To the end of the line, start to finish, I am still a Hill. No one can take that from me; it's written in my genes. No amount of degradation or homelessness or poverty can erase it; it will still be there. It is my birthright, oldest child of two oldest children, and I won't be robbed of it. I'm not talking about money, it's about identity and familial pride. It's easy to forget in this wilderness settled by a handful of immigrant families, by people who probably weren't all that bright before they started inbreeding.
What is a Hill?
We are eccentric and idiosyncratic, and for the most part, make no apologies for it.
We are, as a rule, intelligent.
We actually enjoy listening to classical music, and in fact this is probably the type that comes to our minds first if we hear the word "music".
We play chess, read books, collect things, and enjoy outdoor activities aside from team sports.
We frequently have bad knees, sinus problems, allergies, and few close friends.
We are concerned with education, status, and having a respectable job and position.
We like fine things: not necessarily brand new things, but good things. Actually, for a family that tends towards valuing good things, we're fairly frugal. We have a word for new, unnecessary, cheaply produced items: "crapola".
We appreciate culture, although the family could fairly be labeled "WASPy".
And then there's the Hill family humor...I'm not going to try to explain this.
Someday, I'll live near my family again. Until then, I'll maintain my identity. Which really, when you're a clannish Hill, is sort of uncomfortable, away from the fold.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Something I am noticing lately is that not only does my ability for coherent, intelligible speech fade away under stress and pressure, but the intake also becomes impaired. Usually a little bit of it gets through, in single word soundbites. (reference the post from Nov 13th on this page).
Examples from today: I went to the autism specialist who has been evaluating my tyhird son for a possible autism spectrum disorder. Preliminary findings are PDD-NOS, with possible Asperger's, pending I.Q. test. I relayed the recent happenings at my former workplace (yesterday was my last day) to him. I told him that essentially, I had a meltdown due to my manager nitpicking me, and also that even though I had been told that I would work in the bakery and would be trained for it, this hadn't happened, and the reason I had been given was because of my hyperfocusing,(which from my point of view, is pretty much necessary in doing any kind of fine detail work, particularly artistic detail work.) (At times like this, I really wish that I had become a surgeon, where the hyperfocusing would be a tremendous asset. Nobody in their right mind would complain that a surgeon paid too much attention to their task at hand.) a component of the Asperger's syndrome. I also told him that once I had calmed down from the meltdown, I realized that I'd made a mistake, and I begged them to let me stay, or to place me in a different position, or whatever, but it was to no avail. Having put in my 2 weeks notice, I had to go, period. I didn't feel that the whole thing was entirely kosher, particularly the part where a disablity was used as an excuse not to promote me where it'd be promised, or to move me if necessary.
Here is what I remember from what he said:
"Possible lawsuit
wrongful termination
hostile work environment (if he only knew!!!! I didn't tell him a tenth of it!)
People at job service building would be the ones to talk to
Idaho favors employers over employees
Everybody has their niche; what can be a liability in one place can be a huge strength in another.
If they hadn't told me that they were going to train me for an area, and then reneged on it, it would be a different story.
I'm sorry you were treated that way."
There was considerably more meat to the conversation than that, but for the most part, I remember only single words and key phrases.
And I hate to say this, but I think that I probably do this all the time, and especially when I'm upset. Certainly people get nasty to me, but I think it's also quite possible that my brain highlights primarily the most upsetting, disturbing things in BIG RED LETTERS and that at times, it's 95% of what I remember, just the highlighted stuff (which of course is generally highlighted because it set my alarm bells ringing). In other words, the positive stuff, the things that could be potentially nourishing to my soul or useful in terms of context or balancing out the negatives, go in one ear and out the other, and almost the only stuff I retain is often of an insulting, painful, traumatic, or otherwise freaky nature. It isn't that I do this intentionally, it just happens that way. It probably isn't all that surprising that I'm frequently depressed. :-/
If only I could stockpile *nice* memories and replay them over and over again. For some reason though, I have to ration out the nice memories that I do have. If I play them more than a few times, they fade in strength or I find it harder to remember them...no, that isn't exactly right. It's like they lose their clarity and strength, sort of like a can a pop goes stale after you open it. The bad memories, on the other hand, gain power and strength with each repetition, unless they're tied to a breakdown, in which I typically remember almost nothing at all except for a foggy gray haze and nothingness, like a living death that you gradually came out of.
The thing is, I don't think people realize...when they say something really mean to me, I don't just hear it once. I hear it hundreds or even thousands of times, cutting me down, making me hate them, and each time it's almost as fresh and brightly sharp as the first time.....when really, maybe they were just having a bad day and didn't mean it much.
Examples from today: I went to the autism specialist who has been evaluating my tyhird son for a possible autism spectrum disorder. Preliminary findings are PDD-NOS, with possible Asperger's, pending I.Q. test. I relayed the recent happenings at my former workplace (yesterday was my last day) to him. I told him that essentially, I had a meltdown due to my manager nitpicking me, and also that even though I had been told that I would work in the bakery and would be trained for it, this hadn't happened, and the reason I had been given was because of my hyperfocusing,(which from my point of view, is pretty much necessary in doing any kind of fine detail work, particularly artistic detail work.) (At times like this, I really wish that I had become a surgeon, where the hyperfocusing would be a tremendous asset. Nobody in their right mind would complain that a surgeon paid too much attention to their task at hand.) a component of the Asperger's syndrome. I also told him that once I had calmed down from the meltdown, I realized that I'd made a mistake, and I begged them to let me stay, or to place me in a different position, or whatever, but it was to no avail. Having put in my 2 weeks notice, I had to go, period. I didn't feel that the whole thing was entirely kosher, particularly the part where a disablity was used as an excuse not to promote me where it'd be promised, or to move me if necessary.
Here is what I remember from what he said:
"Possible lawsuit
wrongful termination
hostile work environment (if he only knew!!!! I didn't tell him a tenth of it!)
People at job service building would be the ones to talk to
Idaho favors employers over employees
Everybody has their niche; what can be a liability in one place can be a huge strength in another.
If they hadn't told me that they were going to train me for an area, and then reneged on it, it would be a different story.
I'm sorry you were treated that way."
There was considerably more meat to the conversation than that, but for the most part, I remember only single words and key phrases.
And I hate to say this, but I think that I probably do this all the time, and especially when I'm upset. Certainly people get nasty to me, but I think it's also quite possible that my brain highlights primarily the most upsetting, disturbing things in BIG RED LETTERS and that at times, it's 95% of what I remember, just the highlighted stuff (which of course is generally highlighted because it set my alarm bells ringing). In other words, the positive stuff, the things that could be potentially nourishing to my soul or useful in terms of context or balancing out the negatives, go in one ear and out the other, and almost the only stuff I retain is often of an insulting, painful, traumatic, or otherwise freaky nature. It isn't that I do this intentionally, it just happens that way. It probably isn't all that surprising that I'm frequently depressed. :-/
If only I could stockpile *nice* memories and replay them over and over again. For some reason though, I have to ration out the nice memories that I do have. If I play them more than a few times, they fade in strength or I find it harder to remember them...no, that isn't exactly right. It's like they lose their clarity and strength, sort of like a can a pop goes stale after you open it. The bad memories, on the other hand, gain power and strength with each repetition, unless they're tied to a breakdown, in which I typically remember almost nothing at all except for a foggy gray haze and nothingness, like a living death that you gradually came out of.
