paying for services that I'm used to it. It's not a crushing blow to have "free" services turn out to be a wash.

I promise to do many huge happy fun time posts as soon as something positive happens. Until then, feel free to keep ignoring these posts.

no1 currr

Well, yesterday was probably the worst I've felt about myself in some time. Dark night of the soul and all that.

I never quite pulled myself out of it, but I did manage to get my room rearranged. Again. Now I just have to make myself go through the pile of paperwork that has been accumulating for...oh, i don't know....a year now?

When I get like this I think it's best for me to be by myself. I'm not very good company and people probably shouldn't be around me. I don't really have that luxury these days--being alone. The results aren't pretty. I'm trying not to be a total downer, but I suspect this is making the whole cycle last longer. Like I can't get it out of my system properly.

One of the problems with being caught in a down cycle is that you begin to suspect that your negative thoughts aren't actually negative, they are just accurate. Like maybe you've been fooling yourself this whole time and the truth is this painful reality you now find yourself in. I am not even going to rewrite that sentence to avoid ending in a preposition.

So, maybe you really do suck. Maybe you have no worth as a human being. Maybe you've just been kidding yourself and all the horrible things you think are true. It's pretty easy to find evidence to support this conclusion. The most outlandish assertions start to seem plausible. Like so many things in life, if you look for shit you will find it. In abundance. There is shit everywhere, all over everything.

I guess what I mean is that there will always be plenty of reasons to feel butthurt about life. It's dangerous to start thinking that way, mainly because it's hard to stop thinking that way.

*sigh*

I wonder if all hypersensitive people feel a profound lack of reciprocity in their lives. This is why somebody need to create a pill that removes your ability to give any fucks, whatsoever. Fuck all this prozac and nerve pills and booze or whatever. Pop open a cold can of Who Gives A Shit and watch your day improve.

I wish.

Maybe tomorrow will be better and I won't feel so sad and hopeless. Now is probably not a good time to list all the ways people have let me know that I suck lately. Nor would it be prudent to talk about how my friends' unhappiness bleeds all over me. It's probably all in my head, anyway.

I really don't want to mess with that paperwork. There are bills in there. Bills I can't pay. Yuck.

Handy J analyzed my dream from yesterday and concluded that the Passport was the key part. It represented my intense desire to run away. From life. Don't you always feel so dumb when you tell your dream to someone and they point out some obvious symbolism that you totally missed?

The Walking Dead is back on. It's recorded and I hope we can watch it today. My cable box has been broken since I got back, so any tv needs are being routed through the roomies big ass tv in the living room. It's got a really nice picture. But there's not room for any of my stuff on there. I did just find some shows online, so I can catch up on The Blacklist on my computer.

Anybody else watching that show? Spader is pretty awesome. I like how he's truly a bad guy who does bad things, they don't flinch away from that. But the FBI in that show? They are like The Worst FBI. Ever. They suck. They don't follow any kind of discernible protocol and they bungle just about every damn thing they do. I'm sort of embarassed for them.

I mean, Spader's character can still be cool and influential without making the task force look like Keystone Cops. Lazy writing. Laaaaaaaaaaaaaazy. The entire premise is out there, so it probably seems like I am nitpicking about the Feds. But seriously, they are so inept. So very. The mind boggles.

But the cinematography is very nice and the music is fookin erhsome. James Spader manages to be eating in almost every scene he's in, saucy little imp that he is.

Things That Would Be Nice

Having more than $12 in the bank and not having to worry about all the bills that are due due due.

Not having to borrow money from my financially strapped relatives.

Not having my financially strapped relatives run out of money to lend me.

Not needing money.

Having some entity think I was worth some kind of decent wage.

Being able to support myself.

Not breaking into a full body sweat every time I move more than the bare minimum. For example, today I broke into a flop sweat by walking to the washing machine and putting in my clothes. That was 10 minutes ago. I'm still sweating. At least my elbows have stopped perspiring at this point.

