Should I be concerned??

The guy in the office next to mine is listening to what sounds like Russian radio, which, in itself is a bit odd, but not horribly so. Also, he sounds like he might be either having a heart attack, or getting off, a la our party conversation last night at Philip's. Would anyone else be curious about this?????

That is all for now. . . will write about my cynicism when I'm not procrastinating at the office, listening to what sounds like a suspiciously large old man either dying or experiencing la petite mort. Oh, to work in a Psych ward.... errrr, Department.

That is all.

Out of Context

Hit kind of a low point last night (really low... not a good night). I decided that if I could write down and articulate all of the bad shit that has been bringing me down as of late, I could get it out of my system. I filled a page, margins, all of it. That's a lot of shit. So much bad shit since the 1st of June. Jesus.
So, ever the Libra, I decided that I needed to balance it out with some positive things that have happened this summer. (I should add that by this point, I had poured a small amount of vodka into my Coke--it was that sort of night.) My highlights list had seven items. Seven. And some of those are shapeless concepts and not events.
My summer highlights:

• Drunken debauchery.


• Saw two of my uncles and my cousin and her husband.


• Did some theatre.


• Considered finding another career path.


• Was called "sexy" by very drunken, much older, somewhat married, possibly insane Communist.


• Read some books.


• Dreamed of something better.

That is it. The rest of the page is filled with the sort of drunken and depressed bile that comes from realizing how out of balance one's life really is.

For years I have been in perpetual motion, running away as much as possible from the issues that I have accrued over my nearly quarter century on this earth. And when I can't run away, I turn them into humor. It's a great defense mechanism. But when all of that is stripped away, and I'm alone in my back porch-y area, drinking and depressed, I'm still the same fucked up person that I always was. Because in moving so much, I have managed not to streamline my baggage, but to accrue more with each passing year, each new trip. At some point, I won't be able to carry it all around anymore. What will happen to me then? Will I gracefully let the oldest shit just fall away, my parents' divorce leave my consciousness for once and all? Or perhaps that's when I can finally let go of all those other things: the darker issues, the ones that I almost never talk about, the things that I've seen in my life that no one should ever have to see.

I was once a sensative kid. Now I'm a callous, bitter and jaded adult. I like control, being in control, of everything around me; it's why I enjoy stage managing. I keep a tight reign on my emotions (at least the dark undercurrent of emotions that I like to pretend do not exist: the depression, the anger, the angst, the hopelessness, the uncertainty.) I will not be fooled again. There is safety in control. And if I don't experience a full range of emotions in this lifetime, it's still better than admitting to the world how low I can go.

I like riding on the el because I enjoy watching all of the people. I wonder about them. Who they are; where they are going, and coming from; what makes them tick. I want to know all about them. But I don't want to actually connect. Because that scares the shit out of me too. I can only keep control over my life if I keep my circle very small. I lived in Boston for 10 months, and only in the last month that I lived there did I actually have any real friendships: people with whom to hang out, people with whom to have a drink, people who had silly nicknames for me. It took me 9 months to connect to anyone. Had Bil not been there with me, my roommates would not have even known about my birthday. There is safety in keeping everything internal, to a point. But sometimes it all blows up in my face.

I don't know anymore where exactly I'm going with all of this, but I know where I'm coming from, and it isn't pretty. I haven't yet reached my own personal catharsis, but I am hopeful. What is life without hope?

And on that note, dear readers (and random asshole from Arkansas who is reading this at 3:30am on a Tuesday, and still doesn't bother to comment), I will leave you with a song lyric that once meant something to me, maybe it still applies; you be the judge:

"Disarm you with a smile, and cut you like you want me to, / Cut that little child inside of me and such a part of you, / Oh, the years burn..."
-- from "Disarm", written by Billy Corgan and performed by the Smashing Pumpkins on their best album.

That is all.

My cat was making sweet, sweet love to my sandals, and now she's smoking a cigarette. Where did I go wrong?

That is all.

Goddamn it!

Fucking A. I am so fucking sick of being poor. I was supposed to get paid today by UIC. I go out to get some lunch and check my balance at the ATM: $0.00. Nothing. It's direct deposit, which I totally don't trust, so I rush back to work to find out where my money is. I can't find the HR lady. Christ. So I go back to my office, think about how much I would love to eat lunch, then think about my lack of lunch-buying ability, and get back to work, hungry. I run into HR lady in the hall, who says, "I was wondering where you were; I need you to sign this paper so that your payroll can go through." I sign the paper then and there, and--bonus!--it says that before I have even gotten paid, I've gotten a 31 cent raise. Ok, that's cool. She tells me that she'll get back to me ASAP when she knows more about when I'll get paid.

