Come on and Get Your Overdose

Got two jobs: one as a greeter in an office, starts tomorrow and ends Friday. Then a real big girl job working for the SSAT board starts next Tuesday. It's temp and due to end in February, but it will be a very shiny star on my resume.

So, I lost my job. They canceled my assignment mere minutes after they approved my leaving work to go pick up my car. The temp agency said they cited "attendance issues" but really? I don't believe it. How can it be an attendance problem when my 3 freaking days off work this whole summer were approved and I never received a warning? Then I hear that there are new temps today. Temps, which it takes a few days to process. Which means they knew about these temps before they let me go.

Attendance issues. Yeah, right.

So far I've applied for two clerical jobs at a medical center. I'm getting sick of temping and how easily you get screwed over. Especially now that I know what I want to be doing in two years. I need money, not just to live on, but for start-up capital. And I'd prefer to not need to rely more on loans than on the cash I have.

I'm so mad about this last job. It's sneaky and underhanded and I feel quite screwed over.

Temp agency always comes through for me. It's really outside what I would normally do, because there's some overnight travel involved. But maybe it's time to take a step outside my comfort zone. The company helps get child support paid, and that's something I have very strong feelings about. So maybe. They submitted my resume today.

I heard it alone, while I was driving. I'm really glad that's how I heard it. My experience wasn't colored by that of anyone around me; it was mine alone.

This is me, drinking the Kool-Aid.

I'm thinking of all the issues I need to go over with a therapist. Anxiety, depression, bad conditioning...things I can recognize, but can't seem to overcome by myself. I have the support of my friends, family, and incredible boyfriend to help me get through these things, but what I really want is to overcome them. I think regaining my confidence is key, but I can't think how to do that. Remember confident me? I do. I remember what life was like when I didn't stop to wonder if people wanted to hear me sing, I just sang because I wanted to. I remember not being afraid to talk to people. And I remember not being afraid to be alone.

See, that's the worst part, the part I really hate. I cannot, cannot feel secure in the idea that no, everyone in my life will not just up and leave me one day, no matter how hard I try to be extra good, and no matter how much that fear drives me to BE extra good. It is a self-repairing issue, though. I want to stop with the crazy so I don't drive people away, so as as soon as I can afford it I'm going to hunt down a therapist I can work with, deal with the crazy, and overcome this fear.

I really need to recondition myself so that happiness and anxiety are no longer in direct correlation...that is to say that right now, the happier I am, the more afraid I am of losing that happiness. It's a toxic mindset, and it's been the force behind my self-sabotage for a few years now.

I will not let this conquer me. I can see it now, and take steps to stop the chain reaction before it begins. That will do until I can do more. And I will correct this. It's only a matter of time.

Hamstrung always by the fear of failure. Never pursuing anything to conclusion. I could have learned to play piano or guitar, but now I can afford neither instrument nor lessons. I could have published, but I am too afraid that someone will laugh. I never got beyond the coffee house or the SCA.

How is it that I have failed to become something spectacular? All this potential wasted. You know, I can't remember the last time I sang a song I'd written where anyone could hear. Mostly I sing while I'm washing the dishes. So many songs unheard. I have believed for a long time now that my star will burn out in silence and where no one can see.

So if you are making art, or music, or doing what you love, be proud, and be grateful, that you are not me.

And when I left the building, I skipped back to my car. I've tried to be cynical about today, but I can't. I am giddy and hopeful.

I made this for a friend. Pass it on.


moar funny pictures

I sincerely hope that Obama becomes our next president. It's mostly an intuitive thing, but I do find his platform the least disagreeable. Also, he acknowledges that atheists can be morally good.

I find that the longer I am exposed to true morons with no hope of escape, the more intensely I want to go off on them.

Valentine's Day is looking well. Skullduggery rules.

Go Gian.....I can't even finish that. I. DON'T. FUCKING. CARE. I hate football. Hate. With a firey passion matched only by my hate for baseball.

Wicked Faire this weekend. Not sure what color the homing balloon will be yet. But as always, if you want to find me...look UP.

The brush with romance is totally on the back burner, were it ever anywhere else. Not that that's so horrible. He and I are marvelous friends who had a good moment. Oddly enough, it has only strengthened our friendship. Even more oddly, it had nothing to do with the breakup. That was just a matter of my soul surviving. There are a whole lot of bitter, nasty, vicious people who might see my journal. It would be a crime if "Heath" were punished for our momentary lapse of decorum. It was never love. It was a wild, heady crush--something like the first few moments of being high. It left me able to tolerate "Chris" far longer than I could have otherwise. A kindness to Chris; a cruelty to me.

I am now unable to fall asleep unless I'm completely exhausted. Thursday night, I talked with Poogle till that struck. Friday night, with Chrispy. Tonight, there's no one, but I've got to get up at 9. My brother is being ordained a deacon, and by some insanity I've decided to show up and visit. I just hope no one asks me how I am. "Terrible, thanks, but it's Robert's day, not mine." No other way to see my niece, though.

Amazing how small everything that has gone before in my life seems now. I stand on the brink of disaster, and all I can count on is luck. My friends say "I don't want to take sides." Best of luck, my dears. Fred'll try and make you. He said, "You have a history of thinking your exes are insane." Well, yes, the last two. Fred tried to force me to stab him with an 18-inch dagger, and DJ said he wanted to run me over with his car. Sounds crazy to me! The others, and there are a fair number, all were quiet things. There will be no more for a long time. Till July 31, 2004. Julie says I should drop sex altogether. It sounded ludicrous to me at first, but from certain points of view it's just another stress factor. Best not to seek it, I suppose, although what I'll do if it finds me I don't know anymore. After the HPV scare, I'm not exactly looking forward to conquering new territory. And the old ones have...well...grown old.

I must be getting a little better. My thoughts are wandering, which they haven't since Friday afternoon when I got the news that Fred was coming back. Although rage is still always quite near the surface, it's nice that I can skim along for a short while at least.

The thing to do now is to hope I can phonepay my storage unit once daylight hits. I'll be canceling storage on the 31st and the bastard can have the lock and key. I never should have bailed him out. Never should have taken him in. Never should have loved him. Love has a habit of making me sick. I'll be glad to be quit of it for a while, and grateful to any friends who stop me should I seem to be falling in. "One day at a time," my father says. But his demon was alcohol, not love. I've managed to avoid it for 23 years, but now at last I have to learn to love myself. Best of luck to me!

Platypus