The thing is, I don't think people realize...when they say something really mean to me, I don't just hear it once. I hear it hundreds or even thousands of times, cutting me down, making me hate them, and each time it's almost as fresh and brightly sharp as the first time.....when really, maybe they were just having a bad day and didn't mean it much.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
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Or maybe I just give them too much credit. I need to stop hashing all this over, because I am getting seriously enraged. I hate losing my temper, it's disgraceful...and every time I make a snide, sarcastic little comment, any satisfaction or relief I may feel at the time is offset by the shame and self-loathing I'll experience later on (couldn't pass up the opportunity to say that nasty little thing, could you? No, you couldn't just keep your mouth shut and maintain your dignity. You had to return the favor and get them back. Are you happy yet? You're just as bad as they are...yadayadayada).
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A few years ago, there was a guy that I really and truly loved. I mean I loved him like there was no tomorrow. I can only hope that someday, I'll be able to feel that sort of intensity again, and hopefully for someone who can return it (because if it's one sided again, I don't think I could make it), but if I don't, I feel somewhat grateful (if sad) that I was able to experience that intensity and degree of color once. Anyway, I sort of knew he didn't feel the same way, and that was OK, but I did think he was my friend, and that was enough. Except, he wasn't my friend. We talked about everything under the sun, we spent hours visiting, playing games, doing stuff together, talking about our hopes and dreams, but as he said later, he wasn't a friend...just an aquaintance. If he had come across as a friend, he didn't mean it that way. He was just trying to be nice. I don't have any words to describe how much that hurt. I think he should have just put a bullet in my head. It would have been kinder.
And now, I sort of feel that way again. I don't trust people like I used to. They're all just full of shit, trying to be nice, pretending they're my friends, so they can go home and pat themselves on the backs for their own benevolence. I thought I meant something, I thought I mattered...even if it was only a little bit. And I don't...not a speck.
Color me disillusioned.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Or maybe I just give them too much credit. I need to stop hashing all this over, because I am getting seriously enraged. I hate losing my temper, it's disgraceful...and every time I make a snide, sarcastic little comment, any satisfaction or relief I may feel at the time is offset by the shame and self-loathing I'll experience later on (couldn't pass up the opportunity to say that nasty little thing, could you? No, you couldn't just keep your mouth shut and maintain your dignity. You had to return the favor and get them back. Are you happy yet? You're just as bad as they are...yadayadayada).
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
A few years ago, there was a guy that I really and truly loved. I mean I loved him like there was no tomorrow. I can only hope that someday, I'll be able to feel that sort of intensity again, and hopefully for someone who can return it (because if it's one sided again, I don't think I could make it), but if I don't, I feel somewhat grateful (if sad) that I was able to experience that intensity and degree of color once. Anyway, I sort of knew he didn't feel the same way, and that was OK, but I did think he was my friend, and that was enough. Except, he wasn't my friend. We talked about everything under the sun, we spent hours visiting, playing games, doing stuff together, talking about our hopes and dreams, but as he said later, he wasn't a friend...just an aquaintance. If he had come across as a friend, he didn't mean it that way. He was just trying to be nice. I don't have any words to describe how much that hurt. I think he should have just put a bullet in my head. It would have been kinder.
And now, I sort of feel that way again. I don't trust people like I used to. They're all just full of shit, trying to be nice, pretending they're my friends, so they can go home and pat themselves on the backs for their own benevolence. I thought I meant something, I thought I mattered...even if it was only a little bit. And I don't...not a speck.
Color me disillusioned.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
I haven't given my bosses enough credit. They don't hate me, I just felt that way. If they're ignorant of the things that go on in the deli, it's because they've got the whole rest of the store to worry about, and they're trusting the managers of our section to ensure that things go as they should. Moreover, the bosses are inherently nice, decent people. In other words, the managers I've been speaking of are screwing them over behind their backs. It isn't the store itself that's the problem. There is a manager who's supposed to oversee the deli managers, but he's got so much else to worry about that he doesn't want to hear or think about the deli.
Our department might bring in a lot of money, but it's seperated from the rest of the store by that counter. I think the absolute best thing that could happen to the deli in terms of layout would be the move the displays that are blocking off the end of the deli. Having an open pathway, where they'd never be 100% certain that someone (i.e., a boss) wasn't entering or standing beyond their range of vision there, would make a lot of difference.
It would also help if they'd develop the habit of coming in the store at random, unexpected times dressed in ordinary clothes. I don't know ho wmany times I've coem in on my days off or at night, walked by the deli, and noticed crowds of customers standing there being ingnored (or waited on by only one person while two others were chatting happily in the back), or no chicken cooked or cooking or even being thought about, at 5:00-6:00 PM (our best hours in terms of selling chicken) or workers just goofing off or standing around "because there's nothing else to do". (I'm sorry, but you can *always* find something to do).
Our department might bring in a lot of money, but it's seperated from the rest of the store by that counter. I think the absolute best thing that could happen to the deli in terms of layout would be the move the displays that are blocking off the end of the deli. Having an open pathway, where they'd never be 100% certain that someone (i.e., a boss) wasn't entering or standing beyond their range of vision there, would make a lot of difference.
It would also help if they'd develop the habit of coming in the store at random, unexpected times dressed in ordinary clothes. I don't know ho wmany times I've coem in on my days off or at night, walked by the deli, and noticed crowds of customers standing there being ingnored (or waited on by only one person while two others were chatting happily in the back), or no chicken cooked or cooking or even being thought about, at 5:00-6:00 PM (our best hours in terms of selling chicken) or workers just goofing off or standing around "because there's nothing else to do". (I'm sorry, but you can *always* find something to do).
Friday, March 09, 2007
One of the curses of having AS is that my minds obsesses and broods over things (usually upsetting or disturbing things) that normal people apparently can think about for a short time and then either choose not to think about any longer or simply stop thinking about spontaneously. My mind doesn't work that way. It chews over stuff as relentlessly as a cow regurgitating its cud or a kid gnawing on the same old wad of gum all day long. Except, sometimes the same thing will bother me for days or weeks on end and I just cannot get rid of it unless I resolve it or it gets replaced with something else more absorbing or disturbing.
People often tell me that I think too much. I don't know what they're talking about. I think constantly, ravenously. My brain never stops, and it's always hungry unless I'm seriously exhausted or drugged (as after a birth). I don't know what they mean. Aren't they thinking all the time, too? This is hard for me to conceive of. I mean, if I just sat here and wrote about absolutely everything that came to my mind, I'd be here all day long, all the time. one of the reasons I value my sleep is that it allows me a rest and often I can think about things other than what I've been obsessing about (yeah, I think in my sleep, too, but it's less oppressive then). In fact, a lot of the purpose of having this site is it's function as an outlet, an overflow valve.
