Monday, July 19, 2010
The Reds and the Blues
I feel as though I have been under a cloud for the last month or two. I work very hard to keep things in perspective, to keep on trucking. Still, sometimes things happen, and when they do, you have every right to be upset, you know?
It's just that I don't want to indulge in that right too much, because I suppose I am always afraid of stepping over the edge into depression. I wouldn't call what I'm feeling depression, simply because many times I have felt so much worse than this, but I am making a conscious effort to pay attention and keep my head above water.
I'm going back to therapy. I thought with everything that would help. Actually, it was before a lot of things happened that I asked my doctor to recommend someone. I went to see her about a month-and-a-half ago to follow up for my PMDD. Right before the wedding, we decided to raise the estrogen dose in my pills, because on the minimum I was having complications and was still in pain. Emotionally, though, the minimal dose proved to be very helpful. I'd never felt so balanced, so myself. The higher dose improved the physical symptoms but seriously made me feel crazy.
My doctor and I came up with two solutions. The first was that I begin taking Wellbutrin, and that maybe it would balance out the crazies caused by the Seasonique. She also went ahead and prescribed me a different brand birth control pill, to see if my body would do better on a monthly cycle rather than a three-month cycle. She said if I wanted I could take the Wellbutrin and see if it balanced the Seasonique, and if not, I can change to the other pills. I filled both prescriptions, and decided to take the Wellbutrin with the Seasonique first like she suggested.
I felt a difference for the better within a couple days, and then within two weeks for sure, when the medicine was supposed to begin taking full effect. I thought everything was going pretty well. The problem is that over the last month or so I've been experiencing depression and anxiety, but there are so many things going on in my life I honestly can't tell if it is external events or the effects, or lack of effects, of my medicines that is contributing to it.
When my father died and since, I have been feeling and thinking about a lot of things, so many that I couldn't really begin. I don't know if you'd call it the typical stages of grief, but I certainly have felt denial, anger, and sadness. I have felt and relived things I have been shutting out for a long time.
I have also been thinking about my Mom a lot. I looked back on my life and looked at things through another lens -- through what actually happened, what I remember, why certain things happened. When my mother was diagnosed with cancer, from that moment, she became a saint in my mind. Really, she already was before that. When I would think about the years she spent working nights at the Chicago Tribune. When I would think about how courageous it was of her to finally leave my father. She really thought she would die if she didn't. When I thought about her taking typing classes and stuff just to get some secretarial skills so she could get a halfway decent job, and that somehow that led to her progressing and eventually editing proposals for NASA. When I would think about her not having any credit, and somehow providing for us with clothes, and everything we could want for Christmas and birthdays. When I would think about moving from welfare and foodstamps to one day owning a house in the suburbs. How I went from sharing a tiny room with both my sisters in Chicago, to eventually having my own.
But there are other things, things that everything else doesn't always cancel out, even when I want them to. Some memories still make me very angry, even some things my Mom has continued to apologize for well into adulthood.
I have memories that haunt me nearly every single day. Sometimes things don't go through my head for awhile, and then they hit me all at once, and I can't sleep for days. Generally, when that happens the most though, is during spikes in PMDD symptoms. I need to let go of a lot of things. But at times lately I am feeling angry and having realizations about things in ways I had not thought about them before. It is frustrating because I just want things to make sense. I just want to feel one way I guess.
In spite of the old things that I suppose have become especially raw in light of my father's death for some reason, there are still pleasant things in my life. I try not to sweat the small stuff. I love Toby and I love my dog, and our life together. I love my family, and my sister is in town, and my nephews -- seeing them has been wonderful.
I know that on days when my anxiety is high, I sometimes overreact. My husband could certainly attest to that. But there are other things that are in the back of my mind nearly every day: my mother's treatment and progress (they have extended her chemo treatments again, and she is very weak and is losing a lot of weight); my grandmother's health (she had her first treatment for the cancer yesterday, and says she has recovered nicely from the surgery she had); nervousness and anxiety over my plans for the next year (my graduate school application and the move we are going to make); dealing with my father's death ....
I think with all this stuff, it would be best to talk to a professional at this point. My number one confidante is my husband, but I can't put everything on him just like I can't put everything on my friends.
The thing about my life, and my friendships, and even writing these things for the few of you who read them, is that I don't know how much is too much or how little. I have held so many things in for so long that I'm afraid of saying too much.
This stuff's heavy, and everybody has their stuff. I'll be the first person to understand that. It is hard, though, when you have so many superficial surface level-friendships, and you have heavy things on your mind. For example, Joe's death. It's not like I'm going to go around telling people my father died. Most people don't even know the situation or history to begin with? How would anyone possibly understand if they don't know? And even if they did know, how would they understand because they did not live it?
I really don't want to come across as a pity party. That's not what I am feeling right now. Just evaluating. Trying to handle things. Trying to figure out whom to share them with, or even if it's worth it.
But like I said, is it this stuff or it it the PMDD or is it the changes in medication, or side effects in medication or all of it? Is it caffeine? I gave up caffeine again, but I'm tired all the time. I want a cup of coffee, but not if it's going to make me crazy and anxious and irritable. Am I working out enough? I'm trying to. I have realized that exercising is key to my mental health, so even if I'm physically not wanting to, I'm trying to get my exercise in at least a few times a week. Am I eating healthy enough? Probably should do a little better. I've gotten to be a little more relaxed about my eating habits lately.
