Silly Little Girl

That popping noise?

Oh, that's just the sound of my head exploding. Don't mind that.

I was offered a position to teach this morning. Ickle, slobbery, babies that I can love and squish and squeeze and call George. It's a chance to be creative, to change my life. To wake up and know every day that I make a difference. To be fufilled. To matter. A chance to branch out and find out who I really am and what I really want. A chance to have my son with me all day, pay less for his daycare and make sure he's educated and well taken care of.

It's also 2/3 of what I get paid now, and I'd be spending the same amount in gas, and still paying some, albeit little, for daycare.

So yes, my head is exploding. One part of me is sitting here whining like "WHY is every choice so hard?" while the other, older and wiser part is like, "Welcome to life, girlfriend. Go get some paper towels and clean your brain off the wall."

I wish I still wanted to be a storm chaser

Lately, Nik and I have been having a lot of discussions and decision-making sessions regarding school and our life goals. Nik has most of his stuff figured out - what he wants to do, where he wants to go, both in life and in school, whereas am I hot mess regarding my entire plan.

One minute, I want to stay in my industry, get a degree in risk management, flourish, go to law school and practice boring old insurance law for a huge corporation, make hundreds of thousands a year in a suit, behind a desk. I want to stay at my job now, keep plugging away at night classes, and stay comfortable in my 9-5, 30 mile commute, pseudo-yuppie status.

The next minute, I want to kick this job to the curb, take whatever position will pay me enough to keep food on the table but also let me take full time day classes, and take the time to figure out what I really want.

I think mostly want I want - is to know what the fuck I want. Sometimes I think I know, last week I knew, but the second an opportunity flips in my face to change things, I start to question myself. Like I said, last week I was SURE I wanted to stay in this job and continue to flourish. This week...maybe I just want to work nights, go to school, be home with my kid during the day. Maybe I want to get out of an office setting for a while. I could always come back to risk management if I wanted to. I'll always have the experience on my resume, I'll always have good references. Maybe I just want some time.

Something has really been digging into my psyche lately. I may be well-paid considering my age - but the fact remains that for my position and experience, I'm still underpaid. That's not the problem, though, the problem is that despite the fact that I'm not really in a position where I'm expected or paid to care that much, I take my job home with me every day. I think about it constantly. I wonder about what needs to be done, I worry about problems that aren't my care or responsibility. This doesn't seem ok to me. It seems that if I'm going to have a job that I stress about like that, it should be something that makes me truly happy, something where I'm more than an assistant.

I don't know what to do. I'm so terrified of making a mistake, of regretting my choices. I constantly wonder, though, if I was really happy here, would I keep having to ask myself if I'm happy here?

Any thoughts?

10 signs you need to clean out your car

10. You have stopped bothering to say "Excuse the mess" to guest passengers. They know, dude, they know.

9. You hear rattling in the backseat, and wonder if it's an animal.

8. Your front seat has McDonald's breakfast wrappers with the gross egg still in. You haven't eaten from McDonald's since November.

7. You have to say "Pretend there isn't a can of Chunky Soup in my trunk!" More than once in a single day.

6. You have to say "Um. Pretend there isn't something growing on that. And, uh, throw it out for me, cuz I'm not touching that fucking thing."

5. You smell burning. It could be the oil's low, could be the clutch, could be you dropped a cigarette and couldn't find it in the mess of aforementioned McDonald's wrappers.

4. Dude, you totally just had to say "Pretend there's not an empty can of Chunky Soup in my backseat."

3. You can't use the powervac at the carwash because the muck and trash in your car clogs it up.

2. You just got hit in the foot with a can of Chunky Soup that rolled under your seat.

1. You're pretty sure you can SMELL the contents of the can of chunky soup, you just aren't sure where the tupperware containing it ended up...

All those signs lead me to only one thought process. No, not that I need to clean out my car, but seriously, where the fuck did all the Chunky Soup come from?

Gone, baby, gone

Last night I wrote a post with the same title about how my funny up and disappeared. I lamented the fact that I lost my damn funny - whether it be due to the medication or circumstance or whatever, and then I started uploading some pictures. The goddamn computer froze, and I lost the entire post. So today, the title is doubly appropriate, because that post is gone, baby, gone also.

At any rate, my funny is gone. I could be kidding myself, but I tend to think this blog leans on the funny and interesting side, but lately I find nothing either funny or interesting. It makes my understand why people go off their medication. It's tempting, believe me. Sometimes I think the Crazy isn't as bad as the Boring. But alas, I know that the people around me would not agree. So while I wait for some break in the boring, I'll TRY to leave you with some pretty pictures. Here's hoping my computer doesn't eat them.