So, the end result of all this is that if something is bothering me deeply, it's going to drive me absolutely crazy until I get it resolved or settled somewhat.
Depression drives me to the edge of suicide.
Little niggling remarks by other people replay themselves over and over again like a harrassing message on a broken answering mnachine that I can't unplug.
Fears and worries grow and snowball out of all proportion and then I have anxiety/panic attacks.
I generally take a low risk policy towards social interactions, knowing that I can't afford to invest too much; if I let them hurt me, the costs will be too high, and I'll be paying it while they just shrug me off and forget about me.
Other people get a little blue, I get so depressed that I fall apart and can't function.
Little things, little stresses, worry me until I'm just a nervous wreck, expecting something disastrous to occur at every turn.
And I have go to find a way to deal with this, to be able to calm down. I know what I need, but it isn't going to happen for me. The goats- they help, but I can't have them here. Gardening helps. Exercise helps. I need to start finding things that help and cultivating them.
Another thing that would be good is to develop a routine/structure for my homelife. Routine and order is very comforting.
Damn, I'm gonna miss that job. Oh yeah, I got the job at the hospital. I decided against taking the CNA classes, it was just too much added stress at this time. Starting the new job is going to be about all I can handle for a few months. I think I'll go ahead and take the phlebotomy classes in the summer though, if I can.
People often tell me that I think too much. I don't know what they're talking about. I think constantly, ravenously. My brain never stops, and it's always hungry unless I'm seriously exhausted or drugged (as after a birth). I don't know what they mean. Aren't they thinking all the time, too? This is hard for me to conceive of. I mean, if I just sat here and wrote about absolutely everything that came to my mind, I'd be here all day long, all the time. one of the reasons I value my sleep is that it allows me a rest and often I can think about things other than what I've been obsessing about (yeah, I think in my sleep, too, but it's less oppressive then). In fact, a lot of the purpose of having this site is it's function as an outlet, an overflow valve.
So, the end result of all this is that if something is bothering me deeply, it's going to drive me absolutely crazy until I get it resolved or settled somewhat.
Depression drives me to the edge of suicide.
Little niggling remarks by other people replay themselves over and over again like a harrassing message on a broken answering mnachine that I can't unplug.
Fears and worries grow and snowball out of all proportion and then I have anxiety/panic attacks.
I generally take a low risk policy towards social interactions, knowing that I can't afford to invest too much; if I let them hurt me, the costs will be too high, and I'll be paying it while they just shrug me off and forget about me.
Other people get a little blue, I get so depressed that I fall apart and can't function.
Little things, little stresses, worry me until I'm just a nervous wreck, expecting something disastrous to occur at every turn.
And I have go to find a way to deal with this, to be able to calm down. I know what I need, but it isn't going to happen for me. The goats- they help, but I can't have them here. Gardening helps. Exercise helps. I need to start finding things that help and cultivating them.
Another thing that would be good is to develop a routine/structure for my homelife. Routine and order is very comforting.
Damn, I'm gonna miss that job. Oh yeah, I got the job at the hospital. I decided against taking the CNA classes, it was just too much added stress at this time. Starting the new job is going to be about all I can handle for a few months. I think I'll go ahead and take the phlebotomy classes in the summer though, if I can.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
So I went to the mandatory CNA class meeting (mandatory if you want to take the classes, that is). I'm undecided.
For:
Problems:
One ray of hope: They are also having a phlebotomy class this summer, and I do think that I would be better suited to being a phlebotomist than a CNA. There is less prolonged personal interaction, and my fine motor skills (which have served me well in art, cake decorating, and artificial insemination) would come in handy there. I am gentle, I don't like to hurt people, but blood doesn't bother me. There aren't as many job opening for phlebotomists, but I have a hunch that I'd be better off doing that instead.
My job interview at the hospital (kitchen) is tomorrow. I should be apprehensive/anticipatory, but as it is, I'm just depressed and dispirited. I don't even have a written reference to bring with me, and god only knows what kind of reference they got over the phone, if they even called. Dammit, I know I wasn't perfect, but I wasn't that bad. The things that other people did to me- threatening to hit me, calling me names, telling me I shouldn't have a baby because I have Asperger's (I had it anyway, and he seems just fine), forcing me to work when I was in a lot of pain; I never did these things to anyone else, and I'm sure that the people who did them have, by and large, left with high recommendations, or are still at the place, still getting away with it because they're beyond reproach. Alright, so now I'm obsessing over the whole fairness/unfairness thing, and it isn't getting me anywhere but upset. I'll stop.
I hate it. It seems that no matter where I go, there just isn't going to be any place in the world for me where I'll really belong or fit in or be wanted. I'm so tired of it. I'm tired of hoping people will like me.
Shit. What a whiny pity party. At this rate, I might as well dig out the Hank Williams and Dwight Yoakum. ::disgust::
For:
- Being a CNA would be a great stepping stone into other medical/nursing areas, such as an LPN, RN, or nurse practitioner or possibly (yeah right) a doctor.
- It pays well and there will always be a demand and a serious need for CNAs.
- For the right person, it could be a very fulfilling, rewarding job.
- I'd get to work in a hospital. I love hospitals.
- There's the distinct possibility of specializing in developmental disabilities or autism spectrum disorders, especially with the increased awareness and improved detection or those of us who would have flown under the radar before.
- working as a CNA could settle, once and for all, the question of whether or not I belong in the medical field.
Problems:
- You're not allowed to miss a single day of class except under the most extreme circumstances. Hospitalization of family members is not among those reasons. If Charlie ends up in the hospital again with breathing problems, I'd flunk the class. I couldn't go on a vacation unless I did it before the class or afterwards.
- The classes are 9-5, Monday-Friday. That's a lot more time per week than I'd thought. No offense, folks, but I honestly thought that CNA classes entailed basic adult diaper changing and care techniques and first aid/CPR (which I already took before)and that was about it. This is a little more involved than I had guessed.
- What this means is that I either won't be able to work or my work hours would be severely curtailed. The only thing I can think of that would work is if I stayed at the store and worked as a cashier from 6-10 PM and then 8 hour days on Saturday and Sunday. If I did that, I'd miss only four hour (36 hours per week compared to the 40 I do now), but honestly, I don't think they're going to let me be a cashier.
- Lastly, I'm having serious doubts as to whether I have the correct temperament necessary to be a CNA. It isn't that I never care for people, because I do, but I am selective, and then when I do care about people, I get too deeply attached. I have this fear (which, in thinking about the problems I've been having at my soon to be former job, isn't all that unfounded)that people would be mean/rude/violent to me and I'd get really stressed out. If I can't hack working at a store, I don't know if I'd be able to take care of old men who pinch me and irrational women with Alzheimers who slap me for no good reason, simply because they're deranged.
One ray of hope: They are also having a phlebotomy class this summer, and I do think that I would be better suited to being a phlebotomist than a CNA. There is less prolonged personal interaction, and my fine motor skills (which have served me well in art, cake decorating, and artificial insemination) would come in handy there. I am gentle, I don't like to hurt people, but blood doesn't bother me. There aren't as many job opening for phlebotomists, but I have a hunch that I'd be better off doing that instead.