When my doctor gave me the Wellbutrin, I said that these were things I noticed that I needed to do. I was feeling the crazies but I also hadn't been taking care of myself as well as I could. I really think I'm doing better at that, and not feeling nearly the level of craziness I was more than six weeks ago. The Wellbutrin really is helping. But with all these changes coming up and the few things that have been upsetting me, I hope and think seeing a therapist again will help. My first session is tomorrow. Thanks for listening.
I feel as though I have been under a cloud for the last month or two. I work very hard to keep things in perspective, to keep on trucking. Still, sometimes things happen, and when they do, you have every right to be upset, you know?
It's just that I don't want to indulge in that right too much, because I suppose I am always afraid of stepping over the edge into depression. I wouldn't call what I'm feeling depression, simply because many times I have felt so much worse than this, but I am making a conscious effort to pay attention and keep my head above water.
I'm going back to therapy. I thought with everything that would help. Actually, it was before a lot of things happened that I asked my doctor to recommend someone. I went to see her about a month-and-a-half ago to follow up for my PMDD. Right before the wedding, we decided to raise the estrogen dose in my pills, because on the minimum I was having complications and was still in pain. Emotionally, though, the minimal dose proved to be very helpful. I'd never felt so balanced, so myself. The higher dose improved the physical symptoms but seriously made me feel crazy.
My doctor and I came up with two solutions. The first was that I begin taking Wellbutrin, and that maybe it would balance out the crazies caused by the Seasonique. She also went ahead and prescribed me a different brand birth control pill, to see if my body would do better on a monthly cycle rather than a three-month cycle. She said if I wanted I could take the Wellbutrin and see if it balanced the Seasonique, and if not, I can change to the other pills. I filled both prescriptions, and decided to take the Wellbutrin with the Seasonique first like she suggested.
I felt a difference for the better within a couple days, and then within two weeks for sure, when the medicine was supposed to begin taking full effect. I thought everything was going pretty well. The problem is that over the last month or so I've been experiencing depression and anxiety, but there are so many things going on in my life I honestly can't tell if it is external events or the effects, or lack of effects, of my medicines that is contributing to it.
When my father died and since, I have been feeling and thinking about a lot of things, so many that I couldn't really begin. I don't know if you'd call it the typical stages of grief, but I certainly have felt denial, anger, and sadness. I have felt and relived things I have been shutting out for a long time.
I have also been thinking about my Mom a lot. I looked back on my life and looked at things through another lens -- through what actually happened, what I remember, why certain things happened. When my mother was diagnosed with cancer, from that moment, she became a saint in my mind. Really, she already was before that. When I would think about the years she spent working nights at the Chicago Tribune. When I would think about how courageous it was of her to finally leave my father. She really thought she would die if she didn't. When I thought about her taking typing classes and stuff just to get some secretarial skills so she could get a halfway decent job, and that somehow that led to her progressing and eventually editing proposals for NASA. When I would think about her not having any credit, and somehow providing for us with clothes, and everything we could want for Christmas and birthdays. When I would think about moving from welfare and foodstamps to one day owning a house in the suburbs. How I went from sharing a tiny room with both my sisters in Chicago, to eventually having my own.
But there are other things, things that everything else doesn't always cancel out, even when I want them to. Some memories still make me very angry, even some things my Mom has continued to apologize for well into adulthood.
I have memories that haunt me nearly every single day. Sometimes things don't go through my head for awhile, and then they hit me all at once, and I can't sleep for days. Generally, when that happens the most though, is during spikes in PMDD symptoms. I need to let go of a lot of things. But at times lately I am feeling angry and having realizations about things in ways I had not thought about them before. It is frustrating because I just want things to make sense. I just want to feel one way I guess.
In spite of the old things that I suppose have become especially raw in light of my father's death for some reason, there are still pleasant things in my life. I try not to sweat the small stuff. I love Toby and I love my dog, and our life together. I love my family, and my sister is in town, and my nephews -- seeing them has been wonderful.
I know that on days when my anxiety is high, I sometimes overreact. My husband could certainly attest to that. But there are other things that are in the back of my mind nearly every day: my mother's treatment and progress (they have extended her chemo treatments again, and she is very weak and is losing a lot of weight); my grandmother's health (she had her first treatment for the cancer yesterday, and says she has recovered nicely from the surgery she had); nervousness and anxiety over my plans for the next year (my graduate school application and the move we are going to make); dealing with my father's death ....
I think with all this stuff, it would be best to talk to a professional at this point. My number one confidante is my husband, but I can't put everything on him just like I can't put everything on my friends.
The thing about my life, and my friendships, and even writing these things for the few of you who read them, is that I don't know how much is too much or how little. I have held so many things in for so long that I'm afraid of saying too much.
This stuff's heavy, and everybody has their stuff. I'll be the first person to understand that. It is hard, though, when you have so many superficial surface level-friendships, and you have heavy things on your mind. For example, Joe's death. It's not like I'm going to go around telling people my father died. Most people don't even know the situation or history to begin with? How would anyone possibly understand if they don't know? And even if they did know, how would they understand because they did not live it?
I really don't want to come across as a pity party. That's not what I am feeling right now. Just evaluating. Trying to handle things. Trying to figure out whom to share them with, or even if it's worth it.