That one time I had eyelashes.

He thinks I'm boring, too.

Cute enough to squish and hug and love and call George.

No excuse

I wish I could tell you that the reason I haven't been posting anything funny, or anything at all really, was because I was busy doing schoolwork. Or getting promoted. Or finding a cure for cancer. Or even falling and hurting myself so that I'd have something to write about later.

But, these would all be lies. I have no been promoted nor does my (meth)lab have the necessary accoutrements to cure cancer. I do all my schoolwork at work, and I only fell ONCE in the last month. (Although, in that one time I broke the heel to my favorite boots. Sad.)

The truth is, THIS:

is the reason I haven't been writing. I've been spending all my damn time playing this game. Final Fantasy XII, in case you didn't notice.

My geekzoid boyfriendc somehow managed to turn me into a geekzoid girlfriend by getting me addicted to PS2 RPG games. It worked, y0. I'm no longer the rocking, super cool, trend-setter I once was. I'm now just a geeky, nerdy, clumsy little girl with a playstation controller permanently glued to her hand and a faux-suede couch permanently glued to her ass.

My addiction has gotten so that I, instead of just waiting for my turn to monopolize the TV, I just brought our smaller, bedroom TV out to the living so I could play while still hanging out with Nik. That makes me both officially a nerd, and white trash, I think.

So anyway, this is the excuse I have to lay at your pretty feet. (Nice shoes!) Please do not hate me, (I'm talking to you, Theresa.) and please find me something else to do, for Christ's sake already, GOD. 

VD, but the good kind.

[updated to add: I remembered last night that I did actually get one kickass Valentine's present once from my beau - a solid gold rose. Verrrry Niiiice. /end poor and played Borat imitation.]

At some point today, I intended to write something about memorable Valentines, but then two things happened. Amalah's memorable valentine's post blew anything I could write out of the water, and, also, I remember that - Memorable Valentine's: I have none. Ah well.

I, like most others these day, tend to feel the cheese of V-Day is overrated. This may have much to do with the fact that A: I was almost always single on Valentine's Day. B: No one (worthwhile) has ever given me or sent me anything for Valentine's Day, and C: I never did anything romantic or squishy on valentine's before. So it could just be that I'm bitter.

At any rate, the only Valentine's I remember with any degree of clarity is the one when I was 18. I had a stalker back then. At first it was a little annoying, but then it was just pathetic and funny.

I was almost done with high school and just dipping my toes into the hardcore partying scene. I had just ended my little fling with a boy for whom I pined ever so badly, and was terribly depressed. (By "terribly depressed" I just mean "drunk.") I was comforting myself with a bottle of cheap vodka while my best friend tried to find boys to hang out with us, when her doorbell rang. It was Stalker Boy, whom we shall call Jack. Because his name was Jack. Jack was 24, unGodly handsome, successful, and really fucking weird. My friends thought I was crazy. Here was this beautiful, rich man looking to court my dumb little self, and everytime I saw him I bashed him like crazy. No one could understand why.

The reason was that Jack was just WEIRD. Something about him gave me a messed up feeling in my stomach. "Butterflies!" My friend Jackie would yell. "NAUSEA." I'd reply.

Anyway, Jack's one-sided courtship started with the occassional invitation to dinner or a movie, and by this time had escalated to expensive and uncommon gifts. A new phone, diamond jewelry, a 4-wheeler, the offer of a car, you name it, Jack wanted to or did buy it for me. I didn't accept any of these guys. At this time in my life, I was righteous - I was not for sale! By now, of course, I've wizened, and would take that shit off anyone dumb enough to give it to me. I'd still keep them at the curb, but dude, I'll take your presents, no problem.

Jack showed up and Jackie's (hee.) that night and begged to take me to the Capital Grille or something for dinner. Back then, I didn't know what the Capital Grille and did not want any of your fancy shit anyway, Mister. I am YOUNG, and RAW, and UNORTHODOX and DIFFERENT, DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND? Anyway, because I was hungry I told Jack, "Fuck that. Let's go to Johnny's."

Jack was thrilled be allowed to accompany me to the drug-haven pizza shop that was Johnny's, but wouldn't let Jackie come. Despite my better judgement (which, sadly, was not present due to: DRUNK.) I agreed to go anyway. Halfway there, I decided if he wanted to date me, he needed to get me DRUNK first. And not just like, drunk, dude. DRUUUNNNNK. So go in that liquor store there and buy me alcohol.

"What kind of alcohol?"

"THe kind you drink, jackass. Go. Now. THIIIIRRSSTYYY." Christ, I was an ignorant whore.