My job interview at the hospital (kitchen) is tomorrow. I should be apprehensive/anticipatory, but as it is, I'm just depressed and dispirited. I don't even have a written reference to bring with me, and god only knows what kind of reference they got over the phone, if they even called. Dammit, I know I wasn't perfect, but I wasn't that bad. The things that other people did to me- threatening to hit me, calling me names, telling me I shouldn't have a baby because I have Asperger's (I had it anyway, and he seems just fine), forcing me to work when I was in a lot of pain; I never did these things to anyone else, and I'm sure that the people who did them have, by and large, left with high recommendations, or are still at the place, still getting away with it because they're beyond reproach. Alright, so now I'm obsessing over the whole fairness/unfairness thing, and it isn't getting me anywhere but upset. I'll stop.
I hate it. It seems that no matter where I go, there just isn't going to be any place in the world for me where I'll really belong or fit in or be wanted. I'm so tired of it. I'm tired of hoping people will like me.
Shit. What a whiny pity party. At this rate, I might as well dig out the Hank Williams and Dwight Yoakum. ::disgust::
Monday, March 05, 2007
Today's song: sorry seems to be the hardest word
I'm sitting here trying to think of something else to write about, something other than
Now I'm listening to Elton's "Blue Eyes". I love this song...I love it so much....because the sound of it reminds me of someone. Ha, ha. ;-) Noone will guess. ::smirk::
I'm sitting here trying to think of something else to write about, something other than
- work
- my love life
- autism/asperger's syndrome and all the different ways it can fuck up your life
- or just the generalized frustrations of my everyday life
Now I'm listening to Elton's "Blue Eyes". I love this song...I love it so much....because the sound of it reminds me of someone. Ha, ha. ;-) Noone will guess. ::smirk::
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Well, I don't think they care at all that I'm leaving. Workers like me are a commodity, disposable. It hurts my feelings, becaue I feel like I've put a lot of myself into this store, like I've tried my very hardest to improve my performance and to look for ways that things could be streamlined or made simpler or more efficient. I've come in when I was so sick I could hardly function. I came in when I had a newborn baby that was nursing. The baby went to the daycare and I pumped my milk. That seems kind of wrogn to me, but I had to keep my job, or none of us, including the baby, would have had a place to live. And now, seeing that they don't care about me at all, I wish I could go back in time and hold that tiny baby and find something else to do. Geez....I'm going to start crying again and my eyes have been foggy for days now as as it is. I'm such a dork....who else cries like this about their job? Anyway, back to the topic here....I worked when my hips were killing me and I could hardly walk (please note here that the assistant manager went out of her way to order me to do things that would entail me walking all the way to the other side of the deli, to within a foot or two of where she was standing, even though she knew I was in serious pain and she was *right* there), I've filled in for other people when they quit or got sick or just flaked out, I even had an abortion because in part, I was terrified that they would fire me or ask me to leave if they knew I was pregnant (I didn't know at the time that pregnant women could work back there, and at the time, my hips were already causing serious pain, so I couldn't fathom what it would be like with the added strain of carrying a baby. What I did know is that they wouldn't cut me any slack.) And the day after the abortion, I was right there, broken up, barely holding it together, because I really did want that baby. I actually got vigorously questioned as to why I hadn't been there on the day of the event itself. (No, I didn't tell the manager who asked, but it seriously freaked me out and upset me.) Every day after that, I had to look at hundreds of sweet little newborn babies and just grieve and hold it together.
I've worked holidays so that other people could enjoy theirs, weekends, whenever they needed me, I'd work if I possibly could. I mean, I have consistently gone the extra mile, and given this place all I had to give, and they don't care if I stay or go. I mean nothing.
I've worked holidays so that other people could enjoy theirs, weekends, whenever they needed me, I'd work if I possibly could. I mean, I have consistently gone the extra mile, and given this place all I had to give, and they don't care if I stay or go. I mean nothing.
Friday, March 02, 2007
So, something happened at work. I'm not going to go into detail, because nobody would care anyway. What I will say is that it's been a cumulative thing and that the deli/bakery is just seething with hostility that goes more or less unspoken most of the time. When I read that and look at it, I think, "wow, that doesn't sound like a very good place for an aspie to stumble around in", and it's not. I'm just not good at this stuff. I like things out in the open, direct, up front, honest, and as ethical as practically possible, plus I don't have the fine tuned social skills that would be the grease to lubricate so many squeaking, grating wheels and gears. I've tried, I have....and it's been torturing me. I get no appreciation for my work, there are just these weird vibes of suspicion ,uch of the time, and it's massively uncomfortable. I just don't want to be anxious for hours on end anymore. I'm too stressed already, and I can't take it.
Anyway, very unexpectedly, this event happened, and I just broke. And I'm sitting here now thinking, because I remeber when I was a little snotty several months ago, and I caused another girl to cry (it was not intentional, but yeah, I was definitely meaner than I needed to be). I almost got fired for that, because she was crying over it. Both my managers have brought me to tears in the past month or so, unnecessarily, I didn't deserve it (OK, so that's subjective and debatable), neither of them got talked to about it, and they sure as hell weren't even sorry. They're never sorry for anything, no matter what they do. The big bosses apologize, but not these gals. I guess they think they're so perfect that they're always right. I think it takes a lot for a person to apologize. I always meant to tell the girl I hurt that I was sorry, but I never worked up the nerve to. And now I feel bad about that, even though she isn't there any more. Anyway, I've said it before: if you want me to hate you, humiliate me in public, and crying in public is one of the most embarrassing things on earth for me.
So I just cried and cried, and I wanted to walk out right there. It took all my self control not to...I just couldn't bear the thought of going back to that deli....and I had alreayd been a little burned out before all this anyway, and so with a heavy heart, I put in my two weeks notice.
And I don't know why I did this (except that maybe I was tired of being treated like shit and having to put up with the constant cavalier treatment back there), because I love that store. The whole next day, my heart was sinking (even thoguh I was still pissed off, upset, and hurt), because I am attached to the place.
Oh, you know what, just fuck it.... I give so much of myself to this place, and they don't even care. They don't even see it. Why am I crying about this? They don't deserve me if they can't treat me in a halfway decent manner and at least listen to what their own empoyees have to say once in a while. Forget it...just forget it.
Dang....I hate change.
Anyway, very unexpectedly, this event happened, and I just broke. And I'm sitting here now thinking, because I remeber when I was a little snotty several months ago, and I caused another girl to cry (it was not intentional, but yeah, I was definitely meaner than I needed to be). I almost got fired for that, because she was crying over it. Both my managers have brought me to tears in the past month or so, unnecessarily, I didn't deserve it (OK, so that's subjective and debatable), neither of them got talked to about it, and they sure as hell weren't even sorry. They're never sorry for anything, no matter what they do. The big bosses apologize, but not these gals. I guess they think they're so perfect that they're always right. I think it takes a lot for a person to apologize. I always meant to tell the girl I hurt that I was sorry, but I never worked up the nerve to. And now I feel bad about that, even though she isn't there any more. Anyway, I've said it before: if you want me to hate you, humiliate me in public, and crying in public is one of the most embarrassing things on earth for me.