But like I said, is it this stuff or it it the PMDD or is it the changes in medication, or side effects in medication or all of it? Is it caffeine? I gave up caffeine again, but I'm tired all the time. I want a cup of coffee, but not if it's going to make me crazy and anxious and irritable. Am I working out enough? I'm trying to. I have realized that exercising is key to my mental health, so even if I'm physically not wanting to, I'm trying to get my exercise in at least a few times a week. Am I eating healthy enough? Probably should do a little better. I've gotten to be a little more relaxed about my eating habits lately.
When my doctor gave me the Wellbutrin, I said that these were things I noticed that I needed to do. I was feeling the crazies but I also hadn't been taking care of myself as well as I could. I really think I'm doing better at that, and not feeling nearly the level of craziness I was more than six weeks ago. The Wellbutrin really is helping. But with all these changes coming up and the few things that have been upsetting me, I hope and think seeing a therapist again will help. My first session is tomorrow. Thanks for listening.
Labels: Abuse, Anxiety, Cancer, Change, Depression, Moving, PMDD, Seasonique, Therapy, wellbutrin
Monday, June 30, 2008
Unspent Sleep
Lately, I am so sleepy. But then at night I can't sleep and when I do I dream and when I dream I stress as much as I'm awake.
And I wake up a crabapple and nothing about a day's work, or even a slow day at my desk, or a lunch hour spent bent on relaxation, has been enough to wind me down.
The funny thing is the same thing that keeps me awake is the same thing I need a break from, or actually, in writing, that's hardly a contradiction. I can see that now.
But I feel a great restlessness, and anxiety: I constantly feel like I'm not doing enough.
I'm not working out enough (or at all); I'm not hanging out with my friends enough (but I'm so tired in the first place I barely make it out more than once or twice a week tops); I'm not doing enough to help others (I have relied on the support of friends and family without feeling like I can ever give much back for a long while, and that feeling is never comforting. Sometimes I feel like when the time comes when I'll have a car or money or time or ideas, I might by then run out of people to share them with); and I want to help strangers, too (I want to volunteer, and am going to look into possibly a Saturday commitment somewhere, because that's all I really have the time to do).
I read for what seems like all day long about current events, history, pop culture, and whatever else (to the point sometimes that by the end of the day it amounts to one big weighty blur).
I don't know why I'm even sitting here writing this, except that it's been so hard lately to turn it off.
Lately, I am so sleepy. But then at night I can't sleep and when I do I dream and when I dream I stress as much as I'm awake.
And I wake up a crabapple and nothing about a day's work, or even a slow day at my desk, or a lunch hour spent bent on relaxation, has been enough to wind me down.
The funny thing is the same thing that keeps me awake is the same thing I need a break from, or actually, in writing, that's hardly a contradiction. I can see that now.
But I feel a great restlessness, and anxiety: I constantly feel like I'm not doing enough.
I'm not working out enough (or at all); I'm not hanging out with my friends enough (but I'm so tired in the first place I barely make it out more than once or twice a week tops); I'm not doing enough to help others (I have relied on the support of friends and family without feeling like I can ever give much back for a long while, and that feeling is never comforting. Sometimes I feel like when the time comes when I'll have a car or money or time or ideas, I might by then run out of people to share them with); and I want to help strangers, too (I want to volunteer, and am going to look into possibly a Saturday commitment somewhere, because that's all I really have the time to do).
I read for what seems like all day long about current events, history, pop culture, and whatever else (to the point sometimes that by the end of the day it amounts to one big weighty blur).
I don't know why I'm even sitting here writing this, except that it's been so hard lately to turn it off.
Labels: Anxiety, Insomnia, Restlessness
Monday, January 29, 2007
FUCKING COFFEE!!!!
My head's spinning with one million arguments on two loops going at the same pace in opposite directions that never intersect.
One of them is simple vs. complicated, black and white vs. gray, I suppose. And for anyone who's ever read this it would probably be no surprise which of them is my favorite, or which one I suppose I am pulled to like a magnet, and I swear I'm not a drama queen, either.
Just a poor soul who gets easily confused. Or a fool, but a smart-ish one, one so smart she can see all routes to one place and always choose the longest or most dangerous one without exception.
Then I'm reading some very interesting books lately and sort of drawing some foolish philosophy or understanding from them, or at least trying to broaden my own, picking and choosing pieces of information. But maybe all I'm doing is just adding to the track that's going to loop in the same place anyway. Just choosing things that fit into what was already there, even if in some broader perspective, like taking in other dimensions while still staying right in a box.
And sometimes I don't write at all, not even to myself. And sometimes I don't think either, for someone who thinks a lot.
And sometimes I need to take a break, and I guess that's what all these jumbled up letters are, because a little recycling can be the only way to work things out sometimes.
Once, years and years ago this person I barely knew told me that when I feel a certain way, I shut down. That it was this learned response, something I'd trained myself to do when I was a kid.
Like how when I was younger my parents would yell and yell at me sometimes and I could sit quietly and space out and show no emotion whatsoever, nor say a word, and how it would frustrate them and piss them off even more, but it was all I could do.
So this person I barely knew, long ago, to continue this story, observed this in me once, and called me out, but I didn't want to hear it because I had already reached that stage at that point and the words had fallen on deaf ears.
Isn't it funny how sometimes things like that will happen. How it can take you five or ten years, or maybe more, I don't know because I'm not that old, I guess, to realize how many things you've heard that were true that you disagreed with for so long.
Some say things are simple.
Some say things are complicated.
Some people oversimplify like a motherfucker and generalize a fucking lot.
