Sorry about the passworded post below – just protecting myself. Hit me up on the internet somewhere if you’d like the password; I will most likely give it to you. Blocking the world to keep out half a dozen seems silly, but better safe than sorry and other similar old world adages about spilt milk and salt and babies.
By way of apology for this annoying secrecy, here is a picture of a duck:
Don’t get me wrong – I’m still angry and not planning on taking it for much longer. However, my unusually heightened emotional state of the past week may have had a little more to do with womanly hysteria than I was willing to admit: it seems I was full of the PMS. I never recognize the symptoms until I have visual confirmation, because I’ve basically forgotten how to period thanks to my superhuman delayed cycle. Instead of 5 days of fun every 4 weeks, I get one day every 18 months .. so I think I can be forgiven for not realizing when I’ve gone insane because of hormones instead of just regular insane because of stress.
To be fair, things are really lousy outside my uterus, too. The ongoing situation at work has given me stress cysts in awkward places, and one fucking ruptured today. There’s something wrong with my throat: it feels as though something’s stuck in my esophagus, and I’m constantly trying to force the nothing out which makes my gag reflex go into overdrive and then I panic a little because I can’t breathe. The stuck-in-throat feeling has been going on for about a week now, but over the last two days it’s been really problematic. If it keeps up for much longer, I’m going to have to go to the doctor. Trying to self-diagnose did no good at all, because the internet says I have several kinds of throat cancer and pregnancy, so I’m freaking out about that too. I need a haircut and a vacation. I’m worried/keyed up/excited/terrified about the future. I started biting my nails again. Work is .. complicated and disappointing. Those Prada Candy commercials are weird and dumb. My face hurts.
So there’s all that stuff, and I feel bad for complaining. Throw it all in a blender and shed a surprise uterine lining or two, and BAM: tears everywhere. Ain’t nobody got time for that!
If change is coming, I sure hope it gets here soon.
I like to say I got into the business of process improvement and tech writing so I can writes the rules (and know which ones to break), but the truth is far more alarming than any kind of need to thumb my nose at The Man: apparently, I’m a textbook Type A control freak.
Right now, I’m struggling with an overwhelming desire to CONTROL ALL THE THINGS. Stuff at work is a cluster fuck of New Coke proportions, and I want to roar and flip tables and TAKE OVER so I can fucking FIX IT ALREADY. It’s driving me crazy. I never thought I’d say this, but I miss structure. I miss rules and processes. I miss checklists and milestones and deliverables and deadlines and actually fucking MEETING those deadlines instead of floating along all willy nilly with my head stuffed up my ass. I am so much happier when everyone knows what to do and how to do it and we can all count on one another to do our jobs and do them well, and right now I am NOT HAPPY. I’m generally a happy person, and right now I am FULL OF RAGE AND CAPITAL LETTERS. ARGH!
I need to step away from the internet so I don’t go into further detail. I really want to. So badly. I’ve already sent many sternly worded emails outlining all the things that are going wrong that I can easily fix if you’d just let me oh I don’t know DO MY JOB. We’ll see if those help.
Next step: distributing yellow flags to the team to be raised every time someone interrupts you mid-sentence; red flags for being steamrolled.
So frustrated. So unhappy. This is not what I was expecting with my promotion.
As I tossed and turned my way through yet another sleepless night, worried that someone had replaced my ear drops with poison in an attempt to murder me Hamlet style, I realized that I may in fact be getting sick. That is unfortunate, even without the ear poison. I’ve managed to avoid the plagues and viruses that have ensnared most of my social circle for the past few months (the one good thing about most of our interactions taking place online), but I think this latest and greatest disease may have me in a clammy grip of distorted vision, non-stop headaches, and general aching. Normally I’d start whining that I really don’t have time for this, but let’s be honest: there isn’t a hell of a lot going on in my life right now other than catastrophic disappointment and failure, so a cold might be a welcome change.
How are things? Frankly, things have been much, much better. I’m trying to keep my chin up (mostly so I don’t walk into doors), but it’s difficult. There’s so much I want to scream and shout about, but I
can’t probably shouldn’t, so instead I am vague and frustrating and frustrated and constipated from all this angst I have going on. I am trying very hard not to know that this Wednesday will mark 8 years since my dad’s mysterious death, that this time last year I was four days away from two weeks in London, that I am both yearning for and afraid of success, that I desperately want to bite off more than I can chew but no one will throw me a bone. I miss Sasha. I miss London. I miss video games. I miss sleep. I miss perks.