So I just cried and cried, and I wanted to walk out right there. It took all my self control not to...I just couldn't bear the thought of going back to that deli....and I had alreayd been a little burned out before all this anyway, and so with a heavy heart, I put in my two weeks notice.
And I don't know why I did this (except that maybe I was tired of being treated like shit and having to put up with the constant cavalier treatment back there), because I love that store. The whole next day, my heart was sinking (even thoguh I was still pissed off, upset, and hurt), because I am attached to the place.
Oh, you know what, just fuck it.... I give so much of myself to this place, and they don't even care. They don't even see it. Why am I crying about this? They don't deserve me if they can't treat me in a halfway decent manner and at least listen to what their own empoyees have to say once in a while. Forget it...just forget it.
Dang....I hate change.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Enough is enough. I'm just going to get worse and harder to live with if I don't change something. I've decided to look into taking the CNA classes, which are available locally. I don't particularly want to be a CNA, but I would settle for being a phlebotomist or a lab technician or something or possibly an R.N., and you have to start somewhere. I mean, ideally I would have a steady source of income coming in and could just go to college for a few years and concentrate on schooling, but that's just not going to happen. Ideally, I could have been a doctor, but there's no sense in sitting around bemoaning what could have been once upon a time. I'll work at it from the bottom up....if I can qualify for financial aid for these classes.
Also, I think I'm going to go back and visit my family this spring or summer. I need my roots, I feel marooned out here, and although I wish I could go and live back there, that isn't likely unless I could talk my ex into moving with me, so I'm stuck where I am for another decade or two. My grandmothers aren't going to last much longer, and they pretty much raised me in my early years. I need to go and see everyone and to refill my soul.
Lastly (completely unrelated to the above two topics) I'm planning on making a vegetable garden this year. It's about time to start the tomato seedlings in pots. This Friday when I get paid, I can get potting soil, soil amendments, haul some manure after I visit the goats, etc etc. Gardening is good exercise.
Also, I think I'm going to go back and visit my family this spring or summer. I need my roots, I feel marooned out here, and although I wish I could go and live back there, that isn't likely unless I could talk my ex into moving with me, so I'm stuck where I am for another decade or two. My grandmothers aren't going to last much longer, and they pretty much raised me in my early years. I need to go and see everyone and to refill my soul.
Lastly (completely unrelated to the above two topics) I'm planning on making a vegetable garden this year. It's about time to start the tomato seedlings in pots. This Friday when I get paid, I can get potting soil, soil amendments, haul some manure after I visit the goats, etc etc. Gardening is good exercise.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Sometimes, I really do hate people. Yesterday at work, I had some legitimate gripes. And I know that noone cares, but dammit, I care, and one of these days, there is going to be a serious problem if people keep ignoring these issues. I can't get anyone to listen. Example:
Deboning chicken for chicken salad: all the bones need to be removed, ALL of them! You simply cannot trust that you'll find them when you chop the meat up! (egads) If a customer injured themselves or died due to one small piece of bone left in the food, we would get sued, and we would all probably lose our jobs. I liek where I work, I like my job, and I don't want anyone to get hurt or to die from a single chicken bone. It's well worth it to me, to take a few extra minutes to insure that ALL of the chicken bones are out of the meat BEFORE I start chopping it up. Additionally, I think that if all the employees who work on this particular task aren't willign to be ultra-careful about the bones, we shoudl discontinue offerign this product, and simply throw the baked chickens out. The few dollars saved is nothing compared to the potential loss of life, hundreds of thousands of dollars (lawsuit) and the repuation of the workplace. Either do it right, or throw the damned things away. Or, let me do them (all of them) and don't bitch at me for being careful. I have a system, and I don't take any longer than I have to. It's gotten to where I know all the bones by heart....
That's only one example. I don't want to get fired, so I'll shut up while I'm ahead. But see, this isn't just a little thing to me. When you serve people food, there's this immense and unspoken element of trust involved. You have to uphold that trust and live up to it. You can't let them down due to laziness or tiredness or monetary losses- they have got to have safe, edible, and ideally, palatable food.
::sigh:: maybe I take it too seriously.
Anyway, so they griped at me about this, and since they both had more seniority than I do, there's nothing I can do about it. But, like I said, I was hating them for it inwardly, despising their stupidity and shortsightedness. I've come conclusion that a lot of the peopel here are, to put it bluntly, stupid. The lucky ones probably top out with an I.Q. of 100. At least one of my coworkers must be more like an 80. No, I'm not exaggerating or being mean. You would just have to be here to understand it.
They can't spell, they can't do math (even on paper, simple math, like 6x3, or 64 divided by 20) and the logic skills aren't much better. The worst of it is, it isn't really their fault. They don't know that they're dumb...I'm just annoying to them. And even when I'm right, I still have to bow before their seniority, unless there is a serious breach of health codes or protocol or fairness, bad enough that I'll brave taking it to the boss (last resort), who does happen to be endowed with intelligence (the bosses aren't local).
It's only that dealing with it every day, day in and day out, makes me want to *scream* or bite someone. There has got to be a better job for me somewhere. I don't mind this job, but I don't feel like there's much I can do to progress things as they stand.
Deboning chicken for chicken salad: all the bones need to be removed, ALL of them! You simply cannot trust that you'll find them when you chop the meat up! (egads) If a customer injured themselves or died due to one small piece of bone left in the food, we would get sued, and we would all probably lose our jobs. I liek where I work, I like my job, and I don't want anyone to get hurt or to die from a single chicken bone. It's well worth it to me, to take a few extra minutes to insure that ALL of the chicken bones are out of the meat BEFORE I start chopping it up. Additionally, I think that if all the employees who work on this particular task aren't willign to be ultra-careful about the bones, we shoudl discontinue offerign this product, and simply throw the baked chickens out. The few dollars saved is nothing compared to the potential loss of life, hundreds of thousands of dollars (lawsuit) and the repuation of the workplace. Either do it right, or throw the damned things away. Or, let me do them (all of them) and don't bitch at me for being careful. I have a system, and I don't take any longer than I have to. It's gotten to where I know all the bones by heart....
That's only one example. I don't want to get fired, so I'll shut up while I'm ahead. But see, this isn't just a little thing to me. When you serve people food, there's this immense and unspoken element of trust involved. You have to uphold that trust and live up to it. You can't let them down due to laziness or tiredness or monetary losses- they have got to have safe, edible, and ideally, palatable food.
::sigh:: maybe I take it too seriously.
Anyway, so they griped at me about this, and since they both had more seniority than I do, there's nothing I can do about it. But, like I said, I was hating them for it inwardly, despising their stupidity and shortsightedness. I've come conclusion that a lot of the peopel here are, to put it bluntly, stupid. The lucky ones probably top out with an I.Q. of 100. At least one of my coworkers must be more like an 80. No, I'm not exaggerating or being mean. You would just have to be here to understand it.