Others overanalyze and run themselves in circles, and stay up late after millions of cups of coffee, re-evaluating what they know and once knew, and once never knew, I suppose.
So back to these books I'm reading, man. They are inspiring me, in addition to some other things that are happening in my life, to make some changes.
It's like moving, in my mind. Choosing a place to go, how much to pay, what goes, what stays ....
And moving is stressful, but goddamnit if I'd rather move than stay somewhere for my whole entire life and never know what's out there.
On the other hand, constantly moving leaves no room for stability, other than the constant bisogno di volere for anything stare, like amore, amici, le lingue in alcuni.
Non posso fare il mio cuore d'accordo con miei occhi. Non posso correre niente, perche sarei sempri pensare della casa. E non parlo della casa dove si voglia e fa vivere; parlo della i mundi.
E tutti il mio vero sta in una casa che molto difficile trovare. Il solamente cosi posso dare -- aspettare. Perche? Posso penso o aspetto.
Questi cosi sono molti importanti a me, tu visti?
Fottere! Dormire! Fottere tutti! Dimentico fottere. Dimentico dello! Il mio cervello bisogno dello pompino. Perche le molte possibilite bisognano succhiare esterno. Successivamente, i miei amici, e solamente successivamente, eventualmente, magari capisci almeno alcuni cosi, e abbia le alcune opinione in una certa misura.
Okay?
Thanks.
My head's spinning with one million arguments on two loops going at the same pace in opposite directions that never intersect.
One of them is simple vs. complicated, black and white vs. gray, I suppose. And for anyone who's ever read this it would probably be no surprise which of them is my favorite, or which one I suppose I am pulled to like a magnet, and I swear I'm not a drama queen, either.
Just a poor soul who gets easily confused. Or a fool, but a smart-ish one, one so smart she can see all routes to one place and always choose the longest or most dangerous one without exception.
Then I'm reading some very interesting books lately and sort of drawing some foolish philosophy or understanding from them, or at least trying to broaden my own, picking and choosing pieces of information. But maybe all I'm doing is just adding to the track that's going to loop in the same place anyway. Just choosing things that fit into what was already there, even if in some broader perspective, like taking in other dimensions while still staying right in a box.
And sometimes I don't write at all, not even to myself. And sometimes I don't think either, for someone who thinks a lot.
And sometimes I need to take a break, and I guess that's what all these jumbled up letters are, because a little recycling can be the only way to work things out sometimes.
Once, years and years ago this person I barely knew told me that when I feel a certain way, I shut down. That it was this learned response, something I'd trained myself to do when I was a kid.
Like how when I was younger my parents would yell and yell at me sometimes and I could sit quietly and space out and show no emotion whatsoever, nor say a word, and how it would frustrate them and piss them off even more, but it was all I could do.
So this person I barely knew, long ago, to continue this story, observed this in me once, and called me out, but I didn't want to hear it because I had already reached that stage at that point and the words had fallen on deaf ears.
Isn't it funny how sometimes things like that will happen. How it can take you five or ten years, or maybe more, I don't know because I'm not that old, I guess, to realize how many things you've heard that were true that you disagreed with for so long.
Some say things are simple.
Some say things are complicated.
Some people oversimplify like a motherfucker and generalize a fucking lot.
Others overanalyze and run themselves in circles, and stay up late after millions of cups of coffee, re-evaluating what they know and once knew, and once never knew, I suppose.
So back to these books I'm reading, man. They are inspiring me, in addition to some other things that are happening in my life, to make some changes.
It's like moving, in my mind. Choosing a place to go, how much to pay, what goes, what stays ....
And moving is stressful, but goddamnit if I'd rather move than stay somewhere for my whole entire life and never know what's out there.
On the other hand, constantly moving leaves no room for stability, other than the constant bisogno di volere for anything stare, like amore, amici, le lingue in alcuni.
Non posso fare il mio cuore d'accordo con miei occhi. Non posso correre niente, perche sarei sempri pensare della casa. E non parlo della casa dove si voglia e fa vivere; parlo della i mundi.
E tutti il mio vero sta in una casa che molto difficile trovare. Il solamente cosi posso dare -- aspettare. Perche? Posso penso o aspetto.
Questi cosi sono molti importanti a me, tu visti?
Fottere! Dormire! Fottere tutti! Dimentico fottere. Dimentico dello! Il mio cervello bisogno dello pompino. Perche le molte possibilite bisognano succhiare esterno. Successivamente, i miei amici, e solamente successivamente, eventualmente, magari capisci almeno alcuni cosi, e abbia le alcune opinione in una certa misura.
Okay?
Thanks.
Labels: Anxiety, Confusion, Insomnia, Moving
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Nervous Stomach
I'm going through something really horrible right now. I wish I could write about it. It's the only thing that could possibly help at this point, but I'm not at liberty to do so.
I did learn something about human nature though. Something I only had a grasp of before.
And now I feel sick to my stomach, and have to get up early in the morning for a very important meeting.
I haven't been sleeping much. Something horrible happened, and I keep reliving it in my head. It makes me cry at the most random times. And shake.
And I can't even think about how it makes me feel because, more importantly, I need to be thinking about what is going to happen next.
My head hurts on the side where I sleep. It makes me toss and turn even more.
I know this is cryptic. It isn't meant to say anything specific. Specifics are off limits right now.
But I'm frightened. And scared. If those are two different things. I don't know.
