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Wednesday, Feb. 06, 2002 / 7:39 p.m. ~Fair Warning, Do Not Waste Your Time Reading This, I Just Needed An Outlet to Vent~ Here's how bad today was, when I came home I sat on the floor to remove my shoes and I immediately started to cry. I start to cry just writing that I started to cry. Dammit. I didn't even turn on the TV (!). Still haven't. I've been home about an hour and a half. I've been online, deleting old email. Reading diaries, cleaning up my favorites list (sorry, people), cleaning up this online thing. Not the apartment, but the PC, the bookmarks, where I go, who I write to, who I read, things like that. I don't know why. I'm feeling like cleaning out this part of me, a bit mercilessly too. I realized that S., Hermione's husband, had sent out an email letter to several people, the kind wherein one lists all the email addresses, because one doesn't know that it's much more Internetally Correct to send the email to one's self, and list the email addresses it's being sent to as BCC, blind copies. Much better. But my point is that S. must automatically save every address that sends him anything because he wrote that email to joleen at diaryland dot com as well as to my usual email address. Horrors. I was looking at it to get his email list, before I trashed it, thinking, hmm...who does he write to? Which is the SOLE reason one should NOT list all those addresses....because of smartasses like me that might collect those addies. And there it was. Joleen. I wrote to him one time, ONE time, from that address, and it was a huge mistake, and it was only because occasionally I write to people and don't want them to have my ISP email addy so I type in the joleen addy, right? I have that option. But...and this scares the piss out of me....sometimes, twice now, I forget to switch it back and then I go and write to someone I know, someone I know well, like my UNCLE, and now S.!!! And so they have access to my diary. Whether they know it or not.... This is the major point here. I never said a word to S. Not. One. Word. Not, "Hey, S., please disregard that little faux pas, that's not my email address, oh no, that's some bogus account I got a long time ago, I never use it, blah, blah, blah!", but I simply ignored it. Hoped he wouldn't notice. I still don't know if he has. Um, if he has, well, Hi! Stop reading now. If you respect me at all. Jesus, that's all I need, to imagine S.'s brother reading this, and S.'s father, and Hermione's father, who begged me for the url the last time I saw him. BEGGED me! What kind of freak is he anyway?! My friend's father wants to read my online diary? Whatever, okay? You want to read this tripe, fine. What am I gonna do? Lock it again? I'm sick of that. Let the world read it. If they want to read it, they deserve to read it. Read it and cry along with me. Today sucked. And it never got better. It just stayed the same. During one call I was almost literally tearing out my hair. I was so desperate to clutch, to grip, to clench, to break, to scream, to throw, the anger was so intense, the frustration so palpable, and I don't know how to handle that. I don't know how. I don't know what to do. It's horrible. I feel so trapped. And I know there has to be a way out, there has to be, and in my own way I am trying to find it, but I don't see it yet, and knowing that there must be something I can do, but not knowing what, is the most frustrating feeling I can imagine. Lulu even seemed concerned. She was right there when I got that monster woman on the phone the second time. There is some weird function of our phone system that allows a person to be routed directly back to a rep on the second call. How the fuck that happens I have NO clue, I never will, but it's true. So, she calls and knows her month of hire, yes, it's May, but she can't remember the year, and maybe she can, but she is pissed off, too pissed off, so I say she's going to have to call HR to find that out, call us back, and she gets really mad, and she sets me off, and once I hear FUCK come out of her mouth, that's it. Not on the phone, not on a business call, no way, do NOT use fuck. Not even damn. So, we both lose it, she and I. She takes the HR phone number, she hangs up, I hang up, I freak out, I start yelling, Lulu is so concerned, like compassionate even! Gets the woman's social security number, runs it over to D., and D. calls me, am I okay?, and I start to tell her what happened, but I am shaking, so hopped up, you know? So I say, I have to get away, and I go cry, come back......and the woman calls again! And gets my line! See? And I sound like a little mouse, I can barely speak, I know it's her, and I help her, she has the hire date, I do my job, it's done, but it will take 7-10 business days for her to get her document and she freaks out all over again when I tell her. Because she didn't change her address with the company, though she still works there, for the large Corporation, she submitted a change of address form at the post office, "I'm getting ALL MY OTHER MAIL! YOU DIDN'T SEND ME THE FIRST ONE, NOW YOU'RE TELLING ME I HAVE TO WAIT 10 MORE DAYS?!!!", and I'm saying, "But you didn't change your address with the big Corporation......if you mean the post office didn't forward it to you...well...then you need to take that up with the post office......I spoke to you earlier and I'm not going to listen to you anymore......" Or something like that. After lunch, Lulu says, "Are you feeling better?", and I say, "...................not really", and Miss Nosy Who Accuses Me of Getting In Her Business, Laverne, three cubicles away, says, "Oh, ______, are you sick?", and I'm silent, my mouth hangs open, I can't even see the woman, just hear her loud voice, and I'm thinking of our confrontation, how she accused me of monitoring her phone calls, how I sat in that little office with her, D., and Lulu while Lulu lied, and Laverne thought I was "after her", how Laverne told me to mind my own business..........and I say, to Lulu, "I don't even know how to answer that", and she says to Laverne, "Oh, it's about that phone call earlier....." But it never went away. This feeling. This helplessness. This frustration. This hanging upside down, in a straightjacket, lowered into a large tank of piranha infested water. I was practially begging to be fired. Now, well, it's after 8:00 p.m., and normally I'd be watching something on TV, I'd be entertained about now, I'd be eating, or digesting what I just ate, I'd have a cat on my lap, but I don't even want that. I just want to......no, never mind. Thing is, I have nothing to blame this on, not like Candace, who is pregnant and claims raging hormones. I'm not pregnant. Oh man, can you imagine ME, PREGNANT?! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!!!!!!! I'd probably have post natal depression too, and end up killing the child, the father and myself. No joke. I'm horrible. Uh oh, we're moving to the self loathing portion of the horrible diary entry. No, I'm okay, I'll be all right. It was a bad day, that's all, a bad day in the land of customer service, and I was never, NEVER, cut out to serve. Serving is not in my nature. My job has sucked me in, and it's holding me under. Really, maybe a good analogy is I'm swimming, someone comes along and pushes my head under water and won't let me up. But that someone also pays me enough money so I can pay my rent and all my bills and still have some left over. So I stay under water, basically to see how long I can stand it, like some personal challenge. I, the self-diagnosing, tongue-in-cheek hypochondriac, now diagnose myself insane. Cost of the War in Iraq
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