One day, you shall endure a firestorm of my awesomeness

I was made angry by someone today. OK, that is an everyday occurrence at work, but today was extra special.



Your circular logic angers me!

I really shouldn't be working any job that has even a small customer service aspect. I should be working behind closed doors, far away from the general public. I can barely interact with the public in non-service-oriented situations, such as driving, or going to a movie.

Today, someone gave me a message. Let's call that someone Person A. Person A wants me to call Person B and give them the message. I didn't totally understand the message Person A was giving me, and I asked further questions about it. Person A disregarded me, didn't really answer the question, and didn't seem to want to. So I assume that Person B will know what I'm talking about when I give the message.

We all know what happens when you assume.

So as I'm giving the message to Person B, they don't understand it either, and ask me further questions. Now I look like a complete dumbass and I'm stumbling and apologizing. I look like a tool when I say apologetically, "that's all I was told." Because I am simply a human message machine and have no thoughts of my own. I have to put Person B on hold and go ask a random person, Person C, if they can help me understand this. Person C calls the original Person A. I can hear Person A bitching on the phone about how I was told to relay this message.

What Person A doesn't remember (because they have an extremely poor memory), is that I have a very good memory. I know EXACTLY what I was told and I repeated it word-for-word. It's not MY fault that the message was incomplete and didn't make any sense to anyone, and it's not MY fault that Person A chose not to explain it to me after I asked for clarification.

Person A seems to think I am a complete dumbass most of the time, but I can assure you, Person A, that while there may be two assholes in this situation, one of them is a SMARTass, and it's not you.

The following is what I would like to say to Person A, if I only could.

Dear Person A,

You are a complete dumbass. I wish I could make you understand how dumb you are, but you wouldn't get it even if I drew you a picture. Contrary to your belief, I am not psychic. And I am also not a computer, I do not have magical fairies that can make stuff appear the second you want it, and I am not your servant.

You are barely literate. Your scribbles are not only barely legible, but what is written doesn't make sense most of the time. Your spelling is frightening. I truly believe that you are borderline retarded. There seems to be an inverse relationship between your work ethic and your success. Your existence makes me question the laws of the Universe, God, Karma and all things American, because no one as stupid and arrogant as you deserves to have anything nice. Everyone else picks up your slack and fixes your mistakes, and despairs over your total lack of judgement and communication skills. You make the same errors over and over again. You don't care if you piss people off. You don't care that I have to deal with the people you piss off.

One day, I plan to break free of this circus of idiocy. I am smarter than you, I work harder than you, and one day, I will reign triumphant over you. And I will rub it in your face so hard that your eyes will bleed.

One day, you shall endure a firestorm of my awesomeness.

Can you get infected with happy?

I have been sick lately and am on a second course of antibiotics. Oddly, I have been feeling unusually happy. Elated, even. It made me wonder if the bacteria throwing a rave in my guts were infecting me with happiness. I was half-expecting for my happy feelings to go away immediately upon starting the new antibiotics. It didn't. I went on being happy.

Then today I woke up late. Very, very late. It's a Saturday and I didn't have to work, so it didn't matter... except to me. When I sleep until 1 pm, it makes me feel like a real loser. I don't mean to do it, I simply don't wake up.

When I do finally wake up of my own accord, my eyelids pull themselves open without my consent. It's like I can't stop them, even though I still feel sleepy and want to keep my eyes closed, keep sleeping. They just pry themselves open even though it feels like torture. And then I stare out the window. Sometimes I forget that I am a grown-up and I think I am a child again, especially when it's sunny like it was today and the sun is glistening off the tree leaves waving in the wind outside my bedroom. I think for a second that it's summer vacation and the world is waiting for me to go out and play and dream about my future. Then I remember, unfortunately, that it IS the future, and I better get my ass up and in gear if I ever want to make something of my life. Then I realize that it's 1 pm, and once again, I'm sleeping my life away.

My sleep patterns didn't use to be such a problem when I was younger. They were still messed up, but I could use them to my advantage. I had a second shift job and I could stay up all night and sleep all day, which I did. I was writing on my ancient laptop fueled by Dr. Pepper and Waffle Crisp cereal, go out for a walk just before the sun came up, and went home to sleep when it got too bright outside. That felt allright to me. It felt comfortable. I had made myself a little den, a bed, in my closet. There was a large dresser in it that just barely fit. I padded the top with some foam and blankets and that was my bed. It was a cozy little den, nice and dark during the day. It felt normal for me to hole up in a little space during the day to sleep.

But now I've been properly conditioned enough to understand that I ought to be up at a reasonable hour so I can GET SHIT DONE. Oftentimes though, when I do wake up so late, I am really convinced that I had important shit to get done, but I can't remember what.

I felt very upset at myself for getting up so late and not having enough time to do those important things that I couldn't remember. Also, since it had been 16 or so hours since I last sucked on my electronic cigarette, I was sorely in need of nicotine. So I cried for a while. I cried in anger, sadness, and some self-pity. I tried to hide from my fiance but was unsuccessful. He found me sniffing and shaking and wiping my eyes. So of course he had to offer the obligatory "what's wrong" stuff. I don't blame men for thinking women are nuts. We are.

I vaped for a while and felt much better. See, it was just the lack of nicotine. All better now. I decided that I wanted to go back to feeling happy. Sometimes I do think it's that simple: just deciding.

I remember reading a book about quitting cigarettes that came highly, highly regarded. Chapter after chapter was just a whole lot of bullshit about how amazingly effective his technique was, how many thousands of people had quit with his method, that it was the easiest method out there, arguing why other methods don't work, on and on and on he went like that. But he wasn't saying WHAT his technique was, until the very end. And the magical sure-fire technique that he had been espousing? It was essentially "Just stop smoking cigarettes."

