Playing with Myself

I am, quite obviously, paying for something. Between the owies and the family mishaps and the election and the doctor and the car... oi.

I went out to the parking garage last night and discovered that while I was at work, someone hit the driver's side of my car. Not badly, mind you. But there's a fairly annoying gash down three panels, and they hit the last panel right before the bumper hard enough that the metal has buckled.

Mr G and I did screams of frustration last night. It went something like this:

Car!
Bush!
Car!
Bush!
Ack!
Argh!

On the plus side, I have 3,000 words done for NaNoWriMo.

Am home safely from Walt Disney World. I was sick every single day. And the last two days were very, very strange. The taxi that was supposed to take us to the airport was hideously late, the lines were ridiculously long (Sunday before Thanksgiving, doh!), and I didn't get a single postcard mailed from Florida. I did get them all written in Florida, so I'm going to mail them from Indiana and you'll just have to live with it beetches.

So glad to be home. Alas, it's going to be hell at work tomorrow so I have no idea when/if I'm going to get to LJ skip=whatever and the email. Hugs to all.

::hack hack::
::sneeze::

Disney

Stitch toilet-papered Cinderella's castle on a day we weren't at the Magic Kingdom. I saw it on the news and thought it must be a fake backdrop. Heh.

The Stitch ride was a big disappointment, imo. I never saw Alien Encounter, so I cannot speak to the impression given by others that it was the same thing recycled with different characters.

Ann's Christmas present is a talking Violet Incredible doll. Shhhh, don't tell her.

The Star Wars store wasn't nearly as much fun without Danakate. The new Luke Skywalker pin is really badly made, and they should be ashamed to have produced it.

Due to various mix-ups and poor planning, I did not get back to Downtown Disney to buy several things that I had planned. Will have to think of alternate Christmas presents, yar.

Tiffany Car Service last year was far superior to any of the transportation we took this year.

Shades of Green, the military resort, was super-duper even though it had limited transportation to and fro. Fabulous rooms. If you've done any military time, you can book there.

There's a Chinese restaurant next to the Quality Inn Maingate West. Don't eat there. There's a Chinese restaurant across the highway from Quality Inn Maingate West. Eat there. It's fabulous.

Epcot's Illuminations was a lot cooler than I remembered.

Never, ever do Epcot on the last day of your trip. Really bad idea. Unfortunately, the day we were originally planning to go to Epcot, I was so sick that I stayed at the hotel and slept most of the day.

Going to the Brown Derby with two burgers and fries people is a waste of time and money.

The Tower of Terror at MGM Studios is fanfuckingtastic.

Home

We came home to a note from the dogsitter that the washing machine was broken. The washing machine was actually fine. The furnace, however, was not. I hope she had heat during the week we were gone.

A Christmas present from a friend was delivered while we were gone. I opened it, because I thought it was a late birthday present. It's not even Thanksgiving! Argh! When am I going to shop? Argh!

Don't make me laugh. I cough when I laugh. Dammit, I said stop making me laugh!

When I left for vacation, I had six accounts assigned to me. This morning, I find that I have 34. And I have been designated as the primary contact for another CSR who is going to be out on maternity leave in December. I am so screwed.

Within 5 minutes, Notre Dame fired their football coach and Tom Ridge resigned from Homeland Security.

The surprise isn't that ND fired Willingham, btw. It's that they did so before the bowl game that they decided on Sunday to participate in. Huh.

I'd like to send Tom Ridge a roll of duct tape as a parting gift. Thanks for playing.

It should not bother me to see one of the cookies I made and brought to work in the trashcan, with one bite taken out of it. Should not, but does. C'est la vie.

Thanks to every one of you, all jewels beyond measure. I'm doing quite well, all things considered.

We have decided, perhaps foolishly, to drive from SB to Champaign on Christmas Eve, then from Champaign to St. Louis on Christmas Day, then back to Champaign on the 26th, from whence I will continue on home because I don't have nearly as much holiday vacation time as Mr G and have to work on Monday. Them highways, they will be a burnin'.

