Panic Button

I'm having one of my "going quiet" episodes brought on by an impending job search. Or at least I think that's what it is.

I've been trying to write everyday on my lunch break and it feels like each day I have less and less to say. Or I'm just repeating the same things over and over again. Yesterday there was this: "I know. I'm totally blank. Because I should be doing at this point. Not thinking."

But it's the idea of "doing" that triggers the panic. (We could get into some deep psychological shit if I were to start unpacking that sentence.) And then I mentally (and physically) shut down and I'm just "no, no, no, no, no. I'm going to stay here where it's safe. Here inside myself, inside my head, here inside this apartment, inside this windowless office at work. It's okay here. It's not so bad." When really I want to scream and break things. And escape.

Forgive me for what I'm about to do here, I know he can be hard to take. I may have mentioned... no, actually I don't think I ever finished writing that, about how much I identify with Kanye West. I think it's still a draft. Anyway. It probably won't be clear to you but I have a special affinity for this song. We're both assholes.

Last night I just sat on the couch, watching TV, not even looking for anyone to talk to online. "No, no, no, no, no." The Killing, Mad Men, Drag Race. All the while eating the candy and drinking the sweet, sweet Coca-Cola I bought at Target after work. Thinking, fuck it. All the while wishing I was fucking drunk. Then I went to bed.

It's always the same. I know I just have to give it time. I'll come out of it. When it has to be done I'll do it. Sometimes it's just nice to succumb to the desire to hide and eat like an asshole, even knowing the whole time that you're only hurting yourself. Because you feel like you deserve it. And I know how to hurt myself best.

God. Even writing this is making me anxious. I've got that weak, shaky feeling you get. Do you know that one? Just from writing. And my hands are all sweaty. I'm a god damn mess.

But I'll come out of it. 

In Between Days

I swear I am working on 3 or 4 other blog posts, I'm just not making much headway with them. In the meantime, here's a bit of a throwaway.

My toenails came off. Well, part of my toenails on my big toes. It wasn't as dramatic as I thought it would be, it's nothing really. THAT THING on my finger is still there. I was bleeding it for a few days but when I stopped and thought it was all done it still didn't go away. No. Instead it got sore and filled up with blood again. This time I'm leaving it alone. Although I've been thinking of cauterizing it, putting a hot something (paper clip?) on it and trying to destroy it that way. Haven't yet and it seems smaller today so we'll see...

In other gross news there was a pimple on my tummy. I RARELY get pimples anywhere except on my face but recently one appeared on my tummy and it had a head on it so I popped it. One, two weeks later and it's STILL THERE! And it hurts and looks more like a boil now. I mean a "fur uncle." That photo (which I had to remove cos it gets more hits than anything else on this blog) is not of mine but it's eerily similar. I also recently had impetigo on my chin. I won't tell you what I told Allen I thought THAT was from! I am a walking gross factory. I'm blaming it on my imaginary "sugar 'betes."

Thanksgiving's just around the corner and with that comes the usual anxiety about travelling east to see family. It's not the seeing them that causes the anxiety (not my family anyway - Allen's is another story) but the actual travel and sleeping arrangements. Our car is fine for driving around town but I don't trust it much on the highway even though it's never let us down. I would like to get a rental but neither of us has a credit card so that's out. I guess we'll make the trip in the White Knight of Texas again and hope for the best. Also thinking about looking into a hotel/motel room but I can't think of where that would be, North East? Jesus. That's a weird thing to think about (if you're familiar with Cecil County.)

I signed up for a SoundCloud account last night re: "my music career." I haven't put anything up yet because I don't really mix anything, just make playlists so I don't know if it's even appropriate to post such things on there. What I want is one of these things (I would insert an arrow but I can't figure out how to do that on a PC) Look! That picture there! :

Not that I know how to work them or even what they're called, some sort of sampling thing and maybe a mixer of some sort but I don't want to deal in vinyl at all.

I've been "studying" existentialism as of a few days ago and somehow that's related to me going back and looking through old journals to try and decide if I have changed much over the past 15 years. So I pulled out stuff from 1995, 2000 and 2005. Turns out I haven't really changed much with regards to what I write in my "gurnal." A bunch of sad whining about how much of a loner I am and how no one understands me. (Most of the time that's what's in there.) It all began when Allen suggested that Existentialists are just people who never progressed beyond the ennui of teenage-hood. I'm not sure but he may be on to something. I'm trying to prove that Existentialism is more than just stunted emotional/psychological growth which is what I took from his explanation. I was wondering if this lack of change points to a concrete personality or the above mentioned emotional/psychological retardation. I shall keep you abreast of my discoveries.

