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Friday, Apr. 15, 2005 / 11:52 p.m. ~This Is About It, I Think~ Hey, hey, hey, what the...? I never meant to be away so long, but I think I lost my D-land momentum, again. I sit here now in a darkened room, ready to log off really, but I had a little urge to write, and I was reading some of what I wrote 'elsewhere', and I thought it was good, I have this odd way of writing/speaking. It's all the same, I talk and I write the same, oh trust me. I noticed that about Tony Bourdain too when I saw him last in person. He talks exactly how he writes, and vice versa, and this is a good thing, people compliment him on his style, not that my style is anything like his, but good god can I digress or what? I wish I could just copy and paste all I've written the past week, just post it all right here, in one gigantamongous entry, but that would be silly. What happened was this, nutshell-like: my brother and his wife took me to a belated birthday dinner on Sunday, good Japanese food, and we got along well despite a six year hiatus, i.e. estrangement. Weird. I have no idea if/when we'll see each other again, but dammit, someone had to come through for me, someone had to be kind to me and treat me. I'm tired of being the only one to care about me, and care for me. Nice, actually, a good time. The PMS that was so free and easy turned a bit sour, and emotions hit the surface yesterday and today, manifesting as brief crying jags in the stall in the bathroom at work where I've been known to experience a sensual pleasure or two. Insane what working in the same office for seven years will do to a person. 'Bittersweet' is how one coworker worded it today, not the bathroom, not the length of time, but the fact that she got a job today, she leaves us soon, yet she was forced out. Yesterday I was too low for my own good, and I got some sympathy, which really freaked me out and made me cry, and I had to say, "Don't, you will make me cry!", before going to the bathroom, and yeah, crying. I hate that I'm losing my job, I hate that I'm being forced out. Once in my life I got fired, and it was a layoff too, a post-holiday retail thing, but I could have stayed had my manager liked me, and she decidedly did not, like me. Now it's a layoff purely and simply, liking has nothing to do with it, but lately it's hitting me just how much it sucks, and on Fridays I no longer feel happy, I worry that this brings me closer to the deadline. Time is moving too quickly, the end is near, and I am unprepared. "How's the job hunt going?", people ask, and how well can it go when I'm sitting in my cubicle all week? The coworker who got the job today has been working it, not doing her 'work', but working the Interweb, signing up at all the job sites, FAXing her resume, going on interviews, and frankly, she took the very first job that was offered. Less pay. She was tired of looking. The supervisor had her last day today, after ten years, and she cried, and I canceled out of her luncheon off site, sent a group email to tell everyone I'm not 'emotionally nor physically healthy right now', and I went on to talk about my cat and her pending vet visit, and how I need to go home at lunch to hug both my cats, it's how I deal. It was hard to share, and only three people responded, out of many more. Which made me feel even more like shit. Crying ensued. I'm okay, really. It was a hard week. But, somewhere in the midst, namely Tuesday, I saw Moby in concert. Yes, yes, and I was in the crampy stage, and I swear PMS is such a fucking drag, and how do other women do it, really? How can you go to a show and dance when you want to sit with a hot water bottle on your belly in a rocking chair and just watch? I stood on the floor of this old building, now a concert venue, previously a house of worship, in the heart of downtown, because I wanted to see, I wanted to SEE, and I did, but everyone around me danced like mad ravers to the early techno rave anthems played, and I could only stand and smile as I watched, watched, watched. I now feel so guilty, like I let Moby down, and all the people around me who thought me a stick in the mud. Sorry, people, have you ever felt like a disembodied hand was inside your abdomen squeezing your uterus as hard as it could? Yeah, well I think not. And if you did, could you dance through the pain? Would you 'take something'? I don't like drugs, not even aspirin, I only took aspirin last night because I had a migraine that made me... cry. Oh, and there is always that extra special pee em ess exhaustion. So much fun, the hormones. I've passed the emotional stage, I should be fine now, for the next three weeks or so, then I do it all again. Whee and such. I overheard our client say to someone that her son is four, and she is almost fifty, and that she squeezed him out just in time. I can't imagine having a child at 46. Moby was excellent, by the way, it was a great show, I'm very glad I went, despite feeling like utter crap, and I don't regret not dancing, I just didn't want to, but I loved watching everyone, Mo and his bandmates, and his amazing female vocalist, his cute keyboardist that all the boys liked, and his opening act, one Buck 65, whose latest album I need to purchase soon. That brings me around to today, I suppose, as Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday were this week's most notable days - we can't even remember Monday, now can we? The G. cat went to the doctor to get her latest lump checked out, and I knew it, which is why I'd postponed so long, but could no longer, she needs to have it out. It's growing too much, it feels harder than the lipomas surrounding, and she goes under the knife on Monday. See? Helluva week, this. And did I mention that last night, after the crying and the aspirin and the headache from HELL, I passed out on the sofa, not even to TV, at around 7:15, slept 'til 11:00 and then went to bed? No? Well why would I? Two weeks left at work, and I've realized I'm not going to find another job. I won't be giving one week notice so I can still collect the severance, and then heading off on my new venture. Nope, I'll be living off the severance, unemployment checks, and selling my body on the street downtown, and dumpster diving for food. And there are always Ramen noodles. And, if I can't make rent and get evicted, it turns out I really do love downtown, and if 'the man' won't hassle me too much, I think I could live on those streets, sure. The cat surgery goes on the credit card, and I'll never be able to pay it off, and it will incur interest at an alarming rate, probably some 30%, and this will be the first time I've not been able to pay it off. I also did not buy a lottery ticket today, because I will never win, and I know that. There you go, all updated now. I think that's it. Any questions? Cost of the War in Iraq
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