Not being such a fat fuck. Or even having my eating and activity habits have any effect on my body other than for me to get fatter.

Did I mention the early onset menopausal sweating?

Getting to have a period without nauseating and crippling pain.

Not spending a significant portion of my time trying to plan around the pain, mitigate the pain, etc ad naueseum.

Not having dreams that are so obviously unattainable. Not wanting things I will never, ever have.

Not being aware of all the things someone like me will never have.

Not being a complete and total failure.

Not being exhausted, defeated, sad,  and miserable.

**********

You know, it's been a couple of pretty difficult years now. I've tried to stay positive, I've tried to find beauty and joy in the world. But the world doesn't seem very interested in showing me anything but shit. Maybe I just haven't tried hard enough. Maybe I'm just too lazy or spoiled or stupid or ungrateful.

Things can't be bad all the time. It's got to get better eventually. But when is eventually? When does something break in your favor? What if it never happens? What if this is the best chance you get? What if you can never climb out of the hole?

I'm pretty sure this all my fault, somehow. But I don't know how to make any of it better. How could I have fucked things up so irretrievably? It doesn't seem possible to have that much impact negatively but no balancing ability to effect positive change.

Life can be stupid, pointless, and painfully unhappy. But does it have to be all three at once?

i wish i could turn into a bird and fly far, far away from here

My Dream Life Is A Senseless As My Real Life, But At Least It's More Interesting

What a strange dream.

At some sort of interactive experience at an entertainment/theatre/something group in a building in the boonies. My old boss turns shows up. Turns out they need someone to hand carry a package to New York. (For the purposes of this dream, New York is in another country).

We converse and he decides to hire me for the job. Me and Lin (but not Lin, really) jump in car and drive to get supplies. But there's a twist! I don't have a passport. My old boss falls into this really weird frame of mind where he's trying to decide if he wants to push for my passport, if it's the right thing to do, blah blah talking to lady at airport stuff.

I'm all "Whatevs, you decide. Meanwhile I'll drop your wife off at her car and pick up those supplies." For some reason, the supplies were located at the old 23rd St. shopping plaza with the Wal-Mart. Apparently this was a nightmare.

As boss struggles with the issue of sending me, and makes phone calls to important senators to push my passport through, me and Not!Lin spend AGES driving into town.

I return, with car, to airport/theatre/whatever and my boss has decided I should go. We are waiting for paperwork to go through and he decides we should go grab something to eat. We end  up in a shitty chain restaurant, sitting in the shitty seats in the back. He is acting kinda weird. As usual, I'm just along for the ride. There is the vague feeling that I'm not quite grasping all the intricacies and import of the situation.

Then I wake up.

When I have dreams like this, I'm pretty sure they are either total nonsense or else so painfully obvious in their symbolism that it's embarrassing. Either way, I'll be damned if I know what the whole thing is about.

And I slept CRAZY late this morning. What a weird way to start the day. What a strange feeling.

Conclusion: Obviously I need to get a passport.

Remember That Time I House Sat In Long Beach?

Since you hang on my every word. As promised, updated with pix.

See how the other 1% lives.

When the ice tray is full it's harder to tell, but this is Dr. Who ice. Hee hee. I DRANK THE DALEKS, I DRANK THEM UPS.

Yeah, me and Anka ate all your lox. Sorry.

Anka!

Best room in the house. Stunning windows and view. The blue line on the horizon is the ocean.

View from the guest room. Ocean.

The bathrooms reminded me of the 1950s style so prevalent in northwest Florida. These are from the 20s.

These are imminently sensible stairs.

View from the side porch.

I don't if, having lived with wooden/tile/noncarpet flooring, that one can ever be satisfied living with anything else.

Rando: Going Through The Photos On Your Phone

It's sort of a combination of CSI and Christmas. There are all these photos I don't remember taking and I get to reconstruct what the fandango I was thinking at the time, or why the photo even exists. It's mostly a surprise, with a few "Oh yeaaaaahs" thrown in there.