They can't spell, they can't do math (even on paper, simple math, like 6x3, or 64 divided by 20) and the logic skills aren't much better. The worst of it is, it isn't really their fault. They don't know that they're dumb...I'm just annoying to them. And even when I'm right, I still have to bow before their seniority, unless there is a serious breach of health codes or protocol or fairness, bad enough that I'll brave taking it to the boss (last resort), who does happen to be endowed with intelligence (the bosses aren't local).
It's only that dealing with it every day, day in and day out, makes me want to *scream* or bite someone. There has got to be a better job for me somewhere. I don't mind this job, but I don't feel like there's much I can do to progress things as they stand.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Early morning, half awake mutterings:
Soft contact lenses feel kind of slimy. I guess that they sort of have to, to be comfortable sitting on an eyeball all day long.
It really would make more sense to put the body lotion on before I get dressed, rather than reaching down into my shirt right with it right before I bolt out the door. Duh!
Colds: I think I've caught more colds this winter than the last 2 0r 5 winters put together. Fact of the matter is, I'm not even sure they're seperate colds. Maybe it's just the same damned bug morphing, receding, hanging out until I'm weak or depressed or tired or whatever before attacking me again, trying to make me lose time off work. And I really can't do that, call in sick, I mean. They don't tolerate it very well there, unless an arm or a leg falls off or something like that.
::OK, I have to get dressed for a minute, I have only about 20 minutes before leaving for work::
Maybe if I ate regular meals, I wouldn't get sick. Maybe if I ate more veggies and fruits, I wouldn't get sick. Fact is, I've been trying not to eat at all, because my weight is up past where I'd like it to be. Yeah, yeah, don't tell me about exercise. After running around in that deli all day long, picking up kids from daycare, and then cleaning the house, I don't have a lot of energy left for exercise. Maybe in the summer I can shed it by working in the garden and yard. Also, I can't run the way I used to, or bounce and jump around a whole lot, because of the hips. Be nice if they could come up with a good reason why my hips hurt in the first place. A good part of my ego was tied up with being physically fit and strong for my size, and now I feel like a feeble wimp. At least I still have my brains. I think that if I suffered brain damage, I would have to just off myself..... Deteriorating by degrees is just depressing. I don't think I want to grow old, not unless I have something worthwhile to do, or a companion or mate or at least a really good friend of some kind.
Oh. I splurged on some prismacolor penicls. Megan uses those. I wonder where she is...her blog is gone and I don't th ink she's even online anymore. I miss her. I can't find my set of watercolor pencils - can only conclude that someone stole them at work, since they were in my lockless locker. The watercolor pencils are too expensive for me to replace right now.
OK, I really have to go now.
Soft contact lenses feel kind of slimy. I guess that they sort of have to, to be comfortable sitting on an eyeball all day long.
It really would make more sense to put the body lotion on before I get dressed, rather than reaching down into my shirt right with it right before I bolt out the door. Duh!
Colds: I think I've caught more colds this winter than the last 2 0r 5 winters put together. Fact of the matter is, I'm not even sure they're seperate colds. Maybe it's just the same damned bug morphing, receding, hanging out until I'm weak or depressed or tired or whatever before attacking me again, trying to make me lose time off work. And I really can't do that, call in sick, I mean. They don't tolerate it very well there, unless an arm or a leg falls off or something like that.
::OK, I have to get dressed for a minute, I have only about 20 minutes before leaving for work::
Maybe if I ate regular meals, I wouldn't get sick. Maybe if I ate more veggies and fruits, I wouldn't get sick. Fact is, I've been trying not to eat at all, because my weight is up past where I'd like it to be. Yeah, yeah, don't tell me about exercise. After running around in that deli all day long, picking up kids from daycare, and then cleaning the house, I don't have a lot of energy left for exercise. Maybe in the summer I can shed it by working in the garden and yard. Also, I can't run the way I used to, or bounce and jump around a whole lot, because of the hips. Be nice if they could come up with a good reason why my hips hurt in the first place. A good part of my ego was tied up with being physically fit and strong for my size, and now I feel like a feeble wimp. At least I still have my brains. I think that if I suffered brain damage, I would have to just off myself..... Deteriorating by degrees is just depressing. I don't think I want to grow old, not unless I have something worthwhile to do, or a companion or mate or at least a really good friend of some kind.
Oh. I splurged on some prismacolor penicls. Megan uses those. I wonder where she is...her blog is gone and I don't th ink she's even online anymore. I miss her. I can't find my set of watercolor pencils - can only conclude that someone stole them at work, since they were in my lockless locker. The watercolor pencils are too expensive for me to replace right now.
OK, I really have to go now.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
So, there's this plumber I like. I don't know why I refer to him as "the plumber"....except that the title imposes a certain amount of distance, whereas using someone's name makes it personal and hence a bit scarier. I don't even know why I like the man; there's just something about him.
Anyway, I've been watching this guy for about a year. :-P It's a game we all play in the grocery store, pointing out guys that we like to one another, mentally sorting through the humdreds of men who walk past us on a daily basis. It's been instructive. One of the things I've learned is that I'm pretty picky. 99.9% of these guys just don't appeal to me, period. But this guy, this plumber, I remember the first time I really noticed him. It was like I'd seen him somewhere before. He looked so *familiar*. I almost stopped to talk to him right then. My mouth must have dropped open as if to speak. I stopped in my tracks and looked at him. I started to walk again, stopped, looked at him again....and went into the store. I mentally knew that I didn't know him, but there was this haunting sense that I *should* know him. It's sort of bizarre. So ever since then, I've had my eye on him, silently. I didn't say anything to the other girls. I just watched and admired.
And then, one day they were making fun of my taste in men (essentially saying I had none), so I said, "That's not true! I do like good looking men. The next one I see, I'll show you." Within minutes, this same guy walked by. I pointed him out. The deli girls took one look at this guy, and then they ran right up to him and his fellow plumbers and found out whether he was married or had a girlfriend (no) and his name. Here I'd watched him for months, and then within minutes, my cover was blown (be careful what you tell other women). Well, almost. He didn't know who in the deli likes him, and he still might not...but I think that by now he's got it all figured out.
But see, I'm so shy that I can't talk to him. I get all nervous and my hands shake and I can't even look at him. He's either shy, too, or else he doesn't like me and is hoping that one of the married chicks likes him. It's depressing. If I could just bring myself to smile or wave or talk, maybe I'd find out...maybe he's mean and I can just forget the whole thing (but actually, he doesn't seem mean...he seems like a decent person). Arrrgh! It's tormenting me. I feel absolutely ridiculous and pathetic.
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Anyway, I kind of hate Valentines day. All it is is a day to stand on the sidelines and observe how loved everyone else is. I'd like to think that someday, it could happen to me, that maybe it could work out someday. I'd wait til I was 90 just to spend a few years with the right person....but what if there isn't one? What if the best I can do is to have an amicable friendship with guys that I like as a person, and feeling guilty that I can't put any passion into that kind of relationship, feeling like they're being cheated and like I'm using them, and then feeling guiltier yet when I end the mess? Maybe I should just try and keep people happy, and to hell with what I want or would like. I don't even know this plumber. I don't even know his last name or if he's a drunk or a wifebeater or whatever. What am I thinking?!
