Silly Little Girl

My exact thought process. Beware.

I need to write on my blog. Why do I keep a blog if I'm not going to write anything worthwhile?

I should just write the things I'm thinking. Christ, wouldn't that be scary. Those people do not need to know how fucked up I am.

How bad would it be if I admitted I was totally scared that I'm making the wrong choice? Is it too late to change my mind? I only want to change my mind because my colleagues were nice to me today.

I wish I didn't always change my mind.

Writing exactly what I'm thinking is hard. My mind is trained to automatically self edit and that doesn't seem honest.

I hope I like teaching. I hope it likes me. I wish I could still go to the gym down here, but what if I ran into Andy?

I feel really bad about what I'm doing to Andy. Doesn't matter, he's leaving anyway.

This cough medicine is making me stupid. I need more.

Remember the days when it took way more than half a bottle of guafinesin and condeine to fuck me up? Weren't those stupid days.

I wish I was hungry, then I'd have something to do.

I was so wrong about Tiffany.

Which brings me to my fully self-edited, not so real-time thinking process that whoa dudes! I was so wrong about the girl at my work that I hated. No, not that one! Not the other one that I was totally wrong about! The loud-breathing one!

How stupid am I? You'd think by now I'd learn to give people a chance. I had to, in good conscience, confess my leave to Tiffany this week so she wouldn't be totally smacked in the face with it. In doing so, I totally made a friend, and today she took me out to lunch as a "good-bye meal" type of thing. How nice is that? GODDAMNIT, SELF, STOP BEING SUCH A JUDGMENTAL ASSHOLE. Maybe I'd have more friends here if I'd stop judging people. And then maybe I woulnd't want to leave.

Whoa. Epiphany.

Making a life-changing decision that you can't take back is like standing on the precipice of an enormous cliff. The path that led you there has caved and closed - it's no longer an option. Behind you lies greener grass, happier days, a path of tranquility and peace and puppies and bunnies and whatever else signifies comfort and happiness. However, below you lies an endless drop...the decline of your lifestyle, your relationships, your world. The wind is whipping around you, pushing you, pulling you, all at once against you and apart of you. Which way will your new choice lead you? Will you walk the greener path? Or will you fall?

Because I needed to do something on Friday, I left work early. This all but guarantees I'll be let go on Monday. Knowing this, and knowing I'm nearing the end of the best job I've had to date is scaring the holy bejesus out of me. I know I made a choice and I am comfortable with it, but with such a new life looming in front of me, and reminders that nothing ever works as planned around every corner, I'm scared.

My fear, however, is of the exhilarated variety. The kind you get when you're ascending the hill of a rollercoaster, wondering whether your stomach can handle the drop. The kind that's both scary and exciting. First date scary, new school scary...it's all about firsts and beginnings, isn't it? This could be the beginning of an entirely new life, a new me, and boy is that nerve-wracking.

Anyone else out there have a hard time dealing with brand new things? How do you deal?

Soliciting

Any body with some mad design skillz want to make a new banner for me? I'll pay you in kisses and cookies.

Hot for Teacher

Nik and I discussed the job situation ad nauseum. Here were the options:

Quest Labs - overnight shift (7-3:30am), the ability to go to school full time during the day, no daycare for Donovan (which is both a pro and a con), a shorter commute. 2/3 of my pay now.

School - Day shift, more flexible schedule, back to night classes 50% discount on Donovan's tuition, same commute as my current job. The knowledge that I'm making a difference every day, the chance to try something new and get outside my experience now. Also only 2/3 of my pay now.

In the end, we initially decided I'd take Quest. School has to be the number one priority for both of us right now, and Quest seemed like it would allow the most freedom as far as classes.

Then, Nik took a look at his own school schedule, and realized that if I took Quest, we'd be without anyone to watch Donovan four nights a week. The tides had turned.

So now I'm waiting to call the director of the school to accept the position she offered me. I am thrilled beyond measure. Last night, around 10pm when we made the decision, I was so excited I couldn't sit still.

I feel so good about this. I'm only slightly nervous about the big pay cut. The ability to learn more about myself and broaden my horizons has made me ok with tightening my financial belt a bit. I'm quitting smoking, cutting off (not back, totally off) my spending habits, and making this possible because I feel that it's the best thing for me, and my family right now. I'll be able to bring Donovan to work with me every day, and I'm thrilled about that.

For right now, right this second, things are good, and that's all I need. 

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?

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.

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.

I didn't want to be that one

I never wanted to be the blogger that has to routinely apologize for lack of posting, but it would appear that I will become one anyway.

No worries, I've been ok. Life is actually pretty good as of late, knock on wood. I've been keeping busy by keeping un-busy. I mean that in the sense that much of my time is spent trying to keep things organized and together so I don't become overwhelmed, and I spend any free time decompressing so as not to reach that break-down level again.

Also, my classes all started last week, and one of them in particular is riding me like a cheap whore. I did 6 assignments ahead of time and that only brings me up to the end of this week. Hello, is that fucked up to anyone else? College blows, and stuff.

Not helping the posting motivation issue is the fact that tremors make my typing still various levels of "suck." As I type this, I've backspaced so many damn times I'm ready to commit murder on a keyboard. I'm sure my therapist would not approve.

In other, completely bland and unimportant news, I'm irritated that i had to cancel my first therapy appointment today. Circumstances totallly beyond my control, and part of God's ill sense of humor, made me half an hour late for work, so I must stick around to make up the time. Work, and the turnpike, blows and stuff, too.

