December 11, 2003

December 11, 2003 - 3:39 p.m.

Ah, here it comes. The breakdown I've been waiting for.

All week I've been waiting to cry. Usually when stuff goes wrong my eyes just fill up, boom, and then it's done. But this stress has been entirely different. It's been important to keep myself as together as possible so that when the mortgage company calls I'm put together - or so that I don't burst into flames when the bank says I'm a liar. I've kept everything pushed back for the past ten days or so.

I'm not good at that.

After work I'm going to spend time with Miss Beek. She is who I go to when I'm at my most spiritually bankrupt. We're going to have dinner, light a fire, and catch up. Open a bottle or two of wine. Put on some Golden Palominos.

And I'm going to cry like the world is ending.

December 11, 2003 - 11:48 a.m.

Oh happy day, calloo, callay!* Just checked bank statements; the appraiser's check went through just fine. Whew! Hello, nice lady, thank you for coming out when you're deathly ill to appraise my house - now please allow me to hand you a bad check, which will bounce like my head off rubber walls. Or the gods will smile, I'll get back some of the cash those ATM-stealing SOBs stole, and everything will be fine. Whatever.

My hands are killing me from last night's knitting. No more tub action for me. (Hush! Knitting! Nothing dirty!) I was trying to accomplish too many things at once. That's in direct conflict with my office work-ethic, where I mostly try to put my head down and ignore as much as possible. Yesterday was our monthly staff meeting, during which we played a "cross-cultural communication" game. Now, I love differences. I'm a believer in the additive value of someone who was raised in another country, brought up another way, or has alternative ideas. Hell, I believe American society (and certainly business) needs the influx of newness to keep us inventive. But I hate, hate being forced into stereotyping. Please don't say things like, "Well, the Japanese do x and y..." Bullshit. Some Japanese might do those things. Not all of them. That's like saying that all women like pink. It's crap, and it's crap of the worst, least thoughtful kind. I sat as far away as possible at the meeting and thought about Hungry Hungry Hippos. Was it just me, or does that game bring out the worst best in everyone? So.Much.Fun.

Today's lesson: do not wear red lacy boyshorts with your lowcut Modern Fit Flares**, even though said boyshorts match your sexy demibra. Don't wear them even though they rise just perfectly and show the bottom bit of your cheeks. Why? Because every time you bend to fill up your water bottle at the machine, you're going to show off your tattoo and panties to passersby. How white trash can you get? Might as well sign up to be a carnie at the State Fair right now, dumbass!

Tonight I plan to go home and read Oz books online, thanks to devbear. Muchas gracias! *Thanks, Lewis Carroll, you cousin-loving cokehead.
**I am such a damn sellout. The Gap sells these. I hate The Gap. But the pants were $19 each, and they make my ass look fantastic.

December 11, 2003 - 8:42 a.m.

Why do I keep waking up feeling more worn down every morning? Isn't sleep supposed to refresh you? I'm getting between six and seven hours a night - what's the dealio?

Ugh. I blew off counseling this morning to have more time in bed. 'Course, that was before Katze stomped her delicate kitty paws all over my head, before the snooze button stopped working, and before I realized that, FUCK, I forgot to get permission to be out of the office this morning. Yes, I emailed her immediately, but I'll still get bitched out at 10:00 a.m., and it'll be my own fault, too. Sigh.

I know that almost everybody's full of doom'n'gloom because of he weather lately. It almost never snows here, but the past week has been so gloomy that all the vitamin D is running around pissed off in our bodies. Give me sunshine or give me death!

I'd love to write more, but must - oh joy - go to the bank before entering The Death Chamber (aka my office). If I never, ever hear from Bank of America after this, it will be a-okely dokely by me. Lousy bastards.

Comments: Speak your piece!

former / latter