Anyway, I've been watching this guy for about a year. :-P It's a game we all play in the grocery store, pointing out guys that we like to one another, mentally sorting through the humdreds of men who walk past us on a daily basis. It's been instructive. One of the things I've learned is that I'm pretty picky. 99.9% of these guys just don't appeal to me, period. But this guy, this plumber, I remember the first time I really noticed him. It was like I'd seen him somewhere before. He looked so *familiar*. I almost stopped to talk to him right then. My mouth must have dropped open as if to speak. I stopped in my tracks and looked at him. I started to walk again, stopped, looked at him again....and went into the store. I mentally knew that I didn't know him, but there was this haunting sense that I *should* know him. It's sort of bizarre. So ever since then, I've had my eye on him, silently. I didn't say anything to the other girls. I just watched and admired.
And then, one day they were making fun of my taste in men (essentially saying I had none), so I said, "That's not true! I do like good looking men. The next one I see, I'll show you." Within minutes, this same guy walked by. I pointed him out. The deli girls took one look at this guy, and then they ran right up to him and his fellow plumbers and found out whether he was married or had a girlfriend (no) and his name. Here I'd watched him for months, and then within minutes, my cover was blown (be careful what you tell other women). Well, almost. He didn't know who in the deli likes him, and he still might not...but I think that by now he's got it all figured out.
But see, I'm so shy that I can't talk to him. I get all nervous and my hands shake and I can't even look at him. He's either shy, too, or else he doesn't like me and is hoping that one of the married chicks likes him. It's depressing. If I could just bring myself to smile or wave or talk, maybe I'd find out...maybe he's mean and I can just forget the whole thing (but actually, he doesn't seem mean...he seems like a decent person). Arrrgh! It's tormenting me. I feel absolutely ridiculous and pathetic.
**************************************************************
Anyway, I kind of hate Valentines day. All it is is a day to stand on the sidelines and observe how loved everyone else is. I'd like to think that someday, it could happen to me, that maybe it could work out someday. I'd wait til I was 90 just to spend a few years with the right person....but what if there isn't one? What if the best I can do is to have an amicable friendship with guys that I like as a person, and feeling guilty that I can't put any passion into that kind of relationship, feeling like they're being cheated and like I'm using them, and then feeling guiltier yet when I end the mess? Maybe I should just try and keep people happy, and to hell with what I want or would like. I don't even know this plumber. I don't even know his last name or if he's a drunk or a wifebeater or whatever. What am I thinking?!
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Well, I've been fighting off a cold for the past two weeks, so I suppose it was only a matter of time before it caught up with me. I made the mistake of showing up for work yesterday when I knew I was pretty sick. They made me stay even though I was so sick that I could hardly function. And, it may have been the cold, but my hips still hurt. I could hardly walk yesterday. I think that the White's boots help somewhat, but not entirely. I don't know if it's the hard concrete floor there or what. So today I called in sick. I could hardly crawl out of bed this morning anyway. /pityparty
I am getting seriously disillusioned with work again. I don't think they really care all that much about whether or not we're productive, hard working, problem solving, or any of the other things that have to do with work ethic and making money for your company. No, I think that basically, what matters is that you paste a happy face on and have a good attitude. Other than that, you can show up for work or not, work hard or not, cause serious financial losses to the business...as long as you don't rock the boat or seem unhappy at all, anything else is more or less fine. And with this being the case, it seems simple enough, you'd think I'd be able to pull it off, but no. The inefficiency and certain other things that I see drive me absolutely crazy, and I'm [b]not[/b] good at putting a phony mask on. The whole hopelessness of it all makes me depressed. There has got to be a job for someone who is intelligent, honest with or without supervision, resourceful, more or less says what they think, and who is constantly seeking for ways to improve matters either in terms of efficiency or the actual product. You would think that there would be a better place for me, but honestly, all folks seem to care about is whether you're a nice butt-kisser.
I am getting seriously disillusioned with work again. I don't think they really care all that much about whether or not we're productive, hard working, problem solving, or any of the other things that have to do with work ethic and making money for your company. No, I think that basically, what matters is that you paste a happy face on and have a good attitude. Other than that, you can show up for work or not, work hard or not, cause serious financial losses to the business...as long as you don't rock the boat or seem unhappy at all, anything else is more or less fine. And with this being the case, it seems simple enough, you'd think I'd be able to pull it off, but no. The inefficiency and certain other things that I see drive me absolutely crazy, and I'm [b]not[/b] good at putting a phony mask on. The whole hopelessness of it all makes me depressed. There has got to be a job for someone who is intelligent, honest with or without supervision, resourceful, more or less says what they think, and who is constantly seeking for ways to improve matters either in terms of efficiency or the actual product. You would think that there would be a better place for me, but honestly, all folks seem to care about is whether you're a nice butt-kisser.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Sometimes I feel like such a social retard. It isn't so much that I want to change the essence of who I am....but on the other hand, it's downright painful to be so socially awkward, to not know what to say.
The real hell of it is that I tend to prefer other quiet, reserved people, and it can be seriously difficult to develop any kind of a rapport with someone like that. I can think of a lot of people, of both sexes, whom I'd like to have gotten to know better, but I didn't know what to say, so I said very little, and I never got to know them (predictably enough). I'm tired of this. I need to fix it, and I have no idea how.
Maybe....something direct? I'm good at that approach once I get the nerve together...
(more later)
The real hell of it is that I tend to prefer other quiet, reserved people, and it can be seriously difficult to develop any kind of a rapport with someone like that. I can think of a lot of people, of both sexes, whom I'd like to have gotten to know better, but I didn't know what to say, so I said very little, and I never got to know them (predictably enough). I'm tired of this. I need to fix it, and I have no idea how.
Maybe....something direct? I'm good at that approach once I get the nerve together...
(more later)
Monday, January 15, 2007
Broken Children
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
I am sitting here crying. I've been looking at pictures and descriptions of children available for adoption.
I looked at the Asian children first, because if I were actually going to adopt, I'd probably want to get an Asian girl. Most of the listed Asian kids were born with birth defects or are disabled in some way. :( The one that started the tears was a beautiful little boy about 5 years old. Well, he was beautiful to me, even with the huge red birthmark covering almost the entire left side of his face. He's Chinese, so I guess since they only get to have one child there, it has to be 100% perfect, right down to not having any birthmarks. Then there was another from China, a little 2 year old boy with a nicely repaired cleft lip and palate. The expression on his face looked wounded and rejected...already. Heart defects, disabilities, etc etc.
There were only 3 African kids listed, all older and all very beautiful.
American children: this is where it got really hard. Many of them have Asperger's syndrome, just like me. I would love to take one of these kids home, but I can't: travis
"Travis says he would like an adoptive family that would enjoy playing board games and card games with him and he hopes his new family will have other children.
The ideal family for Travis will be experienced in parenting and knowledgeable about behavioral issues and Asperger’s syndrome. This could be a couple or a strong single male. Travis should be the only child in the family or he must be the youngest as he will need 24-hour supervision. The family should be very structured, able to commit fully to Travis and be understanding of his mental health and social skill needs."