And I've never felt so alone than right now. Just me and this feeling. And not being able to talk about much.
And not being able to articulate the things I could.
And there's something about character to be said here too. I read once that a person's true character comes out in the darkest moments of a person's life. How they handle it.
But I don't know because, sometimes a good person can do something out of character. You read about it all the time in the papers.
And sometimes a moment can define a person, on paper, or in someone else's memory, or by threatening his or her reputation.
One moment. Five minutes. Or ten or twenty. One action.
And I'm wondering now, if instead of being contradictory to the person on the outside, if that person within is the one trying to creep out.
Or if when it comes down to it we are merely animals. With rational thoughts that can come and go like rain.
I'm going through something really horrible right now. I wish I could write about it. It's the only thing that could possibly help at this point, but I'm not at liberty to do so.
I did learn something about human nature though. Something I only had a grasp of before.
And now I feel sick to my stomach, and have to get up early in the morning for a very important meeting.
I haven't been sleeping much. Something horrible happened, and I keep reliving it in my head. It makes me cry at the most random times. And shake.
And I can't even think about how it makes me feel because, more importantly, I need to be thinking about what is going to happen next.
My head hurts on the side where I sleep. It makes me toss and turn even more.
I know this is cryptic. It isn't meant to say anything specific. Specifics are off limits right now.
But I'm frightened. And scared. If those are two different things. I don't know.
And I've never felt so alone than right now. Just me and this feeling. And not being able to talk about much.
And not being able to articulate the things I could.
And there's something about character to be said here too. I read once that a person's true character comes out in the darkest moments of a person's life. How they handle it.
But I don't know because, sometimes a good person can do something out of character. You read about it all the time in the papers.
And sometimes a moment can define a person, on paper, or in someone else's memory, or by threatening his or her reputation.
One moment. Five minutes. Or ten or twenty. One action.
And I'm wondering now, if instead of being contradictory to the person on the outside, if that person within is the one trying to creep out.
Or if when it comes down to it we are merely animals. With rational thoughts that can come and go like rain.
Labels: Anxiety, Insomnia, Mistakes
Monday, August 21, 2006
Ho-Hum.
One man's junk is another man's treasure.
When every door closes, a new door opens.
Yep ... And, there are paradoxes in everything.
Like how today was wonderful and hellish at the same time.
And NOT wonderfully hellish, I must add.
It was the first day of school.
Yesterday I felt queasy all day. I thought it was because I was worried about whether Chris was going to be at our league party.
We had joined this league, and after several months, it was over.
I remember joking early on when we joined it, about how it was a big step for me to ask Chris to be on my team. It seemed like quite a commitment for two people who just got together ... hah. Yes, I actually was the apprehensive one for once, in the beginning.
Sure enough, we broke up less than 24 hours before our last night of competition.
Anyway, so at the end of league you get your prize. It's something you get to pick out, that part of your league dues go toward.
Chris and I had both picked out cues.
That was too much information, sort of long-winded, sorry, when the fact is, he didn't go.
But I found out when I got home last night and lost everything I ate yesterday that Chris actually wasn't to blame for my physical ailment, and I am a pretty sick kid.
Didn't feel at all settled when I went to bed, but had to get up early for my first day of school.
First day of school was somewhat uneventful, and also pretty good, depending on how to look at it.
I went to three classes today: Photography, geology, and Opinion writing. All was well. Geology's the one I was worried about, cause it's science which isn't my strongest subject, not to mention I can't see rocks whipping me up into an excitement about learning frenzy. But as it turns out, my professor's pretty hot. Problem solved ... what? Never said I wasn't a woman.
I was able to run some errands today too. Cashed some checks and opened a new bank account, cause Wamu can suck my asshole. Will save you the boring details of that story. Just got tired of bending over ....
Then I decided to stop by Slicks to make sure my schedule was as it should be, with school starting and all. Turns out I was working tonight. Two hours from the time I checked the schedule. Fuck.
Still felt like ralphing, I might add.
So I hurried home, picked up some soup on the way.
Threw my work clothes in the wash.
Ate the soup.
Took a powernap while the clothes were drying.
Thirty seconds after I got to work or so I was hiding in the bathroom and losing my dinner.
Needless to say, I went home.
Now stuffed up, queasy, hungry and thirsty but unable to retain anything I can consume, I'm sitting here writing ....
I did manage to get a weekly column in the Cougar again though. I applied again, since not many people there anymore know me, and conveniently enough as it turns out the Opinion editor has a class with me. So I met her today, and she offered me a column.
Except, there's this one guy I hate who's been there at the Cougar and at UH even longer than I have. His passive-aggressive, snide comments and questions couldn't fade me. Who the fuck does he think he is anyway? If anything, the only thing his presence did I could've done without was cause me to think of more zingers (that went without saying) I could've thrown out before I left. Fuck that guy.
"Didn't you leave to go to some po-dunk town?"
"No, I went to Seattle."
"Did it rain a lot?"
"No, actually, it was nice. It doesn't rain much there in the summers (of course you would know that if you had ever read anything or been anywhere)."
"So, Jim, what about you? Did you go anywhere, or have you just been here the whole time? And, how long have you been here again?"
"21 years." He smirked.
(Really. So you have like six degrees now or still working on the one? Or are you still doing that thing where you enroll in classes and then drop and take your parents' money and hang around in the newsroom and act like an asshole?)
Ugh.
"Were there people there? In Seattle? Were they nice?"