I write you this with an S-Video cable tied around my neck, my electronics box open and spread across the floor, "borrowed" batteries in one of my remotes, and cable boxes, vcrs, and wiring spread across my floor.

Yes, I have been trying to get my tv to work. Old cable box gave up the ghost. New one not faring much better. I've applied my limited (read: none) electronics acumen to the problem. We have reached the Technician Required phase.

My theory: supply coax cable has gone squicky. Or Time Warner has suddenly stopped supporting my old ass TV.

Gee, I wonder which one?

Anyhoodle, I'm supposed to be filling out a job application right now. So I'm posting instead. (Don't yell, I am going to apply. I just need to express myself a bit before I descend into resume hell so I can just be rejected. Again. Bleh.)

So, here are some pix from my cross country trip:

Houston.

Tejas.

El Paso at sunset.

Makes me desperately long for my old camera.

I don't know how I ended up taking a picture of a beam of light or wtf I was trying to capture. But it's pretty cool.

The treacherous path to The Thing!

That light pole really vexed me.

Before I left to drive back West, I mentioned to my bro that my washer fluid line has been broken for a while and I haven't been able to fix it myself. He went out back and liberated a rake tine to "jam it in there" and fix it. At the time I saw no way to do it, but far be it from me to turn away a piece of machine metal. You just never know.

Well, guess what? That tine came in handy when I needed to brace my antenna to stop it from whomping the bejesus out of my rear windshield. You can't tell much from the pic, but that is a rake tine, some electrical tape, and some of my sweat from repairing that in 100 degree weather at an Arizona gas station. I had to stand on the back seat and streeeeeeeetch. It's still in place.

I'm a little scared to test this in a car wash.

When I got back West, turns out Handy J's tv had gone kaput. The replacement part is no longer made. Figures. So we donated the monster to a crafty minded friend of his.

This tv is bigger than me. So was the replacement.

And now for the WTF pic. I have no idea how I ended up researching this. I'm guessing random button hitting. At any rate, it looks like the closest I can get to a soulmate is Peter O' Toole.

I don't think that really requires further comment.

Does this mean Richard Harris would like me?

Ending With A Hint Of Relief

And so this long day draws to a close, with the pain tamped down to a manageable level sometime after midnight.

It's funny because chronic pain can really wear you out, but sometimes you are so relieved to feel better that you can't pass out. It's like your body is all "Oh boy, we don't feel like total shite right now! Paaaaarty!"

Or something. Not sure what a spleen says to a large intestine. Shout out to Handy J and Bef, who both helped me out today. Special shout out to HJ, who continues to grow as a person, much to the benefit of himself and those around him.

KIDS: DON'T TAKE DRUG TRANSUBSTANTION INTO YOUR OWN HANDS.

Warning: this shit is graphic. This is a Russian junkie who decided to shoot up some pills. That's right, he liquified some pills and injected. This is bad for many reasons, not the least of which is the caustic effect acetaminophen and NSAIDs have on blood vessels.

So he ended up at the hosptial with some gangrene. This video is not safe for life, liberty, or the pursuit of a sound sleep. There is some removal here. It's not particularly bloody, it's just, well. . .

You can see bone. Shin bone. It's like a halloween costume.

For some freaky shit click here. I don't advise clicking there. This is what happens when you decide that since you take drugs, you know chemistry/biology/anything.

Here's to tomorrow and better days.

That Really Hurt My Feelings

Chitauri energy blast wound corresponds to my pain, somewhat.

But I'll get over it.

I guess, despite my best attempts, I ask for too much.

Maybe that's at the core of whatever is wrong with me: I want too much and therefore will always be disappointed?

Or maybe not.

And the days went by
Like paper in the wind
Everything changed
Then changed again

I wonder if anybody could hear the Wildflowers album and not like it. Is that possible? I know some people say they don't care for Tom Petty, but isn't Wildflowers just a trump record? I can't really be objective, I guess, since I love Tom Petty to itty bitty pieces.

