My mood was a bit low last week. This week, I've been anxious and excitable*. There's a shithead at work who likes to "stir the pot" and yesterday I had enough. He commented that my desk was the messiest and blah blah blah. I told him that if my boss had a problem with my desk, she could tell me herself. It's the smallest thing, I know, but I work in a high traffic area, and the fucker can't walk by without making a comment. And he walks by a lot.
Things have gotten busy for me at work again. I kind of wish the busy-ness would hold off until after I move, but I can't control that. No sense worrying about it. I worked well passed my regular time yesterday. My boss walked by and stopped dead in her tracks:
Her: What are you still doing here?
Me: Working?
Her: You're still working and my other CAs are complaining they have nothing to do?
Me:...wut?
One of the other two girls is a bit clueless at her job. Some of this sits on my shoulders; I trained both of them. I told my boss that I was concerned that the reason they're not busy is because I must have missed a step, not told them enough. They were filling jars with rocks, but didn't realize the jars will fit pebbles and sand as well. My boss reassured me that none of this was my fault; I had only worked there for 6 months myself, and then was expected to turnaround and train two new people. I don't know. I was hoping to be impressive - someone that everyone in the office would respect. I'm feeling a little fucked right now. I'm almost positive that the reason one of the girls isn't getting work is because she's clueless, and her people can't trust her to do things properly. I'm also having a hard time dealing with them sometimes. They'll approach me to ask a question that is answered quite explicitly in the handbook. The handbook I worked very hard on. Nice to know that it's being read and referred to.
On top of this is my upcoming move. The movers are booked for next Friday. I look around my place and I'm just filled with dread and panic. There is still so much to do around here. The parking situation at my old place is crap; I can't get anywhere near the door for a regular parking spot. I have to pull around, turn on the four-way flashers, and do the mad dash to fill it with what I can. I had been moving stuff over to the other place, but I think that needs to stop. I need to focus on packing everything left. Oh me, oh my.
A few months back, I had signed up for match.com, thinking that if I paid for it, maybe the quality (desperation) of people would be a little higher than on the other sites I was on. I've been in touch with one guy so far. He likes movies a lot. On Saturday, my sister-in-law and I had a couple of drinks and were playing around on the site, emailed that one guy, marked some guys as likes or dislikes. I noticed the past few days that the matches the site is sending me seem better, more appropriate. So that's good. Who knows where this will lead?
*I don't necessarily think this is evidence of any disorder, just reacting to the events and stress around me.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Monday, October 8, 2012
Met the new neighbours the other day.
Well, technically, I'm the new neighbour. On Saturday, I had gone out to the new place with a carload of things, and a young lady introduced herself to me. She was super friendly and offered to carry some things up, and then have me over for tea. I was quite impressed with both her and her boyfriend. They seem really nice.
I'm afraid I came across as dull during the conversation. Lately, both work and the move have been consuming a fair amount of my time. This young couple couldn't relate to my desk job, and I couldn't relate to... their warmth? I'm not certain, but I do know that at some point in the conversation, the boyfriend mentioned that he had given a homeless guy a number of phone numbers that could help him out. Not to mention, of course, that they were perfectly natural in inviting me into their home and making me a cup of tea, whereas I would not have been as cozy. I came away from the entire meeting feeling both inspired and somewhat shameful.
At any rate, I'm getting more and more excited about the new place every day. For a moment, just before I put my key in the door, I imagined that everything was already moved in, and I was about to walk into my living room. It's going to be really nice when it's all finished.
I'm afraid I came across as dull during the conversation. Lately, both work and the move have been consuming a fair amount of my time. This young couple couldn't relate to my desk job, and I couldn't relate to... their warmth? I'm not certain, but I do know that at some point in the conversation, the boyfriend mentioned that he had given a homeless guy a number of phone numbers that could help him out. Not to mention, of course, that they were perfectly natural in inviting me into their home and making me a cup of tea, whereas I would not have been as cozy. I came away from the entire meeting feeling both inspired and somewhat shameful.