Taken from Fuck This Depression Blog

I want to share all these amazing things this girl has on her blog because they're also about me and maybe you.

Homesickness is just a state of mind for me. I'm always missing someone or someplace or something, I'm always trying to get back to some imaginary somewhere. My life has been one long longing.   -Prozac Nation by Elizabeth Wurtzel

                                

Going Quiet

"You're lovable, so lovable
But you're just troubled" 
-Marina & the Diamonds


Hello, everybody!


I've been quiet lately.  It's how I deal with things when they get too overwhelming (my head gets too loud?).  I "go quiet."  More quiet than normal.  I've always been quiet and always had to suffer through jokes about being so, usually from co-workers who like to turn it around on me.  Ha ha, that's so funny, your joke about how I make so much noise!  Sorry I don't want to join in on any of your mindless conversations about... Actually, I have no idea what they're talking about.  Washing machines? That's what I had to talk about with one of my co-workers this past Friday when she decided to sit down (uninvited) in my (temporary) office for a "visit."  She especially likes to make jokes about how quiet I am.    


Usually when I "go quiet" it's because I really have nothing kind or positive to say to or about anyone.  I'm probably deep in self-pity and boiling over with jealousy so it's best I stay quiet or risk making a fool out of myself by spouting my unpopular opinions and truthful observations.  [I will read you like a drag queen.  (I wish.)]    


OMG, I just had to log out of Runescape so this fool would stop following me.  I can't even interact well with others in video games.  I really don't know how you all do it, playing games with strangers.  I get too annoyed.  Hmm.  

But I'm trying to be more outwardly positive, when it comes to being an internet personality, anyway.  I find it hard to write about anything but what's going on in my head, though.  It seems like I've gotten worse since deciding to move back to Philly.  Now that it's supposed to actually happen I find myself paralyzed by doubt and fear.  Mainly I'm scared to death of trying to find a job.  And what kind of job?  Should I really try to go back to school or should I try again to find a library job?  I know I'm good at going to school, I think that's the ONLY thing I'm good at. 

What the what is going on in this picture? I love it.

I don't want to have to organize and manage and present and coerce and sell sell sell which seems to be the only job there is left in this world no matter what label it actually has.  


I've been working at the iSchool again.  The place from which I received my masters degree in delusion.  And I watch all these fools come in who are also getting degrees in delusion and then my bitterness overwhelms me and I want to burst into tears and scream at them that they are fools being sold false promises.  When in fact the majority of them will probably get offered a library job. 


See why I go quiet?    

"I feel celestial."

I'm already bored with Lady Gaga. Am I alone in this Lady Gaga business? No? I didn't think so. I mean, I like what she's pretending to do but I just can't get behind it any longer. Sigh. I like Marina now.

Sooo. I've been having these panic attacks lately that are f-ing bru-tal-i-tar. Just out of nowhere I'll feel this tightness in my chest and then there's this pain and then my heart's beating much too fast and I'm hot and I need to lay down except I'll be at work or outside in public somewhere so there's really nothing I can do about it but hold on and wait for it to pass. The only answer is to get me back on meds and into therapy but I don't have insurance cos I live in the god damned USA (USA, USA, USA). And I tell you again, I'm not on SSI because we make too much money!!! And from what I've read it's hard to claim a psych disability anyway. So, as usual, I hold on and wait for it to pass.

Should I be ashamed to tell you this? Do you think I give a fuck? Straight Whiskey Tango up in here! Yet not whiskey tango enough to NOT realize these things. And not whiskey tango enough to truly NOT be ashamed that I tell you things. Or to refer to myself as AK-47. (A story for another time.)

Yesterday I was writing in my "gurnal" ("Yeah, whatever. Guess I'm not all smart like you.") and today what I wrote yesterday made me feel like a total ass. For example, I wrote: "I can't tell  how perceptive I am vs. how paranoid." Turns out I'm definitely more paranoid than perceptive. But I don't want to talk about that.