That is all I have, and I'm sorry for wasting your valuable blog reading time with this drivel. You are probably dumber now for having read this. If I am not dead to the universe after class tonight, I will post some pictures of my androgynous child, and my new geek specs.

But I'll leave the kitchen sink for next time...

Christ, do I have a lot of bullshit to ramble about.

I've been jotting notes and blurbs here and there for the last couple days to remind myself to blog, but actually sitting down to do it was a whole 'nother story.

First things first, I guess: I'm ok. I've been in the program for four days, and I think it's helping. I'm learning a lot of things that logically, I already knew, but seeing it on paper, hearing someone else point it out to me, and discussing is, makes all the difference.

One of the things I learned is that, apparently, I still think I'm cool.

I think one of the prevalent themes of this blog is that I. Am. Not. Cool. This is something I am consistently reminded of, and I know even if I tried to paint it otherwise, all you smart and beautiful people would see right through it.

It's for this reason that I found myself surprised when, in group self-esteem therapy, I internally mocked the overwhelming corniness of the exercises.

"Dude, writing down the good things about yourself is not going to convince anyone, least of all yourself. Besides, if you were all sunshine and rainbows and unicorn poop, what the fuck would you blog about?" This is what my internal dialogue sounds like.

The criticism is is snarkier and snappier when I catch myself actually agreeing and feeling good about the corny things I'm learning. Finally, though, I realized these self-esteem type exercises are so commonly found in intensive programs because, yo, asshole, they work.

I had to remind myself about seventy times this week that I'm not too cool for the cheese. Someone who  has to admit that they can't manage their life, someone who has considered suicide more times than Sylvia Plath would care to count, is not too cool for a little corniness. Not if the corniness makes them feel better. Not if the cheesiness helps them cope with all this day to day bullshit.

And it is helping. It still feels a bit campy at times, but I'm ok with that.

In other news, the vomiting and dizziness and chronic ear pressure are a totally pleasant addition to my every day life. I'm seriously looking forward to the next three weeks that I can expect to feel like this. It's especially enjoyable when I feel so disconnected to my mind and body that I feel like I'm suddenly "waking up" while driving, only to find I'm halfway off the road and possibly very nearly in the backseat of a Camry. Truthfully, sometimes I think the process of getting used to this medicine makes me feel crazier than I did to begin with. I say things and don't remember what I said seconds later. I repeat myself constantly. I can't keep a train of thought in my head for longer than a fews seconds. (The readership of this blog just expelled a collective "No, really!? You're kidding.") I'll be glad when I'm leveled out.

In other, other news that does not involve My Crazy (unless you count where it came from) my mom came over tonight. I picked up her, and we went shopping for a gift for a baby shower we're attending tomorrow, and then we picked up some groceries and came back to my place. She cooked us dinner, and was pleasant and sane and relatively unfrazzled the whole time. She and I had a couple good conversations during the car rides, and it was the first time in a while that we've had an evening together that didn't end in someone (me) wanting to strangle and beat someone (her) else. Go us.

And now, with cold medicines and Crazy medicines taking their toll, it's time for me to stop this rambling, insane version of "Dear Diary" and head to bed. Good night, good luck, and God's speed to you all.

How to be cool

Obviously, the best way to gain trust and readership is to write some junk, cry about your life, get thousands of hits in one day, and then don't tell anyone anything so they think maybe you went and drank glass.

...Right? Or is that just how I do things?

I had trouble getting on and writing all weekend, alternately because things were so good or bad. When I was enjoying myself, I didn't want to waste any of it by sinking back into the computer and wasting the good time with my family.

When I wasn't enjoying myself, which was also frequent this weekend, I was way too busy sinking inside myself.

Today was my first day in the program. It was...ok. I talked a lot about my relationship with Nik, and the things I discussed made me feel better about us. I spent 9AM-1PM in therapy with a psychologist and a middle-aged woman with a similar diagnosis. Most of it felt pretty cathartic. It was exhausting after the first two hours, but it went by pretty quickly.

Then I participated in a "creative writing for recovery" workshop that, while a bit campy, I enjoyed. On for a fast and dirty 15 minute meet-and-greet with my new psychiatrist. I laid it out and told him that I'd been off my medication for several weeks. We reviewed a couple options, and finally settled on two with which I'm only vaguely uncomfortable. The side effects are relatively mild, but with one comes a new diagnosis and a new set of symptoms and mental reckoning. The next couple days look promising, and I'm still hoping that this is the beginning of the end.

I'll be honest - I hate writing the "Depression" blog. I wanted this blog to be mostly funny and stupid, a source of amusement for my small circle of readers, but it's grown. Both within it's readership and it's subject, it's grown. I made a deal with myself to be honest, here. Why write a personal blog if it was going to be abridged and censored? So I apologize to those who come here for the funny and get As My Insanity Turns instead. The next couple weeks may not look much different. Things are still funny, life is still silly, but I have a hard time concentrating on that lately. I promise though, that the next time I attempt to move a TV, or my son learns a new show tune, or, UGH, I take the Christmas decorations down and strangle myself (accidentally!) with half burnt out Christmas lights, you'll hear all about that. I also want to make a better effort at getting some pictures up here, improving the layout, but we'll take all that shit as it comes.

In the meantime, thank you for being here, thank you for reading, thank you for not telling me that I suck at life and I should drink Drano.