There are seven people in my section. I am one of two who has not called in sick today. Processing faxes, phone calls, emails and endorsements for five other people may kill me.

I have been reminded that one or two rather odd people give a shit, so here's a shout-out to say that I'm not dead yet.

We are celebrating our 11th wedding anniversary this month, which we are marking with a long weekend in Boston in October (it's all in the an-ti-ci-paaaaaaaa-tion). Otherwise, things are sameold sameold in the land of five dogs, three cats, and two rather frazzled and idiotic bipeds. I just returned from a very brief jaunt to Texas to help my baby sister find a place to live, and I'm horrified how much I enjoyed the blazing heat sans our wretched humidity. I'm too pale and puny to live in the Southwest, but I might breathe better.

I'll be resuming my hiatus for goodness knows how long, as I no longer have unfettered Internet access at work, my workload increases exponentially from June to mid October, and even anti-psychotics, lithium, and two kinds of acid reducer can't quell the panic attacks and obsessive-compulsive behavior that LJ seems to generate (or in the words of my ex-therapist, "the way I let people and situations on LJ make me feel". Bitch, stop interrupting me every 50 seconds to rephrase my words and maybe I'll make some progress).

Hugs and kisses to all. And postcards, if I ever mail them.

Also, Dark Shadows revival DVDs have been announced for October. Whoohoo!

So here I am again, with a shiny new blog.

Well, the essential design has been used before. I am definitely better at recycling than preserving. Do I have full backups of my previous Movable Type blogs? No. Can I easily import my Livejournal entries here? No. Wordpress backup? Don't make me laugh.

So it's shiny... and empty.

A few words as to how I got here seem appropriate. One day my psychotic mother was impregnated by someone who was probably (possibly) my father... wait, that's not it. Or maybe it is. I'm good at blaming my mother for various neuroses. It's not her fault that the last few years have been unpleasant, because I stopped talking to her well before that. Not about her, of course. I haven't had much luck with therapy.

Anyway, in 2001 I had a final verbal confrontation with the maternal non-parental and chose a wee mental breakdown as a chaser. My doctor prescribed Prozac, and it seemed to help. I still dropped out of grad school when I was ABD ("If only you'd finish that 'paper'!" my father laments) and decided to get a real job. There was temping (definitely not a real job), job by nepotism (oh sure, I was definitely the most qualified candidate and let's not forget the "recommendation" from the graduate school department chair about how I would no doubt get this nonsense out of my system soon), and finally -- unexpectedly -- a job in the business world. History majors of the world rejoice; there is life after grad school.

That Prozac wasn't cutting it, though. I was in physical pain a lot, and inflicting a good deal of psychic pain on my friends with the mood swings, neediness, jealousy, paranoia.... Doctor #2 switched me from Prozac to Wellbutrin.

Within two weeks, I was sitting in the basement trying not to cry audibly and contemplating ways of killing myself. I had it all planned out. I just needed to write the damn will.

I still had enough of a grasp on reality to call my doctor's office and let them know about the unexpected side effect. Two messages and a not very coherent discussion with a nurse later, and one morning the doctor called me at work to let me know that she could "no longer deal with [my] mood swings" and that I should seek treatment elsewhere.

I did what any reasonable person would do, I suppose. I went to my friendly local Human Resources representative's office, closed the door, and burst into tears. She drove me to a mental health center. They tried very hard to convince me to commit myself. Very hard. I withstood their cogent arguments by beating my head on the table rhythmically.

I probably should have said yes, oui? Ah well.

A psychiatrist finally saw me, took a history, and pronounce a verdict -- I was bipolar. Manic depressive. Oil, that is. Texas tea.

Most days I believe her. Some days I'm not sure. But the not being sure also makes me believe her. And her treatment has been far more effective than my previous quacks.

In the last few months, I have had to face a number of truths. I used to blog because my friends were mostly made online and scattered about the country; blogging was a way to keep up to date and active in their lives.