But speaking of paranoid: At Sharp Edge this evening I was followed into the ladies by a little person of the male persuasion who seemed drunk but may have been a little m/r. Not sure, but I gave him death stare that made him close the door behind him on his way out while I was locking the stall door behind me. It was surreal but then I had one of those "it would've been awesome if I had said..." moments. I could've been Chelsea Handler or Tina Fey. But alas, I remain myself.   

And it's hard to deal with anything when it's so f-ing hot and you don't have central air. I can barely function let alone do laundry or take out the trash. And there's nothing like the smell of hot trash. Mmm mmm! I just got a wiff of it in my kitchen. But you know what? Fuck it. Who cares? I'll go spend $70 online at Sephora instead of dealing with this shit. (I may also be drinking wine right now.) (But I'm also listening to the Misfits.) Eyeliner. Still your friend in this heat.

Still need a job in Philly. Hit me up. Yeah.

Working on the playlist for you guys. Allen may start a blog soon so look out for that. I'm totally behind it. You should be to. Encourage him in all things, I need him to support me.

I'm a big fan.

This past weekend was almost unbearable in so many ways.  It's been hot here, like most places, and our apartment is really good at holding in heat in the summer. Yesterday we pulled out the sheets again to cover the couch so we wouldn't sweat all over it.  On Saturday, our old oscillating fan, which came from my parents house and was at least 20 years old, started to smell like burning so we had to pitch it and bought one of those new-fangled tower fans.  It's weak.  On our shopping excursion we also came across these fancy new Dyson fans that don't have blades:

 

They only cost $300.  Yeah, that's right, $300.  Why wouldn't you just buy an air conditioner?

Anywho... There are other reasons why this weekend sucked, like the World Cup being exhausting to keep up with (Ghana! Germany! I'm losing steam!), the sudden appearance of children next door who came equipped with small fireworks that they set off at the exact same time we feed the cats, general malaise about the future, visits from Aunt Flo, NOT drinking (day 5! or is it 6?), and to top it all off, as I was getting ready for bed last night, somewhere between the kitchen and the bedroom, a giant green mosquito landed in my long, tall glass of freshly made Crystal Light. WTF?  

There's a bunch of stuff I want to do but I've been feeling too down in the dumps to actually do any of it.  Allen and I are supposed to go to Montreal this summer, and Toronto for Rue Morgue's Festival of Fear at the end of August, and I want to go to the beach, maybe in Delaware since it's been a long time since I've been there.  There are two Ren Faires to go to later this year, Pittsburgh's and the PA Ren Faire actual.  We want to go to Ohiopyle, PA for canoeing or rafting or whatever, and we even mentioned going to the HP Lovecraft Film Festival/Cthulhu Con in October but airfare alone would be around $700 if we got tickets today.  Meanwhile, I can't even handle a trip to the grocery store without some kind of freak out.  Which also happened this weekend.  Annoying.

Another footy match starts in about 15 minutes so I gotta go.  I love it, I really do, but it's wearing me out.  

Here's to swimmin' with bow-legged women.   

"He did pass away." Pt. I

Since the majority of my relatives behave much like I do, with a general indifference to direct requests for action, I may never receive copies of the pictures I wanted from my father's wake.  I love saying "wake" in reference to my family.  Especially since they're mostly made up of Irish (hence the crazy) and when I think of the words "Irish" and "wake" together I imagine a rockin' good time.  Ha ha ha ha ha.  Yeah but no.  I'm just going to get on with the story.


My father passed away on Sunday, January 17, 2010.  He was 79.  My niece, aka the family whipping girl, called to tell me around 9:30 that evening.  She had been given the task of calling any and everyone who might need to know. 

At that point in time it was believed that it was a subdural hematoma that caused his death.  I think that still is the main cause of death but you can also get a number of speculative responses from my sisters.  Apparently he had fallen on Friday and had been bleeding since then.  But, you know, he had a doctor's appointment on Monday so it could wait, I suppose.  My cousin Wayne had been looking in on him pretty regularly since he had begun alienating his children again and my siblings who live in the area did not like to visit him often.  My mother, who has Alzheimer's, has had to be in a nursing home for a couple of years now so he was living alone.  Wayne found him that afternoon, actually bleeding, semi-conscious and asking for help.  The details are sketchy but I think Wayne called Rick (my brother) and one of them called 911.  He was taken to the hospital where he lasted a few hours and then passed away peacefully, commenting that he was too tired to stay awake any longer.  He had simply lost too much blood and his organs could not recover no matter how much they gave him.         

