Today being my day off, I decided that I would do some useful things - like hunt down my tuition reciepts from January and call the student loan people and ask them if they help cover moving expenses - rather how much they cover when one has to relocate to go to school. After spending two hours on hold this am and going through two useless boxes of receipts I went downtown and spent a good hour in the library picking out mysteries and thrillers. I figure it's research. I've got to write something complete at some point, and since my fave idea is moving at a snails pace I thought I'd get another project on the go so I can switch back and forth rather than writing a little bit and then slacking off into brain-dead country while inspiration for that particular story deserted me for a while. One day I'd like to make some money off doing something I love, so here's to getting my butt in gear.
No rest for the wicked... wait... isn't slaving my butt off to pay my bills a decidedly un-wicked thing to do?
SO I have entered the ranks of those who make ends meet by working their butts off at two jobs. Yes, that's right I have got myself a part time job. Yes, it's retail, but no, it will never be anything but a supplement. Seriously, I think this is the only way I will ever afford to buy clothes!
I'm taking this as a sign that things are going in the right direction. If I can get one job, then I can get another to replace the one I have now. I have been feeling a little less thin-skinned recently, but I think it's because my cynical-switch has been flipped back into the 'on' position. Everything I encounter there is just another leaf on the compost heap of idiocy and at some point the company will realise just what it is they're doing. No amount of my bitching will fix it - but the customer's leaving certainly will.
On a completely different topic, what is it with those guys who shave all the hair off their face except for the tiny bit that grows from under their bottom lip? Usually it's such a little patch that one could mistake for a really bad mole or dribble from that sloppy joe they ate for dinner save for the fact that when they rub thier faces, as they will inevitably do at least once, it doesn't go away. Seriously, can someone tell me what these are all about? Is it because they can't grow a full beard, or even enough for a neatly trimmed goatee? Does it mean something? Does it mark them as a member of some secret society? I get so distracted by these six or eight hairs poking out from the guy's bottom lip and resisting the urge to reach out and pluck the damn things that I can't concentrate on what's really being said. Quick, someone tell me before I'm forced to submit the question to the gods of google! Ha!
The star retains much of it's positive nature while in the reversed position. You may, however, be unaware of the spiritual riches that surround you. As a result there may be a delay in plans coming to fruition; lack of confidence or a pessimistic attitude could be holding you back from taking the steps neccessary to make something happen...
J: You are so going to blog this, aren't you? S: (with a scowl on her face) I suppose it would be funny to others that you were threatening to take my picture while I was on the can... J: Not just on the can, honey. You're brushing your teeth! S: Oh go away. Like you never multitask!
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S: I really must love you. J: Why is that? S: because I touch your underwear J: are you saying that I don't touch yours? S: No, just that yours are special case J: A 'special case'? S: As in: on the floor of the hallway J: I didn't leave them there, ask the cat!
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We were on the bus home from picking up our cheques on Friday when we got into a strange little conversation with a woman in a scooter. She ended up giving us this little piece of paper with some funnies on it, and my fave is "Try not to let your mind wander, it's too small and fragile to be out on it's own."
I tried to fix my headphones today... and failed miserably.
Miss Kitten decided at some point that chewing on the wire would be a good thing - I have no idea what goes through that small kitty-brain, but the end result was a mangled and completely severed wire to one earpiece. So I sat down on the couch with the electrical tape and a pair of scissors thinking that I could undo some of the platic on the outside and twist the wires together. J even said 'you'll never fix those' but I had to try.
Does this make me stubborn or what? I can't just take anyone's word for anything, I have to check and sometimes doublecheck to figure out things for myself. I suppose that this can be a good thing, but sometimes I wonder if it will get me into trouble. i.e. "that will explode if you do that" I'd be like "oh really? Are you certain? Just let me try it..."
Starting to feel more like myself again, and I think that, in large part it has to do with the fact that I got to spend a large portion of my day in the sunshine, with music on - or my choice - and collect my thoughts - at least a little bit. Kerry messaged me today and I might have part time in the mall if I want it - on top of the current shit-job. I'm not one to look a gifthorse in the mouth, so perhaps this is a sign that things are starting to turn in the other direction.