So in Jack went, and while he was inside I got a text from Jackie. "Just heard Jack has girlfriend. You still with him?" It was right around there I decided that Ms. Nice Girl (that was as nice as I got, then) was clearly not going to cut it anymore. He came with several bottles of expensive red wine. He probably thought it was a nice treat, but back then, I didn't even have the class to PRETEND I liked red wine. I took one sip of that shit, fake gagged, and said, "What the fuck is this swill, dude?"

"$65 red wine."

"Fuck red wine. Give me $65 and I'll go in there and get REAL booze."

"Aren't you underage?"

"Wouldn't you sell me alcohol?"

"Oh, god, I'd sell you anything, baby."

"Ugh, dude, whatever, give me the money."

Jack slapped $60 into my palm, and I got out of the car with the bottle of wine still in my hand. I walked around to the side of the car and knocked on his window. He rolled it down.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Ha, I forgot! Can you hold this wine for me?" And with that, I emptied the bottle of "$65 red wine" into his lap. "Heard your girlfriend's looking for you, BABY."

The look on his face was priceless, but about 5 seconds after he tore off crying (Crying! Literally!) I realized I didn't have a ride the 7 or 8 miles back to Jackie's. Ah well. I had $65 bucks now. I called a cab and talked the kid behind the counter into selling me a bottle of vodka.

A few weeks later, I found out that Jack didn't have a girlfriend. He had a wife. And he wasn't 24, he was 32. And he had kids. Four of them.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my most memorable Valentine's Day ever. I am truly a diehard romantic.

Meme, because I have nothing better to say.

Click my ads, people. Just saying.

I got tagged by Denora for a meme today, so here it is.

THE RULES:
** Post about the meme and link back to the person that tagged you.
** Go back to your archives and link to your five favorite posts.

Link One: must be about family
Link Two: must be about friends
Link Three: must be about yourself
Link Four: must be about something you love
Link Five: can be anything you choose

** Tag five other people (at least two must be new acquaintances so that you can get to know them better).

Family - unfortunately, I think this - http://www.sillylittlegirl.org/silly_little_girl_corpora/2007/12/how-much-more-g.html  - May be the only post that's really about my family. Sad.

Friends - http://www.sillylittlegirl.org/silly_little_girl_corpora/2007/12/the-og-silly-gi.html

This one cracks me up.

Myself - http://www.sillylittlegirl.org/about.html

I'm cheating, I guess, but I really think my about page is the best I can get when it comes to describing myself.

Something I love - http://www.sillylittlegirl.org/silly_little_girl_corpora/2007/12/tea-and-sympath.html this is practically a list of all things I loved about the past year, and this - http://www.sillylittlegirl.org/silly_little_girl_corpora/2007/12/so-this-is-chri.html is full of pictures of things I love.

Random - this entry -  http://www.sillylittlegirl.org/silly_little_girl_corpora/2007/11/saturday-night.html and this entry - http://www.sillylittlegirl.org/silly_little_girl_corpora/2007/11/in-which-i-deci.html still crack me up.

I won't tag anyone for this because I'm lazy. Do it, if you want! If not, well, whatever, you smell like poop anyway. Leave a comment if you do it, and I'll be sure to check it out. 

Can I possibly get a vote, not necessarily out of these five, of people's favorite entries? That would soothe my stupid little ego and make me happy.   

Do not let a 14 year old emo girl have a livejournal...

...because this is what she'll write...

The air was heavier inside. I could tell by the half lit cigarette that someone was there, but the room held a dark, forbidden weight. Everything looked normal, nothing out of place, but the music set a strange aura.

"The wreck of the Edmund Fiztgerald" was blaring from somewhere upstairs. With trepidation weakening my knees, I tool small steps towards the stairs. With every forward movement I felt more frightened. Ignoring my insticts, I climbed the steps.

The music grew louder, yet more tinny to my ears, its haunting melody further increasing my anxiety. Each door along the hall was closed...except my own. A red glow filtered into the hall, casting an eerie visage over my face.

I walked towards my own bedroom door, now soaked in a cold, fearful sweat. The door creaked open, seemingly of it's own volition, until I realized that it was my own hand propelling it.

The music became deafening, and the soft red light from the candlelabras served as a contradiction to the roar. Once again, the haunting chimes and pipes of "the Edmund Fitzgerald" overpowered me, knocking me momenarily senseless as a wave of nostalgia for I don't know what came over me. I was blinded for a moment to the reality of the room.

My room, aside from the eerie red glow, was normal...except for my bed. Lying face up on my bed, was the still, glassy eyed form of my brother.

My brother...who'd been dead for two years. Pain and grief punched me in my abdomen, sending me reeling back against the walls. I wrenched my eyes closed against a wave of nausea, trying at the same time to block the memories that were battling my brain. When the agony began to ebate, I slowly opened my eyes...