For the most part, I don't have those friends anymore. I take responsibility for my own mistakes, but it is fair to say that when I lost part of the old crowd, I lost them all. I'm her now, the one about whom we used to say, "Have you heard..." and "What a mess she is..." and remember, with some bewilderment, the good times.

I can't read Livejournal. It makes my chest hurt because of what I miss.

There are good things, though. I'm rebuilding.

I'm closer to my sister than I've ever felt in my life.

I've tracked down two close friends from high school, and have made tentative "getting to reknow you" gestures.

I'm valued at my job.

I have my SO, Mr. G, whose neuroses complement my own so well that we are too fucked up for anyone else. And we love each other all the more because of it.

I have the kids, foster and adopted, with whooshing tails and sloppy wet kisses and purrs and insistent paws scratching, who always forgive me for being the worst person in the world.

And for the first time in a long time, I have the words.

So blog on.

Watching: Dead Like Me
Listening: Indigo Girls
Being: Scared, a little lost

Somewhere, I have a back-up of the random drabble generator. I think. Hopefully on the not quite dead yet laptop. Must check.

I'm also pondering a domain name for my Real Life stuff as, embarrassingly, I had to post some sample work for a recruiter and he couldn't access the site because his Net filter marked it as "adult" content. This is what you get for trying to conscientious about marking your fiction as NC-17 when in reality it is far less lascivious than anything in your average Nora Roberts. Nevermind that I haven't hosted fiction on my site in at least two years...

I wanted blackdog.net or blackdogs.net, but neither are available. Black dogs are notoriously hard to get adopted at shelters. For some reason, people don't think they are attractive. My other online personae are either too difficult for anyone but me to remember, or not terribly appropriate for job hunting.

Hmm. Suggestions welcome.

The Random Domain Generator yields:

bansheeeskimo.com
contemporaneoushandful.com
alkalineintricate.com
lurksyntax.com

and so on. Heee.

Name Boy suggested cageypagey. ::groan::

The Surrealist Domain Name Generator suggests:
utensilelfradio.net
rubbertoastersex.com
soaplovefurniture.org
tomatotomatowristwatch.com
culinarypickleangry.com

I do rather like "culinarypickle". Heh.

The water heater pilot light remains fickle. I suspect our house will blow up any day now.

Adjusting my medication last week was supposed to relieve me of the zombie curse under which I have been placed during waking hours. There is improvement, but on the whole it has not succeeded. Moreover, the nasty gastroenterological side effect that the original dose was suppressing has returned with a vengeance. I am so tired and sore that it aches to be upright.

I'm supposed to be working on two websites for other people but I haven't even managed to get pictures of the new kitties uploaded on my own site.

I don't know where the tape is with House's season finale on it. It would be nice to view the episode in its entirety before Tuesday.

I am remarkably frustrated by many things right now. Remember the two bouts of strep throat back to back? I'm still not feeling well, despite testing negative on two more strep tests, two mono tests, a throat culture, and a CBC. My glands are swollen. I feel like I can barely swallow. My ears hurt. My head hurts. I'm dizzy on and off (no blonde jokes needed, I have refreshed the red hair coloring). I am having difficulty concentrating.

The latter is the symptom most easily attributed to my bipolar disorder. Nonetheless, my doctor has chosen to reject all of my other symptoms as possible side effects of my shrink meds.

WTF? Lithium does not cause SNORING. SORE THROAT. DROWNING IN PHLEGM.

Yeah. I shouldn't be surprised that a GP is, when faced with a bipolar patient, retreating into "talk to your shrink." But some days it's not just all in my head, thank you.

Frustration #2 comes with the fact that I swore to myself I would have a new job before I ran out of sick time (PTO, ha!). I have two hours left for the rest of the year, and no new job in sight. And when I find jobs that are interesting, I have to take into account how they might affect my bipolar disorder. Scheduling should be routine, yet I hate working a routine schedule. Blah blah blah.

I'm going to be 33 in less than two weeks, and I'm in a bipolar straightjacket. And I'm frustrated about it.

And I missed Veronica Mars last night because I forgot it was on. Fuckity fuck.