At any rate, I'm getting more and more excited about the new place every day. For a moment, just before I put my key in the door, I imagined that everything was already moved in, and I was about to walk into my living room. It's going to be really nice when it's all finished.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
bigmouth strikes again
I go through these phases where I can't seem to stop talking about things. Mostly complaining. Sometimes gossiping. Lots of gossip. Mostly work shit, mind you. I hope I don't have eat my words anytime soon.
I'm not trying to suggest this is part of my pathology or anything. Just that I seem to go through periods where I'm a bit of a tool.
I'm not trying to suggest this is part of my pathology or anything. Just that I seem to go through periods where I'm a bit of a tool.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Changing my situation - part 2
 | |
| I'm sorry, the picture of the kitchen wouldn't stop being a dick, so it's at the top of the entry. |
Guess what, folks?
 |
| Outside |
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| Master Bedroom |
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| Slave Bedroom, er, Office |
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| Living Room |
 | |
| Picture from the other side of the living room. From left to right: front closet, kitchen entrance, and hallway with bathroom at the end. |
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Paired up
I'm the only single person at my workplace. The partners are as interesting and varied as the people I work with: one is smart and friendly, one is super athletic, one is a librarian, one is flaky, one will bake cookies for the office, one couldn't take three weeks of retirement, so he started working again, and so on.
I'm jealous. Not of anyone in particular, but they have found that one person they want to annoy for the rest of their lives.
At social functions (ie, Christmas party or "fun day," which I was able to dodge), I stand with my wine or pop and look awkward while everyone else has an elaborate plan of escape that involves the partner having a meeting in the morning. What else is a partner for, but to give the impression of a conspiracy. Even when it's the two of you left alone for a few moments together at the party, and you're not talking (after all, you already know each others' stories), a well placed hand on the small of your back or sideways glance can be quite comforting. Even when the glance says "next week is my office party and you owe me."
On Monday mornings, I ask my work friends what they did on the weekend, and their answers often start with "we went..." or "we did..." My answers are usually a variation of "I went and visited friends and family who have also found their counterparts. I did this by myself."
It sounds like complaining, and it is really*. However, with the way I've been lately, I really don't have the energy or self-esteem to really look for a partner. In actuality, I don't even know what's on my shopping list at the moment. There's a small list of things I don't want (please, don't be an asshole, don't be controlling, and don't take up the bathroom for 1.5 hours in the morning), and a small list of things I do want (please know how to read, please have ears and a nose), but they all seem like obvious ones. When I think about my past, my most recent favourite man was an engineer, so I think I'd like someone around that education level. But I also like to think that if I meet a garbageman who's a brilliant painter, I'd be open to that, too.
I'm getting off topic. Most recently, I've flirted with my potential landlord, who turned out to be 51. That was disappointing. When I got home from that little discovery, I checked my email and had received a plenty of fish message from a 20 year old.
Really, universe? What the fuck? Is this your hilarious way of saying "not yet" or should I even stop talking to you as a thing that exists? Twat.
I should write more. Actual writing, not complaining.
*This entire blog is kind of a venting point, so I should stop feeling bad about complaining. I just hope I've made it interesting enough for people to want to read it.
I'm jealous. Not of anyone in particular, but they have found that one person they want to annoy for the rest of their lives.
At social functions (ie, Christmas party or "fun day," which I was able to dodge), I stand with my wine or pop and look awkward while everyone else has an elaborate plan of escape that involves the partner having a meeting in the morning. What else is a partner for, but to give the impression of a conspiracy. Even when it's the two of you left alone for a few moments together at the party, and you're not talking (after all, you already know each others' stories), a well placed hand on the small of your back or sideways glance can be quite comforting. Even when the glance says "next week is my office party and you owe me."