I stare at the last few squares of the toilet paper clinging to the roll with some trepidation. Panic threatens to set in as I try and imagine what I'll do if there isn't enough. I rummage awkwardly in the cupboard under the bathroom sink, but there's nothing, not even cotton balls and I decide it'd be better not to risk it. As I put on my jacket to make a really quick trip to the store I wonder how it was we became so dependent on tp. What did we do before someone invented the pristine white rolls we buy every grocery trip? Curiousity got the better of me and would you know, apparently people used anything from leaves and handfuls of snow to cobs of corn or their left hand. Now, think about that the next time you have only a few squares of TP left on your roll! Google it, I dare you.
"...I saw J in the food court today at lunch with his broken shoulder. I was with Am, but it was weird how his presence took up my entire attention. He didn't stay long, because he had his daughter with him, but he did sit and make some small talk with us. No idea what anyone said. Funny thing is, I kinda felt sad when he left. Am I ready for this? If not what on earth does it mean?"
I'd rather be mindlessly and obsessively checking the mail to see if the king of the Potato People has written me back regarding the hostage situation that involves my socks than dealing with this crap right now...
Feeling more divorced from reality than I normally do, which is quite something, I should say because I don't spend all my time there anyay. Actually kind of numb. I got up this morning between blaring bouts of J's alarm clock and the screaming that was coming out of mine - which, I suppose was supposed to have been music, but felt more like the same genre as nails-on-chalkboard with some overenthusiastic drums. I stood and stared at myself in the mirror for a few minutes while J's alarm went off yet another time - and it took me that long to realise that I'd come into the bathroom to shower. Being a bit spacey's not abnormal - I am not a morning person. You might say that I don't actually come to life until about two hours have passed since I dragged my sorry butt out of bed. But today it felt a little like I was watching myself turn on the tap and test the temperature.
I stepped into the shower and let the hot water wash over me, thinking about how I had to go to work and then shoving the thought away: I won't think about it until I'm there, or I won't go. Then my nose felt funny and I realised it was bleeding. Ever since I was a kid I've suffered from what my mother refers to as "stress-induced nasal haemorrhages" and this is probably what this is. I pinch my nose and wash my hair one-handed. By the time I get to the conditioner it seems to have stopped. When I get out and finish inspecting my poor nose I realise I don't really remember my shower, whether I'd gone through all the steps - how one forgets the parts to a routine because they are just that: routine.
At this point J is up and mostly dressed. We brush past each other as we prepare for the day. It's not until we're outside and partway down the hill that he notices that I'm not really here. He asks if I'm ok, if I slept well. To be honest I don't remember if I even slept. Perhaps I did. He coaxes me into smiling, which I can't help doing because his efforts are so endearing, regardless, but he keeps looking at me while we're waiting for the bus. He asks me if I want to go home. I tell him that of course I do, but we have to go. He puts his arm out for me to take and I do, because it means I can lean on him a little. He steers me away from the bus stop just as the bus pulls up. We round the corner and all of a sudden I'm in tears.
Yesterday was a bad day. I try so hard to remove myself from the frame of mind where I empathise and care about the people on the other end of the line because it's a futile place to be. I know it consciously, am aware that the policies often restrain me from doing anything to aide the customers; that this makes them angry. I try to put on that tough skin and step into a service rep persona so that when they do get angry they won't be taking it out on me, but the puppet. But I fail. I fail because it's not in my nature to not care, to not do my best to solve the problem, to just say: "sorry, can't help" and give up.
Yesterday I had a woman call me names, including the hated c-word. Since it's my perogative to not have to put up with verbal abuse I hung up, took a moment to collect myself and went back into the queue - only to get someone I could not understand. I suppose having had my shell cracked earlier first by some praise, then by some abuse I was not able to pull the mask between myself and this guy. He got increasingly frustrated with me while I asked him questions and had to ask him to repeat himself so that I could clarify what needed to be done, only to realise it was something I'd never done before. So I called our help-line only to have the help rep call me stupid for having to ask. So I hung up on her and burst into tears.
I'm not like this. I don't know why I can't do it. I don't know why I cried on the way home this morning - so hard I gave myself another bloody nose. I don't know why I've been wandering around today only half-here.
You know... I had written a whole thing about how much life sucks right now, but then Irealised that no one really wants to read about how my job sucks and all that if there's nothing but self-absorbed whining. Which, admittedly, is something I seem to be getting very good at. The problem lies in the fact that I can't bitch about the company we work for until I don't work there anymore, so I really don't have the outlet I'd like! (edit: looks like this person can though!)
Lets just hope that the next time I talk to the bank-type people that something good happens! Wish me luck!