Things will get better one way or another, but when I’m already not feeling very well it’s so easy to wallow instead of being upbeat and chipper. So, I’m going to embrace it: today, I am sad and discouraged and hopeless. Tomorrow, I will be better. Things will change. Stuff will be good. We shall overcome.
Also, owning these would help me get over this little pity party I’m having today:
i likely won’t be able to walk, but godDAMN i will look awesome
You can tell I am super sad, because I am looking at shoes.
Another year, another PAX I am wholly unprepared for. Each year I question why I attend, and each year my reasons (beyond the omnipresent FOMO) seem to dwindle. This year, my main reason for going is downright sad: I want to collect all the Nintendo DS Streetpasses from other attendees. Show me your houses, people, so that I may purchase your furniture. All hail the Happy Home Showcase!
I really need to just hit myself over the head and try to forget about work, and getting out of town to be afraid of crowds is a good start. I’m stupidly worried about my two big projects (and several other slightly less big projects), to the point where I gave some serious thought to skipping PAX so I could stay and work. This is dumb for many reasons, but my ridiculous dedication was winning until I pulled an underhanded move on myself: I ordered new boots from Amazon and sent them to Ali’s place. If I don’t go to PAX, I don’t get my new boots (um and the 80 coconut bars and BMO figurine that somehow also ended up in my cart). Since new boots easily trumps my worrying that the universe will fall apart if I’m not there to be angry, I will go to PAX. I am easily manipulated by myself (and I may have volunteered to work the holiday Monday so we don’t fall even further behind).
I need to turn off my brain for a few days; enjoy PAX and new boots and Seattle. After all, next week is going to be even more challenging .. so why waste all this excellent worrying now, when I’ll have so much more to do later?
I think I may be turning into an ulcer.
.. unfortunately, my life is comprised mainly of apparently rotten things that all require cash money that I may not have. So, I’ve brainstormed some potential money-making ideas:
- No one really NEEDS two kidneys
- Marketing my blood as a hardcore, Mountain Dew-esq alternative to maple syrup
- Selling my eggs – who wants a little half Malaysian in them?
- Hand jobs for $5
- Selling the sperm collected from the $5 handjobs
- Opening a pie, lemonade, and handmade pornographic goods stand with Sam
- Sell out! Attention all companies: Delicious Juice Dot Com is ready to start shilling for you! Do you want access to my four remaining readers? Would your product or service be a perfect fit for my .. apparent inability to finish a sentence? Contact me today!
- Be independently wealthy and become a vigilante tech writer
- Buy, then resell, Beanie Babies
- Return all my Diet Coke empties
- Kissing booths are so passé – I will open a motorboat booth. Make blaggle wooble sounds in my bosom for $2!
- Visit the bereaved and claim I sold his or her recently deceased loved one an expensive, personalized user manual that has money owing on it
Oh yeah. I’m going to be paying my bills in NO TIME.
Not long after I started my job, I was moved to the Worst Desk in the Office (they assured me it was nothing personal, but I still have my suspicions). Stuck, I tried to make my workspace feel like home by stealing furniture and creating some walls, then covering those walls in video game posters and toys. None of this could really disguise the fact that the desk was still terrible, but at least I had some semblance of privacy. I truly hated it, though – since the day I moved, I’ve been trying to get a different desk anywhere else. I volunteered to sit in the kitchen, or the bathroom, or in the middle of the floor, all to no avail: I had to stay put, and it sucked.
Fortunately but unfortunately, a mass exodus at work has freed up some space and more than a year later, I finally have a new desk. It is an excellent desk; one that people don’t walk behind a million times a day. It’s bigger than my old one, and has fewer splinters that ruin my clothes when I sit down. I even have a tall cabinet with shelves for all my toys and Diet Coke cups (I have 9 mugs at work for some reason) and the collective Nerf arsenal of the Graphics Department. I am pleased with my new home.
Being pleased as punch will only get you so far when you are VERY SAD, though: another person from my fledgling Product Design team has given notice. My future is up in the air, and that is my least favourite place for it to be: I am a sad, worried Kimli.
These are dark times, even with all the light streaming through my new windows. One small plus, though – a gratifying number of people who walk past my old desk are shocked/upset/confused/worried when they see that I am no longer there.