On Monday mornings, I ask my work friends what they did on the weekend, and their answers often start with "we went..." or "we did..." My answers are usually a variation of "I went and visited friends and family who have also found their counterparts. I did this by myself."
It sounds like complaining, and it is really*. However, with the way I've been lately, I really don't have the energy or self-esteem to really look for a partner. In actuality, I don't even know what's on my shopping list at the moment. There's a small list of things I don't want (please, don't be an asshole, don't be controlling, and don't take up the bathroom for 1.5 hours in the morning), and a small list of things I do want (please know how to read, please have ears and a nose), but they all seem like obvious ones. When I think about my past, my most recent favourite man was an engineer, so I think I'd like someone around that education level. But I also like to think that if I meet a garbageman who's a brilliant painter, I'd be open to that, too.
I'm getting off topic. Most recently, I've flirted with my potential landlord, who turned out to be 51. That was disappointing. When I got home from that little discovery, I checked my email and had received a plenty of fish message from a 20 year old.
Really, universe? What the fuck? Is this your hilarious way of saying "not yet" or should I even stop talking to you as a thing that exists? Twat.
I should write more. Actual writing, not complaining.
*This entire blog is kind of a venting point, so I should stop feeling bad about complaining. I just hope I've made it interesting enough for people to want to read it.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Boo to the past week
I had nachos and rum for dinner, if you're wondering how today's counselling session went. I was going to write about it, but the truth is that I just feel too awful at the moment. The EMDR seems to have done sweet FA for me with this lady, and I'm not certain that's anyone's fault. I'm not sure it ever did work.
I've had some terrible days at work recently, and then today we ended up touching on my mommy issues, and I just went to pieces. I'm thirty and I've been in and out of therapy my entire life. Mommy issues should be fucking over with. The stress of douchebags at work, gearing up for a move, lack of sleep, and this terrible dream I had last night (like... major social anxiety involving my boss), just made tonight a pajamas and American Dad night.
So, on that note... here's a clip from American Dad of Roger acting like a psychotherapist:
I've had some terrible days at work recently, and then today we ended up touching on my mommy issues, and I just went to pieces. I'm thirty and I've been in and out of therapy my entire life. Mommy issues should be fucking over with. The stress of douchebags at work, gearing up for a move, lack of sleep, and this terrible dream I had last night (like... major social anxiety involving my boss), just made tonight a pajamas and American Dad night.
So, on that note... here's a clip from American Dad of Roger acting like a psychotherapist:
Sunday, September 9, 2012
"Hey, body, haaaaave you met my friend Amy?"
In last week's therapy session, M (the therapist) tried to do EMDR with me (for information on EMDR, please go here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eye_movement_desensitization_and_reprocessing or http://www.scientificamerican.com/article.cfm?id=emdr-taking-a-closer-look*). I think I've mentioned previously that I was happy she practiced EMDR, as my previous therapist also used it.
We started the preliminary work, and as we began, she continued to stress to me that what we needed to accomplish was the clear connection of body and mind. I continued to stress to her that I understood the exercise. Eventually, something became glaringly obvious to both of us: I'm not connected to my body at all.
Now, there are people in this world who know me better than I know myself, and if any of them are reading this, they probably knew this a long time ago. If you're one of these people, you're excused, as I understand there are other interesting things on the internet you could be reading.
I don't understand where this comes from, and this shouldn't really be much of an epiphany to me. My body is a vessel I use to consume music, books, and movies and to spew out opinions and facts no one else gives a shit about. Sometimes, it's a vessel for wine as well. My body goes where I go, simply because I can't leave here at home. In retrospect, I've almost treated her as a second-hand car: "I know I'm hard on it, but I don't need the undercoating - you're just trying to scam me out of more money."
At some point in my life, I focused on my brain, spent a lot of time in there. Early on, I was told I was quite clever, so I went out and used my body to buy books, and then read them. I stayed up late, thinking different thoughts. Fact is, at this point I'm not certain I'm of above average intelligence. A depressing thought for someone who has placed all her eggs in one basket.