"Yes, actually, they were all really nice."
...
"Are you in a garage band?"
Fuck that guy.
Anyway ... it was cool, though, when Dick walked into the office and welcomed me back. "As you can see, not much here has changed," he said smiling. And I looked right at Jim, and said, "Yep. Still got your Old Standards, I see ... Well, have a good day everybody."
...
So I've got two classes tomorrow. I hope I'm feeling better by then. At least I'll be off work ...
15 hours, ya'll. It really is awesome.
One man's junk is another man's treasure.
When every door closes, a new door opens.
Yep ... And, there are paradoxes in everything.
Like how today was wonderful and hellish at the same time.
And NOT wonderfully hellish, I must add.
It was the first day of school.
Yesterday I felt queasy all day. I thought it was because I was worried about whether Chris was going to be at our league party.
We had joined this league, and after several months, it was over.
I remember joking early on when we joined it, about how it was a big step for me to ask Chris to be on my team. It seemed like quite a commitment for two people who just got together ... hah. Yes, I actually was the apprehensive one for once, in the beginning.
Sure enough, we broke up less than 24 hours before our last night of competition.
Anyway, so at the end of league you get your prize. It's something you get to pick out, that part of your league dues go toward.
Chris and I had both picked out cues.
That was too much information, sort of long-winded, sorry, when the fact is, he didn't go.
But I found out when I got home last night and lost everything I ate yesterday that Chris actually wasn't to blame for my physical ailment, and I am a pretty sick kid.
Didn't feel at all settled when I went to bed, but had to get up early for my first day of school.
First day of school was somewhat uneventful, and also pretty good, depending on how to look at it.
I went to three classes today: Photography, geology, and Opinion writing. All was well. Geology's the one I was worried about, cause it's science which isn't my strongest subject, not to mention I can't see rocks whipping me up into an excitement about learning frenzy. But as it turns out, my professor's pretty hot. Problem solved ... what? Never said I wasn't a woman.
I was able to run some errands today too. Cashed some checks and opened a new bank account, cause Wamu can suck my asshole. Will save you the boring details of that story. Just got tired of bending over ....
Then I decided to stop by Slicks to make sure my schedule was as it should be, with school starting and all. Turns out I was working tonight. Two hours from the time I checked the schedule. Fuck.
Still felt like ralphing, I might add.
So I hurried home, picked up some soup on the way.
Threw my work clothes in the wash.
Ate the soup.
Took a powernap while the clothes were drying.
Thirty seconds after I got to work or so I was hiding in the bathroom and losing my dinner.
Needless to say, I went home.
Now stuffed up, queasy, hungry and thirsty but unable to retain anything I can consume, I'm sitting here writing ....
I did manage to get a weekly column in the Cougar again though. I applied again, since not many people there anymore know me, and conveniently enough as it turns out the Opinion editor has a class with me. So I met her today, and she offered me a column.
Except, there's this one guy I hate who's been there at the Cougar and at UH even longer than I have. His passive-aggressive, snide comments and questions couldn't fade me. Who the fuck does he think he is anyway? If anything, the only thing his presence did I could've done without was cause me to think of more zingers (that went without saying) I could've thrown out before I left. Fuck that guy.
"Didn't you leave to go to some po-dunk town?"
"No, I went to Seattle."
"Did it rain a lot?"
"No, actually, it was nice. It doesn't rain much there in the summers (of course you would know that if you had ever read anything or been anywhere)."
"So, Jim, what about you? Did you go anywhere, or have you just been here the whole time? And, how long have you been here again?"
"21 years." He smirked.
(Really. So you have like six degrees now or still working on the one? Or are you still doing that thing where you enroll in classes and then drop and take your parents' money and hang around in the newsroom and act like an asshole?)
Ugh.
"Were there people there? In Seattle? Were they nice?"
"Yes, actually, they were all really nice."
...
"Are you in a garage band?"
Fuck that guy.
Anyway ... it was cool, though, when Dick walked into the office and welcomed me back. "As you can see, not much here has changed," he said smiling. And I looked right at Jim, and said, "Yep. Still got your Old Standards, I see ... Well, have a good day everybody."
...
So I've got two classes tomorrow. I hope I'm feeling better by then. At least I'll be off work ...
15 hours, ya'll. It really is awesome.
Labels: Anxiety, Breaking Up, College, Seattle, Work
Monday, January 30, 2006
End-alls, Be-alls, schmee-alls
OK, so things aren't that bad. At least, I've calmed down a little. I picked up shifts at Slicks this week. I can do that for awhile to float me until I figure out what I'm going to do.
I rode my bike today for the first time in awhile. I got a mountain bike for Christmas. Did I tell you that? It's a 21-speed red Huffy. Having a mountain bike is great in Houston because the sidewalks and streets are so shitty. My tires have taken plenty of blows, whereas a regular street bike would've fed me 8,000 tons of concrete by now, I think.
Rethinking the job situation. I got hired by a couple temp agencies. But I have to start with short-term jobs first, which means I'll have to quit Chuy's. The thing is, I love working there.
As a host, I wouldn't be worse off if they paid me in pounds of peanuts. The problem is, it pays so little that even if I worked full time I'd still barely make it. The hosting shifts are short, so that would require lots of doubles. If I wanted to do that I may as well pack a lunch and a sleeping bag for work. Not to mention the fact that part time at any job is just enough so that you don't hate it, you know?