I'm in an immense amount of pain right now and we are hitting one of those transcendent moments--this kinda pain can make you just as goofy as any med. It probably says something profoundly disturbing about my psyche that these are times I feel compelled to record and communicate. When I am probably so least able. But I'm willing to cut myself the slack of acknowledging desperatizing circusmstances. I just made that word up. I don't care.

Wow, I've totally lost my train of thought with this. Because Blogger just quit working for about 20 minutes.

WTF? Even the Interwebz is against me!! Shock!! Horror!! AaaaIiiiiEeeeeeeeeeeee!!!

It's a couple of degrees below Melting today, so there's that. We are grateful. Praise jebus.

Here's something awesome I saw today:

I can't even win at Angry Birds. How dafuc does this happen? I must be the leftover DNA. It's probably good I'm not reproducing.

Epiphany: Shark Week?

So I'm watching this interview. Okay, it's Kevin Pollak interviewing Craig Ferguson. Kevin's got what seems like a pretty cool podcast going on: Kevin's Pollak's Chat Show.

Craig Ferguson?, I hear you query. Oh, that Craig Ferguson. Seems to me that somebody has been spending more'n wee bit of time with Mister Ferguson. 

Don't judge me.

Anyhoo, Craigyferg did Shark Week at one point. Pollak asks him what led to doing something like Shark Week.

Craig replies with this long, but strangely reserved, description of shark shenanigans.

Kevin re-asks, specificing: what was your impetus for swimming with sharks in the first place? Because most of us wouldn't do that, swim with sharks.


And I was all:

Who wouldn't leverage their new position/status/access to get access to an opportunity to go on Shark Week? Seriously? Or do you mean someone wouldn't use their new millionaire status to go swim with sharks in general?

Either way, the answer is the same: this question is invalid because SHARKS!!!! Is there seriously somebody out there who, all other things being equal, would not totally go for some awesome Jacques Cousteau/Eugenia Clark(?) sharky encounters? I mean, really, is this even a question?

But then I stop. I mean I stop the interview, pause in thought, all things cease to move.

Because, what if there really are people who wouldn't want to swim with sharks? I mean, given the chance to do so in a controlled and (relatively) safe environment? I mean, I would also really like to pet a tiger. I don't foresee many actual opportunities in life were this might be possible without threat of grievous bodily harm. I mean, statistically, it seems a lot more likely that petting a tiger would get me killed (especially a caged one) than swimming with some sharks would. Those would be statistics I made up entirely in my head, but whatever. The point is, doesn't everyone want to pet a tiger? Maybe dog lovers a little less so?

Which is all to say: are there really people who wouldn't want to swim with sharks? Like, a large amount of people? Like a majority?

Mind blown. Must confer with Handy J and watch the rest of the interview.

I Laughed So Hard I Gave Myself A Coughing Fit: Worst Cats

http://worstcats.tumblr.com/

It's pretty new, so I ended up reading the whole thing.

Seriously, my chest hurts right now.

Sometimes Lin likes to email me things that shut down my day. I'm in recovery over here.

Ah Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha

Guess who got four notices in the mail today?

Guess what those notices said about Medi-Cal approval?

Guess how many different $ amounts they cited as my income?

1. Me!

2. I am totally approved for Medi-Cal! Four separate times!

3. Three different income amounts! There were two in each envelope, and they all contradicted each other!

That's right, after a cold hearted refusal of services post approval of services, we have a late game reversal of the reversal!

Not only do I qualify for coverage again, I qualify under three different income amounts. I QUALIFY FOR MEDI-CAL THREE SEPARATE WAYS (SO HARD, SO BAD, AND WICKED HARD).

How did they get these amounts? Who fucking knows? I'm pretty confident that no matter what, this still isn't going to work out for me.

Hilarious. Tragic and ultimately foreboding about humanity's chances for long term survival, but hilarious.

Schrödinger's Health Coverage.