...And prompty slammed them closed again.

My brother now stood at the door, my own body on the bed. I was staring at myself from one end of the room; my dead brother at the other.

Chris spoke my name. I breathed his.

"Why?" he asked me, grief etched in his face.

Why what? I wondered. Blissful ignorance prevailed for a few more seconds, then the harsh reality shook me like an earthquake beneath my feet.

The pain. The grief. The xanax to wash it all away.

It all came rushing back to me in an icy wave of regret. I'd done what I said I'd never do. I'd given up.
I looked pleadingly towards my brother as if were a God, a God who could reverse the irreversible.

"Is it too late?" I asked, implying every regret and "I wish" from my entire, short life.

He only nodded. I stared a moment longer, then joined him at the door. I felt etherally numb. He ushered me outside the door, and faced me. In his eyes I saw every laugh, every heartbreak of my life. I reached for the knob and, filled with regret and remorse so strong I felt like I could bleed for the pain, slowly closed the door on my world, my existence, my life.

* fade to black *

Shut up, self.

Christ, do I whine enough? Honestly. Dial back the bitching, Self.

Things aren't as bad as they may seem in that last post. For the most part, I'm ok, and I even have some exciting stuff going on.

As far as Nik and I go, I guess I was exaggerating when I said we don't acknowledge each other. We still talk, we spend time together - it's just a little distant these days. This isn't some hugemongous rift...it's partially caused by the fact that we're both sick and stressed out, but I think it's mainly the medication. Either way, it's nothing we can't work past, even if it is a little aggravating.

In better news, I am signed up to take some insurance courses through my work, and I'm really excited that they want to invest this kind of money in me. It'll lead to me getting CPCU licensure, which, in my industry, holds more weight than a Masters. This isn't what i plan to do for the rest of my life, but I'm here, God willing, for at least a few more years and I plan to do well in the meantime.

Also exciting is the fact that I think I've finally decided on a school plan. Nik and I have been back and forth so much about where we want to go, what we want to do, etc., but I think we finally both have a pretty solid idea about what we want. This thrills me to no end, and I'm wicked excited to really be working towards it.

I got a few emails last night, mostly saying "ARE YOU OK GO BACK ON YOUR MEDS NOW" (all well-intentioned) and I realized that goddamnit, I bitch too much. I'm ok. Seriously. I've been through way worse than some general moodiness (hello, could totally also be hormonal, stupid fucking girl system) and some jitteryness in the last few weeks. It's nothing I can't get past without some help from the docs and a lil' moral support.

And that, folks, brings an end to the backtracking, hollow reassurance part of our program. Stay tuned for stories about video games.

As you were.

Oh, decisions

Two in one day. Lord, how lucky you are.

Because my doctor is apparently above returning phone calls to insurance companies, I am temporarily without my anti-depressant. I have the other meds, but that one is one that my insurance company won't even dispense without pre-authorization. Bureaucratic bullshit.

At any rate, he warned me last week that, if for any reason I went off it, I would notice the effects immediately.

I got my feelings hurt tonight. It was no big deal, and probably not important at all, but it hurt my feelings all the same. When I got so upset that my eyes welled, I tried to remind myself that it was mostly the lack of medication at work. It was then that I realized that - yes, the lack of medication was the reason I was feeling sad. But, was it the reason I was feeling anything at all?

What I mean is that, over the past few weeks, I haven't felt depressed, suicidal, sad or disappointed much. But really, I haven't felt anything much at all. I've had flashes of annoyance, but no real happiness or excitement or anything else, either. Tonight I realized that the medication wasn't just "treating" me, it was "dulling" me, too.

I saw a number of other positive and negative effects of being off it today. These include..

POSITIVE:

No tremors. I can type! And write! WITH A PEN!
I can keep a thought in my head long enough to write something vaguely coherent.
Less jittery.
More motivated to do things other than work.
More desire to connect with people

NEGATIVE:

More emotional, less rational
Less motivated to do real work
More tired

Each of these is equally important to me. I don't want to feel/not feel any of these, and I can't pick which ones are more important. Also not helping things is the fact that when I'm on the anti-depressant, I don't care that I have no real relations anymore. I don't interact with anyone, really. My friends and I don't talk or connect much, and my boyfriend and I barely acknowledge each other half the time. I don't like this, and I know it's partially caused by the medicine, but at least I don't care then. When I'm off it, I feel painfully lonely, but I don't become magically equipped with the knowledge to fix it either. Besides, half the reasons for these rifts are partially out of my control.

So what do I do? Stay off, or go back on when my doc eventually gets around to returning phone calls? What would you do?