I explained my situation to my boss there. She asked me why I didn't try to be a server. Two reasons. The first is that before they'd even let me do that, I'd have to work To-Go, which pays only 50 cents an hour more than hosting. The other is a combination of laziness, and that I'm stubborn. I've seen how they work. The restaurant is crowded 99 percent of the time. The servers bust their asses. I'm feeling too tired and old for that. My back already hurts constantly. I don't even know how the waiters do it half the time. I feel like if I were to serve there full time I'd be as physically and mentally tired as I was working full time at Slicks and part time there, with school. It would take that much out of me.
And I would hate the customers. Not all of them. A nice mixture of folks, rich and poor, laid-back and uptight, from in town and out of town, come there. Lots of different people. But dealing with them as a server? Fuck that. I'm tired of serving food. I don't really give a shit about knowing the menu anywhere anymore. Plus, you have all the people that come in there thinking they're Nora Ephron, ordering this without this with a side of this, and this other thing not on it, but on the side. Pfff. Whatever. Even vegetarians do it. Chuy's is one of my favorite restaurants because of the menu's many vegetarian options. But Nikki works there too, and she's told me people still come in there and make up their own shit. They'll get some combo that comes with like beef tacos and chalupas and enchiladas and modify it all to hell.
I'm at that point where my experience in the service industy has me walking a fine line between "Yes, sir," and "Fuck right off!"
So there you have it.
***
I'm trying to reconstruct my dreams. I'm trying for new goals. Hobbies. Friends. I feel like a life without them would be lifeless. Maybe it's fear of failure. Anxiety. Laziness. But I'm trying to get those back.
It's like when I go on these interviews, and people ask me what I want to be doing in five years. I don't fucking know. Or Office Space, the part when they're talking about what job you would do for fun if you had a million dollars already.
Fuck man.
So, I've got two tentative dreams. One is teaching English in Japan when I graduate. The other is to be a musician. An actual one. You know, one who records, and plays shows, even if they're small.
I was talking to Nikki about all this the other night. Because I'm always thinking about being someone else: like how I used to imagine what it would be like to be Ellen, when she got her degree and a new job in a new city. And how I'm always telling Nikki how she's young and beautiful and has no debt and could do anything or go anywhere right now, if she really wanted. Why can't I just be happy with myself and where I'm going? Why can't I see in myself what my friends see in me, or even strangers?
Nikki said when I sing, I don't hear myself. I hear all my mistakes, or I think about how I could belt it out when I was just a little kid, and how I've neglected this part of me for so long I feel like it's fading away.
But it doesn't have to. No one says when you are 25 years old you have to stop dreaming.
It's not the end-all, be-all. This doesn't have to be.
***
I've had so many job interviews. They make me so uncomfortable. All I can think about, when I think of where I want to be -- when I'm staring at the cookie-cutter artwork, and the functional yet uncomfortable office furniture, their tacky carpets, and fake office folks, with ladies wearing pantyhose and pumps, walking around like they're in costume -- is this for an answer: "Not. Fucking. Here."
A few months ago, just before I began my boycott of sex and dating, I went out a few times with this crazy guy. He was in his thirties. A businessman. Very intelligent. And funny. But nonetheless, crazy, or at least on par with me.
He used to tell me everything was compromise. He was so fun with his friends. Talkative, hilarious. He could start a conversation with anyone and make them laugh, or at least smile, in 30 seconds. Hands down. He had a great smile too.
But he'd sit across from me, in our more serious conversations over coffee, and tell me, "Everything in life is compromise."
Giving a little to get a little -- like how he hated his business life, when the fact that how phoney he could be to get what he wanted and to motivate people wasn't actually entertaining him. Everything was bending and folding things to make them fit.
I'm too much of an idealist for that, maybe. Even as low as I feel right now. I take the hopeful line. The one Dave and I are always talking about. The reason that I'm still fucking emo, no matter how close to the edge I get to making the jump to goth. Hah.
Problem is, half of me says that compromises are necessary in the beginning to get what you want: like giving up Chuy's even though I like it there, to pick up shifts at Slicks. Only, sometimes my body just carries so much shit from that place it feels like it might collapse: People I don't feel like seeing, songs I don't want to hear, assholes I don't want to deal with, drugs and money passing right in front of me, or memories of this friend or that lover even, and hanging out at this table or that table. Even the tables we played on when I had my going away parties. Or people coming in saying, "I thought you left." And me saying, "I did."
I have long conversations with people and then I don't remember them. I don't remember them because I don't remember the people. I don't remember the people because I never actually see them. I don't see them because I'm not looking. I'm not looking because I don't care.
So, back to compromise. I have to think that if I'll work hard and make some compromises now, I'll eventually get what I want. But then I wonder if he was right. What if that's what happens? And I'll learn that I have to keep doing this for the rest of my life?
I don't want to settle for that. I don't want to compromise my way through. I don't want to be wrong.
OK, so things aren't that bad. At least, I've calmed down a little. I picked up shifts at Slicks this week. I can do that for awhile to float me until I figure out what I'm going to do.
I rode my bike today for the first time in awhile. I got a mountain bike for Christmas. Did I tell you that? It's a 21-speed red Huffy. Having a mountain bike is great in Houston because the sidewalks and streets are so shitty. My tires have taken plenty of blows, whereas a regular street bike would've fed me 8,000 tons of concrete by now, I think.