While not being connected with my body, I still sometimes obsess about it. I was at the beach last week with a friend, and a couple of larger women walked by and I asked "am I as big as her?" and got the response "what? NO**." I have no idea what I look like. I know that my body is about 50 pds heavier than she should be, and takes up more storage space than need be, but after that point, I just have no idea. It feels almost clinical at times, and the idea of being thought of as attractive seems, well, outside of me. Sometimes, the thought of trying to make myself seem attractive to the opposite sex (or same sex, depending on the full moon) just seems like a lot of work with little payoff. Who would I be fooling? Him? For a few months, until that moment when I realize he's not the one I want and have to have that awkward conversation.
I wish I had some sort of an answer; some coherent way to end this post. Maybe I need to spend some quality time with my body? Even that thought feels preposterous to me, as it's here all the damn time (she's even been reading over my shoulder).
*I wish the evidence were better, but yes, EMDR is controversial. Additionally, it should be noted that I do not suffer from PTSD, and it's been used for me more to deal with stress and depression.
**I'm still not certain that the "NO" reaction was an answer to my question, or her simply telling me not to ask such things. Immediately after answering me, she went into a speech about how I had great hair, was pretty, funny, and I needed to get myself out there and start meeting people. It sounds complimentary, but it felt a little more like she was saying STFU. I can't be sure I wouldn't have done the same had she asked me.
We started the preliminary work, and as we began, she continued to stress to me that what we needed to accomplish was the clear connection of body and mind. I continued to stress to her that I understood the exercise. Eventually, something became glaringly obvious to both of us: I'm not connected to my body at all.
Now, there are people in this world who know me better than I know myself, and if any of them are reading this, they probably knew this a long time ago. If you're one of these people, you're excused, as I understand there are other interesting things on the internet you could be reading.
I don't understand where this comes from, and this shouldn't really be much of an epiphany to me. My body is a vessel I use to consume music, books, and movies and to spew out opinions and facts no one else gives a shit about. Sometimes, it's a vessel for wine as well. My body goes where I go, simply because I can't leave here at home. In retrospect, I've almost treated her as a second-hand car: "I know I'm hard on it, but I don't need the undercoating - you're just trying to scam me out of more money."
At some point in my life, I focused on my brain, spent a lot of time in there. Early on, I was told I was quite clever, so I went out and used my body to buy books, and then read them. I stayed up late, thinking different thoughts. Fact is, at this point I'm not certain I'm of above average intelligence. A depressing thought for someone who has placed all her eggs in one basket.
While not being connected with my body, I still sometimes obsess about it. I was at the beach last week with a friend, and a couple of larger women walked by and I asked "am I as big as her?" and got the response "what? NO**." I have no idea what I look like. I know that my body is about 50 pds heavier than she should be, and takes up more storage space than need be, but after that point, I just have no idea. It feels almost clinical at times, and the idea of being thought of as attractive seems, well, outside of me. Sometimes, the thought of trying to make myself seem attractive to the opposite sex (or same sex, depending on the full moon) just seems like a lot of work with little payoff. Who would I be fooling? Him? For a few months, until that moment when I realize he's not the one I want and have to have that awkward conversation.
I wish I had some sort of an answer; some coherent way to end this post. Maybe I need to spend some quality time with my body? Even that thought feels preposterous to me, as it's here all the damn time (she's even been reading over my shoulder).
*I wish the evidence were better, but yes, EMDR is controversial. Additionally, it should be noted that I do not suffer from PTSD, and it's been used for me more to deal with stress and depression.
**I'm still not certain that the "NO" reaction was an answer to my question, or her simply telling me not to ask such things. Immediately after answering me, she went into a speech about how I had great hair, was pretty, funny, and I needed to get myself out there and start meeting people. It sounds complimentary, but it felt a little more like she was saying STFU. I can't be sure I wouldn't have done the same had she asked me.
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