I hesitate to give too much back story, it would take much too long.  Let me just say that my father was not a good man to his family.  He did many, many bad things in his life but the worst part is that I, along with most of my brothers and sisters, realize that personality-wise he was a good-time guy, a lot of people liked him.  You just didn't want to be related to him or in a relationship with him.  He was also an alcoholic and he, in combination with her own family, hurt my mother in an almost unspeakable way when she was only 16 years old.

My plan for this piece of writing is not to talk too much about the past but about what happened that week in January when I went home to Cecil County to bury my father.  Get ready to meet an interesting cast of characters.
       
Sunday night I got the call that he was dead and I just didn't know what to do.  It wasn't what I expected.  I expected it to be my mom.  Or that my nephew had done something crazy (take your pick of which one).  By choice I hadn't seen him since September of 2002, and I really didn't know what to do, what to feel.  I just sat on the couch.  Allen asked me what I wanted to do and I just kept saying "I don't know."  Monday was a holiday so I had a little time to think.  I woke up that day and knew I had to go for two reasons.  1: If I didn't go the fact that he was actually gone would never be real to me, and 2: There was cash hidden somewhere in that house.  Turns out I was not the only one who knew about the cash.  We may be from Cecil County but we're not stupid.  Monday is also the day I started to cry.  I cried because I was angry about how things had been, sad about how they hadn't been, and relieved that it was finally over.  Unlike my sister, I have not once experienced any guilt.

I decided to take the train since it was my cheapest option on such short notice and seemed much more pleasant than a bus.  My family is also lackadaisical about providing necessary details (another habit I share) so it was unclear as to whether the funeral would be Wednesday or Thursday.  I made plans to arrive Tuesday evening and stay until Friday.  I requested that Allen not come with me, feeling that this was something I needed to do on my own and also because I didn't want to (wrongly or rightly) feel like I had to keep him entertained or rush back to Pittsburgh too soon.

My sister Ruth and her family from Virginia as well as my brother Ken from out near Seattle also arrived on Tuesday.  Ken, who, like me, is married, chose to come alone as well.  My brother Rick sort of snorted at me and seemed incredulous when I told him that I had purposely asked Allen not to come and his absence was not an indication that our marriage was falling apart like his recently has.  He was just being all around weird that week anyway, not that he's usually normal (big fan of conspiracy theories and aliens, it would seem).  Rick had offered to drive me to the train station in Philly Friday morning but when I ended up telling him Chris (my nephew) would do it he asked me if it was because I was "afraid" to go with him.  Well, when you ask me questions like that, yeah, I kinda am.  I understand that Rick would probably like to talk to me but I also understand that Chris (not sure if he'll read this) REALLY needs to talk to me.  Rick and I have had about 17 years of not talking, a little more time won't hurt.    

The viewing/funeral was on Wednesday.  I'm normally an anxious person so as you can imagine I literally thought I was going to combust.  I am not good at funerals, they're so unnatural and sterile and just weird.  To make it worse, no one at my sister's house drinks coffee so I was coffee-less, anxious, and nearly in a panic but when my sister offered me Ativan I was afraid to take a whole one.  I made her cut it in half because I didn't know what it would do to me.  Control freak.  Turns out I probably could've used a handful. 

End Part I.  To be continued on Monday.

"The Time Has Come for You to Lipsync for Your Life," Again.

Interview today, 2:30pm.  For the job I've been doing since March 4th.  The job that was to last "through April," according to the original request.  This sucks.  So weird interviewing for your job.  Also, you can't imagine how anxious I get when it comes to interviews.  In the car on the way to work this morning, right before I almost starting crying hysterically, I said to Allen, "I'm so tired of failing!"  Jeez, just writing it is making me want to start crying again.  He tried to tell me that's not what it is, but I know the truth, oh, I know.  I have super crazy powers.  Emphasis on the crazy.   