I wonder how the mental health community would react if someone were to write a book like that for depression. Or for anxiety, or OCD, or really any mental health issue. Just write the first 99% of the book about the effectiveness of your technique, and then at the very end, reveal the technique as "Just stop X destructive behaviour. Just stop." Like, just stop being depressed and decide to be happy. Just decide that you won't worry so much anymore. Just decide that you are not OCD and don't have to do any of those behaviours anymore.

I think people would find that extremely insulting. I've heard it many times that you can't just "snap out" of depression. I know that to be true. Trust me, I wished that I could many times. I don't know what it is, but suddenly in the last few months of my life, I feel as though I DO have the control to "just stop." I feel as though I have simply made the DECISION to be happy. I have no idea if I am thinking this way because I am no longer depressed, or if I'm no longer depressed because I am thinking this way. I would like to believe the latter, of course. We all like to believe that we have control over ourselves, and our own destinies. So, that's what I'm going with.

Sometimes the best solutions are the simplest.

OR, maybe I got infected with something that changed my brain chemistry.

Please fire me

(insert Donald Trump picture here)

I just don't want to go to my work anymore. I'm sure everyone can empathize with this feeling. My job has been stressful since day one, but it's just getting really old. I've been there for four years and every day I wonder, "How did I end up here?" I was an excellent student, very motivated, a good girl. How I ended up in a dead end office job, I am not exactly sure.

Things are coming to a head. It's like a relationship that you know has gone bad but you haven't had the balls to break up yet. It's comfortable and familiar, and you weigh your current situation against the unknown and think, maybe I'll stay with the devil I know for a while longer.

Except that every day I have a mini-freak out where I think, "There is more to life than this. I am getting older. It's NOW OR NEVER. Get your ass in gear."

I am also sick of lying to myself and others. When I mean lying, I mean when you see a family member for the first time in a while and they ask, "How are things? What's new?" And you answer, "I'm good. Not much is new." When I really want to answer, "What's new is that, thanks to my largely customer-service-oriented job, I have developed an even deeper hatred for humanity than I ever thought possible. I am strongly considering running away to be homeless, or committing suicide in a really dramatic fashion." I don't want to live my life like a lie anymore. Like "everything is OK" when it's not. I want to fucking bash open the figurative head of my existence-prison.

I'm sick of it. I want to be honest. So I'll be honest. I am pretty well convinced that my first "dream" will not come true. So I'm moving on to Dream #2, which is to be a writer. Unlike Dream #1, it does not require a support system or loads of money to be successful. Just work. Blogging/journaling helps me get some juices flowing. I get my fingers warmed up on my super old-school beige IBM clicky keyboard, and get used to pumping out some writing. Not that it's good, but who is nowadays? I am basing all of my hopes of becoming a successful writer solely on how bad the Twilight books are. (Sorry, fans. But it seems that nowadays whenever the writing is terrible, the publisher just says, "It's not crappy writing, it's just that it's geared towards Young Adults.")

I have never really tried very hard at anything in my life. Most things came pretty easily to me, except social situations. I did try very hard at one thing in life, and although I was told I was good at it and talented, the advice I got from EVERYONE was that "you can't do that for a living" and offered no help or guidance to seventeen-year-old-me.

Well, let me tell you, I would rather be plugging away at something I love for shit money instead of what I do now, which is plugging away at a soul-sucking job for shit money.

Enough is enough. I need to break free of this.

One issue: I can't just quit my job to pursue what I love. I am really dependent on that income. So I have to pursue what I love *in my spare time.* I'll have to suck it up and commit to working another eight hours AFTER I've gotten home from the first eight hour shift. Yeah, I've got it tough, don't I? I am sure millions of people in a third world country are saying "you fucking spoiled American, I would kill to be in your shoes. In fact, I am willing to kill you FOR your shoes, if I got half the chance."

Sorry, third-world folks. I will try not to whine as much. I'll shut up and try to make the most of my many opportunities now.

Off to work.

Dirt and disorder make me anxious, but so does cleaning

First of all, I am going to say that this blog has no point. You don't know who I am. What I do isn't important, because my job is boring.

Like most people, I have a dream. I'm not going to tell you what it is, though. Not yet, anyway. Suffice it to say that I am trying hard to change some things about myself, and my life, and sometimes, shit gets real.

Right now I am stuck in a mode where I believe that I must highly organize my life before I can possibly concentrate on working towards my goals. I am a generally disorganized person... sort of. I am manic depressive when it comes to cleaning and organization. I can be highly organized, especially at work, but at home I tend to ignore things in favor of surfing the internet.

I have decided that I must get my life, my finances, my living space and everything else IN ORDER. So that the crap cluttering up my house stops cluttering up my mind.

I have been trying to clean and organize for the last three hours and I am freaking out. Even thought it's 11 pm on Sunday, I might have to just say Fuck It and go out for a drink to calm down.

I managed to clean out an entire file cabinet (because it's broken) and sift through about six years of papers of varying importance, and condensed it all into two very cute little fileboxes I got at Target today. I filled a large box with stuff that needs to be shredded.

You'd think this would make me feel like I accomplished something. But no, it just made me feel more crazy. Because as I'm doing it, I am despairing over how I cannot keep organized on a day to day basis. "Getting organized" once every half a decade just doesn't cut it. I am constantly losing important things and stressing over them. Going through all this crap made me see how I do not have many important documents, like several years worth of tax returns. (There is a black hole in my file cabinet, I believe.)

Cleaning just icks me out, too. When you get on your hands and knees to clean the crevices of the bathroom, and you see JUST HOW DIRTY it actually is... that depressed me and stresses me out big time.

Dirt is icky. That is why I avoid cleaning.

I am freaking myself out right now just thinking about it. I need to go get that drink now.