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Thursday, Jun. 06, 2002 / 6:05 p.m. ~I'm Crazy Weird, But at Least I Know It~ You know how things happen and you have strong feelings about them, but the thought of writing about them is just too daunting? Or maybe it's the feeling that if you write about it you'll have to re-live it in your mind. And maybe you don't want to? I had my Annual Review at work yesterday, end of day. As D., the Supervisor, said, "I think it's better to do it at the end of the day instead of at the beginning", okay, but why not in the middle? No, the end was better. That way I could tear out of the parking lot at lightning speed, come home and drink a beer, write a crazy letter to Jon, and smoke marijuana, go to bed at 8:30, thinking I'd just lie down for a bit, and not wake up until the middle of the night, coming in here to log off my PC, not even bothering to wash my face. In the "adapt/learn" category I got a low score because I "question authority". This is all because I do, yes, of course, and because I insulted the Manager (M) by pointing out an error she was making in telling us a procedure. She insisted it was a particular way, and we could look it up, blah, blah, so I did, while she was talking, and I pointed it out, to show her she was mistaken. Ooooo, don't do that. That's wrong. I am not sorry. I told D., "Asking questions is how we learn! That's the best way to learn. Questioning authority is vitally important. I respect authority completely, but if authority does not know the answers, or gives out wrong information, it is my duty, my responsibilty, to point this out! Sure, maybe I should've waited until after the meeting, but you know M. doesn't know our department that well, she came to us late, there is a lot of what we do that she simply does not know, and I wanted to point out her error in front of the group, not behind closed doors. Everyone needed to know." Of course I went on to say, "I can't believe she put that in my Annual Review. That was petty, catty even. That's really rude. She took such offense at what I did that she put it here and now I get less of a raise because of it?!" Jesusgod I was mad! So mad. Fucking 2.25 percent raise. I need to calculate that again, but if the formula is the new minus the old, divided by the old, times 100, then yeah, 2.25 fucking percent. Grrrrr....... Today I mentioned to Lulu that I went home and drank a beer (I omitted the marijuana smoking) and crashed at 8:30 and she asked why, though I told her my review was not favorable immediately after the fact, and later D. called me into an office to tell me how wrong that was, how I need to keep my review confidential, blah, blah, and then she gave me my monthly review, which is all stats. She pushed the piece of paper out in front of me to look at and sign and I wouldn't even look at it. She said, "You're not even going to look, are you?" and I said, "No. I'm not. Do you need me to sign it?" and I scrawled the worst signature I've ever written, pushed it back. She asked if I had questions, then said, "No, of course not", answering for me. Fun. Whee! So I listened to Van Morrison again, loud, in my Walkman. God, that's a beautiful album, "Moondance", just beautiful. I let Kukla hear some of it, just to let her know what I was listening to, and she said, "What's that? Country?". Tsk, tsk, tsk. Then I listened to some French rap, MC Solaar, again, loud. I ignored everything around me, typed my work, excuse me, keyed my work. We're getting a new database. The HUGE multi-national Corporation is, anyway, and we are hooked up, and it sucks. It's so bad, so poorly designed, it's fucking funny, really! But we're down until Monday. The old is down, while we await the full implementation of the new. So, they (our Manager, M, and whoever else) decided our call volume was low as a result of employees knowing it was down, the database, and therefore we should shut down the department. So we left. Um, we were forced to. As usual. 3:40 p.m. I was leaving, shopping at Publix, buying salad, and fruit and good things, just a few, coming home, logging on to the Interweb, writing to Jon, again. I'm a freak. I know. I can't let him go. I just can't. Was it the kissing? I don't know. I think it's just that something was started, however small, and I can't give up until I see where it can go. He is simply humoring me. Reading what I write, occasionally writing in response. And when he is not terribly rude, okay, he never is, not really, he is just overwhelmed by me, and he's not the first, but he is giving me a chance to win him over, or to convince him that he wants to be with me. To get to know me. We are going to a movie in the Park on Tuesday. I've never seen a movie in the Park, and I imagine it will be crowded, hopefully not as hazy and smoky as the Jazz, and possibly there will be dogs and children and many people smooching, but it should be fun. I hope he doesn't cancel on me. He may. Therefore, we will not talk it up too much, we'll not mention the name of the movie or anything, we won't go, "I'm so excited, ooh, I can't wait" or any of that crap, because we don't want to get our hopes up. We? I'm glad he agreed. And he agreed incredibly quickly. I wrote to him, invited him, he wrote right back, said he would "love to" go, it was a great idea and he is glad I invited him. Huh? Has someone replaced my usual Jon with new Folger's Jon? I'm pleasantly confused. I have to show him my new tattoos anyway. Yes. I have to. Throughout the day, at work, I turn to Lulu and ask, "You wanna see my tattoos?", but she does not humor me. She tells me an emphatic "NO". Sourpuss. Today she admitted to having her period, to menstruating, but here is how she said it, "The Reds are playing". We elaborated, embellished, to say, "The Reds are playing a 5 game homestand.", or is it "home stand"? Either way. The Reds are in town and she is suffering. Aw. I said, "Poor Lulu", and made a pouty face, truly empathizing, but she probably thought I was joking. Hey, I've been there. Every month I'm right there. Oh yeah. So. Yes. Home early. Without pay. I have to use vacation to cover it if I want to get paid. We'll see. In an hour and a half or so is Game 2 of the Final Series in the Quest For Lord Stanley's Cup, and I'll be watching. I wish I had more beer. There's just one, and it's a Laughing Skull, which is a bit too ale-y for me. I ate salad. A spinach salad with sprouts and 'shrooms and little grape tomatoes, with honey mustard vinaigrette. I feel better. It's not so bad. I'll start making more money as of Monday. That's nice. It's a pittance, but I've crossed over to the next higher dollar amount. Not bad. Not what I'm worth, but hey, until I seriously look for something else, or someone offers me something, or whatever, (PLEASE!), it will do nicely. I think that's all I have. Eva is on a plane to Europe right about now. Wow. And here, it is raining, again. I love the sound of it. I awoke to it in the middle of the night......What's that? Rain? Mmmmmmmm......somehow it makes me want to make love. I want to make to love to the sound of rain, and Moby's "18". One day.... Cost of the War in Iraq
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