Rethinking the job situation. I got hired by a couple temp agencies. But I have to start with short-term jobs first, which means I'll have to quit Chuy's. The thing is, I love working there.
As a host, I wouldn't be worse off if they paid me in pounds of peanuts. The problem is, it pays so little that even if I worked full time I'd still barely make it. The hosting shifts are short, so that would require lots of doubles. If I wanted to do that I may as well pack a lunch and a sleeping bag for work. Not to mention the fact that part time at any job is just enough so that you don't hate it, you know?
I explained my situation to my boss there. She asked me why I didn't try to be a server. Two reasons. The first is that before they'd even let me do that, I'd have to work To-Go, which pays only 50 cents an hour more than hosting. The other is a combination of laziness, and that I'm stubborn. I've seen how they work. The restaurant is crowded 99 percent of the time. The servers bust their asses. I'm feeling too tired and old for that. My back already hurts constantly. I don't even know how the waiters do it half the time. I feel like if I were to serve there full time I'd be as physically and mentally tired as I was working full time at Slicks and part time there, with school. It would take that much out of me.
And I would hate the customers. Not all of them. A nice mixture of folks, rich and poor, laid-back and uptight, from in town and out of town, come there. Lots of different people. But dealing with them as a server? Fuck that. I'm tired of serving food. I don't really give a shit about knowing the menu anywhere anymore. Plus, you have all the people that come in there thinking they're Nora Ephron, ordering this without this with a side of this, and this other thing not on it, but on the side. Pfff. Whatever. Even vegetarians do it. Chuy's is one of my favorite restaurants because of the menu's many vegetarian options. But Nikki works there too, and she's told me people still come in there and make up their own shit. They'll get some combo that comes with like beef tacos and chalupas and enchiladas and modify it all to hell.
I'm at that point where my experience in the service industy has me walking a fine line between "Yes, sir," and "Fuck right off!"
So there you have it.
***
I'm trying to reconstruct my dreams. I'm trying for new goals. Hobbies. Friends. I feel like a life without them would be lifeless. Maybe it's fear of failure. Anxiety. Laziness. But I'm trying to get those back.
It's like when I go on these interviews, and people ask me what I want to be doing in five years. I don't fucking know. Or Office Space, the part when they're talking about what job you would do for fun if you had a million dollars already.
Fuck man.
So, I've got two tentative dreams. One is teaching English in Japan when I graduate. The other is to be a musician. An actual one. You know, one who records, and plays shows, even if they're small.
I was talking to Nikki about all this the other night. Because I'm always thinking about being someone else: like how I used to imagine what it would be like to be Ellen, when she got her degree and a new job in a new city. And how I'm always telling Nikki how she's young and beautiful and has no debt and could do anything or go anywhere right now, if she really wanted. Why can't I just be happy with myself and where I'm going? Why can't I see in myself what my friends see in me, or even strangers?
Nikki said when I sing, I don't hear myself. I hear all my mistakes, or I think about how I could belt it out when I was just a little kid, and how I've neglected this part of me for so long I feel like it's fading away.
But it doesn't have to. No one says when you are 25 years old you have to stop dreaming.
It's not the end-all, be-all. This doesn't have to be.
***
I've had so many job interviews. They make me so uncomfortable. All I can think about, when I think of where I want to be -- when I'm staring at the cookie-cutter artwork, and the functional yet uncomfortable office furniture, their tacky carpets, and fake office folks, with ladies wearing pantyhose and pumps, walking around like they're in costume -- is this for an answer: "Not. Fucking. Here."
A few months ago, just before I began my boycott of sex and dating, I went out a few times with this crazy guy. He was in his thirties. A businessman. Very intelligent. And funny. But nonetheless, crazy, or at least on par with me.
He used to tell me everything was compromise. He was so fun with his friends. Talkative, hilarious. He could start a conversation with anyone and make them laugh, or at least smile, in 30 seconds. Hands down. He had a great smile too.
But he'd sit across from me, in our more serious conversations over coffee, and tell me, "Everything in life is compromise."
Giving a little to get a little -- like how he hated his business life, when the fact that how phoney he could be to get what he wanted and to motivate people wasn't actually entertaining him. Everything was bending and folding things to make them fit.
I'm too much of an idealist for that, maybe. Even as low as I feel right now. I take the hopeful line. The one Dave and I are always talking about. The reason that I'm still fucking emo, no matter how close to the edge I get to making the jump to goth. Hah.
Problem is, half of me says that compromises are necessary in the beginning to get what you want: like giving up Chuy's even though I like it there, to pick up shifts at Slicks. Only, sometimes my body just carries so much shit from that place it feels like it might collapse: People I don't feel like seeing, songs I don't want to hear, assholes I don't want to deal with, drugs and money passing right in front of me, or memories of this friend or that lover even, and hanging out at this table or that table. Even the tables we played on when I had my going away parties. Or people coming in saying, "I thought you left." And me saying, "I did."
I have long conversations with people and then I don't remember them. I don't remember them because I don't remember the people. I don't remember the people because I never actually see them. I don't see them because I'm not looking. I'm not looking because I don't care.
So, back to compromise. I have to think that if I'll work hard and make some compromises now, I'll eventually get what I want. But then I wonder if he was right. What if that's what happens? And I'll learn that I have to keep doing this for the rest of my life?
I don't want to settle for that. I don't want to compromise my way through. I don't want to be wrong.
Labels: Anxiety, Goals, Relationships, Work