I wait, mouth watering in anticipation of lunch. . .

And I wait.

And still, I continue to wait.

I send her a pleasant, but assertive e-mail requesting more information regarding when my money will come rolling into my account.

I get no response.

I go over to her office.

She's out somewhere (probably eating a nice delicious tasty lunch).

I drink some coffee.

And some tea.

And daydream of food.

I go over once again to her office. She's there! And she has no information for me. So I calmly draw and quarter her because I am enraged and hungry and want to cry with frustration. But then what I really said was, "And about how long does this sort of thing typically take to be corrected?"

And she replies in a long, drawn-out, roundabout fashion that it should only be a few more days. DAYS?!?!?! I thought we were talking hours. I am hungry now, and I'll be dead from starvation in a matter of days! And I'll owe the bank more than the sum total of my paycheck in a matter of days!@!!!! So, I (less calmly) told her that that was unacceptable. That I was counting on this paycheck. And I thought about the fact that I couldn't afford to live anymore. That I've been waiting on money from several different places and all of them have been slow to pay up. That I have dug myself into a fucking hole of debt to helping out other people. That I have been working 14-15 hour days most of the last couple of weeks on multiple jobs. That I have not been paid or reimbursed for anything since June and I have moved since then. And mostly that I am fucking hungry.

But what I said was simply that I needed the money. That it would be great if she let me know ASAP about it.

And she gave me some sob story about how she has all of these new employees and she was here until 8pm on Monday night getting all the paperwork right. And this is the worst time of year for new hires. And blah blah blah. And I really don't give a fuck, because I am standing in front of you, starving because you fucked up my paperwork.

So judge me all you want. I am angry. And I'm not sorry about it. I WAS GOING TO GO GROCERY SHOPPING TONIGHT! Goddamnit! I fucking hate bureaucracy and bullshit.

I'm going to quietly put my head down on my desk now and have a good quiet cry in my office. And I'm going to bill the bastards for time spent.

I'm too mad to post anything cheeky about Taylor Hicks.

GAH!

That is all.

So I had a bit to drink last night. And the night before, and the night before that, and the one before that too. And all that drinking caught up with me this morning. I felt like there were some spare bit of hardware from the set clanging around in my brain, and I totally looked like shit. Also, I remember just enough about the ride home last night to be assured that I probably need to apologize about ... something ... to ... someone. So I totally called in sick today and have spend the entirety of the day cat-napping on the porch, reading and rehydrating. I haven't called in sick to work in at least a year, and I think I owed it to myself.
Also, a strange observation: drinking makes me have really vivid, resonant dreams, the kind that really stick to my brain after I wake up. And sometimes, they are kinda sexy... So if I'm acting all weird around you, rest assured it's nothing personal, my brain is just very errr... active. *wink*

And now, to make Bil laugh, and to further confuse Hollywood, (who seems oddly disturbed by this, as he's brought it up disparagingly the last several nights), the Taylor Hicks newslink of the day.

That is all.

Fuckin' A

I was totally in a brawl outside the bar last night. You should see the other guy. Haha.

Also, had to defend my obvious adoration of Taylor Hicks -- please don't judge me....
Sigh.
Will post more after I have retrieved my brain... if only I knew where I left it... maybe the office, the theatre, the gutter... gah.

That is all.

ummm...

So this impertinent little Word paper clip is giving me bedroom eyes. Should I be concerned? Do I get to say, "Mr. Paperclip, that is sexual harassment and I don't have to take it!"? (punctuation is proving difficult right now.) I swear it just undressed me with its googly-eyes.


And a guy who I think was nuts called today while I was playing receptionist. He said his name was "Taylor Taylor." I think it's a sign.

This is what office work does to me.

'nuff said.

That is all.

Blorch.

It turns out there's some truth in that old idea about heat and alcohol making you drunk and sleepy very quickly. So I only made it through 1 glass of wine last night before conking out on my back porch. I woke up at 4:30 in the am, all nestled in a chair by the window, through which a slightly less hot breeze was blowing. i should have stayed on the porch, though... it was wicked hot in the bedroom. I'm really tired of no A/C.

FYI, this post is entirely procrastination. I just don't feel like writing flowery letters to big shot shrinks quite yet. Stupid shrinks. Bah.

For all you new readers out there (you know who you are): I'm really not as angry as that last major post would suggest. Really. BUT. I was feeling kinda pissed off at that moment. And maybe a bit childish. A bit. STOP JUDGING ME! Gah!

Ok, must get back to work so that I can leave early to go get shoes and suspenders and a belt and maybe some glasses.

Oi!

And speaking of temperatures rising, get a load of this. Hot.

That is all.