I am seriously so bad, maybe bad isn't the word, I am so mediocre at interviewing and so bad at dealing with the rejection that I've investigated how to get disability benefits from the government.  Well, the underlying anxiety and depression issues in combination with poor interview skills pushed me in that direction.  And the encouragement of a relative who is legally disabled due to mental health issues.  But interviews, they make me want to shit myself and throw up at the same time.  Like, I literally feel like doing that.  *Gross*  The worst part is that I can't gauge how the two major decision makers for this position are leaning.  It's a university job so they have to follow protocol and do at least a few interviews, (it's me, two other ladies and one dude, I've only seen one of the ladies) but it's killing me.  I haven't had a real full-time job since, um, like 2000, when I still lived in Delaware.  I need some security!  And yes, it's only an Admin. position (Admin. II!) but you have to understand the emotional and psychological toll being "just a temp" takes on a person. Boy am I gonna regret this post if I don't get this job.  I foolishly have a lot of plans dependent on the outcome of this.  Like finding a new place to live that isn't an insectarium and either doesn't have grass or has grass that gets mowed on a regular basis.  And I would also like a place where the creepy downstairs neighbor, you may know him as "Silent But Deadly," doesn't smoke or make hot dog/fart smells that permeate my life.  But, hey, at least he's abnormally quiet.  

In other news, I watched Wolf Creek last night, and while it wasn't bad, it wasn't good either. 



There was something lacking that I can't quite put my finger on.  I felt like I needed a reason for why the antagonist was doing what he was doing.  I know, I know, it's supposed to be simply because he's "EVIL" or something, but seeing as I don't believe in evil, except as a human/religious construct, I wasn't buying him.  Allen also pointed out that TENSION was majorly lacking as well.  It did have the awesome "head on a stick" bit but then they never really did anything with it after that...

Then we watched some more of Marble Hornets.  I think we stopped on 21.  I really enjoyed Leslie's comment on FB about it: "PS why the shit arent WE making this stuff? You folks have some of the sickest most creative minds I know! Dare I suggest we put down the dice and pick up the cheap handhelds?"

Really, why the shit aren't we?      

Coming up: Girl Hero blogs about the death of her father?  Is Girl Hero ready for that?  Is the world? 

Susan Boyle Is Better Than Me

I've been thinking a lot about dreams recently.  There are those of us who no longer bother with dreams because we realize there is no way they will ever be fulfilled and then there are people who are delusional.  I'm in the middle.  Trying to dream new dreams.  Primarily because I don't remember what the old ones were. 

Thinking back, and if you knew me at all you'd know that thinking and remembering are two of my greatest challenges, I used to dream of being...  Fuck it, I can't remember ever having any dreams.  I've never been that ambitious.  As you can see from that last sentence I tend to equate dreams with goals.  Which is fine since I never achieve either.

Right now my immediate goals (read: Dreams) are to do well at a job interview tomorrow (in Pittsburgh), quit my current job (in Pittsburgh), save some $ and get the hell out (of Pittsburgh).  Oh, and get health insurance.  First thing Ima do when I get health insurance again is demand anti-anxiety medication.  Do NOT doubt this!  There is an unwritten nine month deadline on moving.  If I miss it - well, I'm not going to miss it.  I'll go back to Cecil County if I have to.  That's a threat and a promise.     

Much of the content of the previous paragraph stems from my tendency to never be happy anywhere or with anything.  In nine months I will move and in 18 I will hate whatever the new situation is.  And dreams/goals: I never achieve them because I am always waiting for things to happen to me instead of actively doing anything about them.  That way I can be irrationally angry about more things. 

Here is a list, in no particular order, of things I would like to do:
I would like to be an iPod DJ (because I would be better than you, you're clearing the floor with that thing!).
I would like to attend drag shows (because I like them).
I would like to start running (again).
I would like to own a laptop (how pathetic is that? It's 2009, almost 2010, and I don't have a laptop; if you want to buy me a laptop you may).
I would like to travel.  I would say "travel more" but I don't really go anywhere at all these days.  (No money, honey.  If you would like to pay for me to come visit you, I will do it.) 
I would like to go to see bands or comedians or shows that I'm interested in when they come to a town near me.

My point with this pathetic list is that these things are all easily do-able and they are things that lots of people do all the time.  But for some reason I can't do them.  Because of the anxiety, hence, the first thing Ima do = anti-anxiety meds.    

Now, this is just sad.  I wanted to start this blog to see if I could be funny again but I am so messed up that something that I had planned to be funny just turned pathetic.  Susan Boyle may be better than me but what i've just done here -That's talent.