Today marks the end of my 33rd year of life. More thoughts on that later. In the meantime, I am amusing myself by collecting this year's birthday horoscopes.

The house is FINALLY on the market. I realize this should not be an issue of momentous proportion given that it still needs to sell. And it's a terrible market, even though the summer months are our best shot. But it has taken so long to get from our planned market date (May 7) to now, and there have been so many financial screw-ups along the way, that I am just thrilled that the house is officially for sale.

That will wear off in a day or two, no doubt. Then I can start worrying about open houses in absentia and the plants dying, continued unemployment, possible cancer and liver damage from 8 years of contaminated well water, finding a new vet, unrest at home and abroad, etc.

I have interviewed for only one position since coming out to the Land of Nod. It's one for which I am certainly well-qualified (over qualified in the wrong areas, as usual), and I happen to know that only one other person applied for it. However, candidate #2 dropped out before his/her interview, so the department has felt honor bound, for various reasons, to go back to HR for more potential candidates before making a choice. Mr G spins this delightful tale in my favor, but I am beginning to wonder if floundering for other applicants simply means that they don't want to hire me. Not that I'm paranoid. I have an interview next week for a position with the same organization in a different area, so at least I can hang onto the tattered shreds of my dignity and proclaim that someone else is willing to consider paying me very little for a menial position. Go me!

What I really want is a particular position that, at least per the official job posting specs, I'm not qualified for. But I have heard through the grapevine that nobody else who applied for it is qualified either, so I officially tossed my Pittsburgh Penguins cap into the ring. Keep your fingers crossed for door number 3.

Apart from job hunting, unpacking continues at a turtle's pace. On the plus side, there are a lot of cabinets in the new abode -- the old house never had enough cabinets or closets. On the down, the cabinets (and sinks and steps) are all slightly too high for someone of my stature. Even the bottom shelves are not particularly convenient, which is just bizarre. I am not that short at 5' 3" -- CJ and Ms J make me feel like a giant. I have resorted to emptying the contents of packing cartons into cabinets simply so I can get the boxes out of the way, knowing that I will need a stool or step ladder later to organize anyway. Still, the essentials have been out for quite some time and apart from a few items which I really wish would surface immediately (i.e. the power cable to the camera) the place is livable. Both sets of parental units have visited, and the siblings will have seen the place by the end of the month. I am so glad that we are closer to the family... something I never would have said five years ago. I know I've taken my family for granted. It certainly didn't pay to consider my 'friends' my real family, did it? Oh dear, bitter much?

There are many wonderful things about the Land of Nod. Hills and beautiful greenery (I'm trying not to dwell on the implications for icy hills and downed limbs in the winter), lots of parks, beautiful house in a nice neighborhood, people who share our interests even if we have not really had time yet for socializing. On the other hand...

There's no Target. I weep.

Our realtor wants to have an open house on Sunday. She'll be taking care of it, which is lovely as I don't see much point in taking on an 8 hour drive simply to chit chat with strangers critiquing the empty box that was once our home. I read somewhere that open houses were more for realtors than buyers anyway, which is funny but makes sense. We only ever saw one house via an open house that we considered buying. On the whole, I think it makes sense to let the professional do the groundwork.

I had a fairly positive job interview today, so perhaps we'll be able to afford both mortgage payments soon. It's not Door #3, but it has some definite perks. The pay scale, alas, is not one of them. In typical 'counting our chickens' fashion, Mr G and I have been debating the merits of Door #1 over Door #2. I understand his concerns about the longterm prospects of Door #2, but I think there is more opportunity there than he realizes. More importantly, when I walked into that office today I felt right at home. Door #1 was more like going to an aunt's house... one that you don't see very often -- everybody is very nice and you're fond of them, but the food is odd, the couch is lumpy in the wrong places, and political conversations must be skirted at all costs. Door #2 felt like the place I wanted to be 5 days a week. Plus, it's just as good a bullpen for Door #3 as the other.

Watch me while I juggle my eggs.

It's Door #1. Ah well.