Anytime you read about an adoption for an aspie kid, it will say that, even if the kid is 17 years old. He/she has to be either the youngest kid with a much older sibling, or an only child. It's as though they think that aspies cannot grow up with younger siblings, or siblings close to our own age! People, people!!!! ::chamoisee bangs her head against the computer desk:: Where in the HELL do you think we finally DO learn our social skills from??? Insulating us from siblings is NOT the ideal way to develop our social skills, DUH! That poor kid, he actually says that he wants a family with other kids, and the workers will make sure he doesn't get it.
I ask you, how many adoptive parents, given the choice of only one child, an aspie, to adopt, or another child with the option of possibly getting a brother or sister or adding him or her to an already existinbg family, is going to choose the aspie?! These poor kids are going to stay in foster care because of this absolutely demented idea that we aspies "cannot handle" the stress of competing with brothers or sisters.
Our siblings are often our best friends. What a disservice...what a cruelty, to deny these kids not only that but also a potential home for that reason.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
I am sitting here crying. I've been looking at pictures and descriptions of children available for adoption.
I looked at the Asian children first, because if I were actually going to adopt, I'd probably want to get an Asian girl. Most of the listed Asian kids were born with birth defects or are disabled in some way. :( The one that started the tears was a beautiful little boy about 5 years old. Well, he was beautiful to me, even with the huge red birthmark covering almost the entire left side of his face. He's Chinese, so I guess since they only get to have one child there, it has to be 100% perfect, right down to not having any birthmarks. Then there was another from China, a little 2 year old boy with a nicely repaired cleft lip and palate. The expression on his face looked wounded and rejected...already. Heart defects, disabilities, etc etc.
There were only 3 African kids listed, all older and all very beautiful.
American children: this is where it got really hard. Many of them have Asperger's syndrome, just like me. I would love to take one of these kids home, but I can't: travis
"Travis says he would like an adoptive family that would enjoy playing board games and card games with him and he hopes his new family will have other children.
The ideal family for Travis will be experienced in parenting and knowledgeable about behavioral issues and Asperger’s syndrome. This could be a couple or a strong single male. Travis should be the only child in the family or he must be the youngest as he will need 24-hour supervision. The family should be very structured, able to commit fully to Travis and be understanding of his mental health and social skill needs."
Anytime you read about an adoption for an aspie kid, it will say that, even if the kid is 17 years old. He/she has to be either the youngest kid with a much older sibling, or an only child. It's as though they think that aspies cannot grow up with younger siblings, or siblings close to our own age! People, people!!!! ::chamoisee bangs her head against the computer desk:: Where in the HELL do you think we finally DO learn our social skills from??? Insulating us from siblings is NOT the ideal way to develop our social skills, DUH! That poor kid, he actually says that he wants a family with other kids, and the workers will make sure he doesn't get it.
I ask you, how many adoptive parents, given the choice of only one child, an aspie, to adopt, or another child with the option of possibly getting a brother or sister or adding him or her to an already existinbg family, is going to choose the aspie?! These poor kids are going to stay in foster care because of this absolutely demented idea that we aspies "cannot handle" the stress of competing with brothers or sisters.
Our siblings are often our best friends. What a disservice...what a cruelty, to deny these kids not only that but also a potential home for that reason.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Urg, what a week we've had! The baby got pneumonia, the 6 year old got pink eye (and I am fervently hoping that the baby hasn't caught it, because if he did, I'm out several days of work whie, he recovers, and my coworkers will be PEEVED with me!) our pipes froze and I had to go crawl around under the house in the dirt embedded with cat shit (I am trying valiantly to quell the urge to murder all those cats, most of which aren't even mine- cat repellent, maybe?) to find out about the heat tape and work on getting the water working again. I am just mentally and emotionally exhausted. I mean, picture it: six kids in a one bedroom house in the middle of winter on a very cold day (so going outside to play is not an option), one of them has pinkeye, which is very contagious, but none of them can wash their hands to prevent it, because there isn't any water, the house is a pit but you can't do dishes or laundry or even wipe anything down, and in the midst of all this is a baby who is still sick and needs rest badly.
:jumps up to go and turn the water on to a trickle, so it doesn't freeze again tonight:
:jumps up to go and turn the water on to a trickle, so it doesn't freeze again tonight:
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Well, I looked in the mirror. I'm not really ugly....just average. I think what it must be is the whole eye contact issue. I don't make good eye contact, and eye contact is the way women signal that they are interested in a man or in any person,for that matter. When you think about it, isn't lack of eye contact the main reason that normal parents get so fed up with us and want to cure their autie kids? I think it's really hard for normals to love something or someone if they cannot get eye contact from it. Their bonding seems to hinge strongly on eye contact.
Moreover, I am beginning to notice that many of the men I have found attractive have eyes that are squinty or deep set or overshadowing by a prominent browline. Men with a strong, direct gaze creep me out and repel me, especially if the shape of the eye is such that most of the eye is visible. Eyes that have white showing around the iris (either above orbelow the iris, or god help us, both!!!) are particularly offensive.
So, for those of you who have an aspie or autie that you do love in spite of their poor eye contact, try squinting your eyes a little or wearing sunglasses when you talkto them,and see if that helps.
Moreover, I am beginning to notice that many of the men I have found attractive have eyes that are squinty or deep set or overshadowing by a prominent browline. Men with a strong, direct gaze creep me out and repel me, especially if the shape of the eye is such that most of the eye is visible. Eyes that have white showing around the iris (either above orbelow the iris, or god help us, both!!!) are particularly offensive.
So, for those of you who have an aspie or autie that you do love in spite of their poor eye contact, try squinting your eyes a little or wearing sunglasses when you talkto them,and see if that helps.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
There is that song by Elton John...Sorry seems to be the hardest word. I feel that way a lot, like I'm searching in vain for the elusive, ineffable thing or quality that it'd take for people to love me.
What is it that they want that other women have that I don't? I don't understand it, it doesn't make sense to me. The constant, day to day rejection wears away at me and breaks my heart a little bit at a time. It's demoralizing. I wish I knew what it is. Things like:
Long, painted fingernails: Do men really find these appealing? They look threatening to me, like the woman is armed to claw someone or something. And the color...why should that matter?
Pedicures: Do men even look at a woman's feet? Do they actually care about the cuticles of her toes?? I really sort of doubt it.
Eyeliner: to me, it just looks slutty and cheap and artificial.
Hair: I don't care what anyone says, I'm not bleaching my hair blond for any man. However, it does seem that men like longer hair than what I have, and maybe a more feminine style than what I have. I'm so ticked right now that I'd like to just shave it short, like 1/4"long....but I'm considering letting it grow out to shoulder length, dye auburn highlights (my hair was red when I was little) with henna, and perm it so that it has slight waves (not awful, tight, kinked curls, no).
I don't know....I'm tired of people not liking me the way I am, I hate it.
Maybe if I were blond and stupid and dizzy/ditzy and helpless, and if all I cared about was makeup and visiting and giggling with equally ditzy friends, things would be different for me. I don't know why there's such a prejudice against smart women. It seems to me that a man with balls wouldn't be threatened by an intelligent woman.
What is it that they want that other women have that I don't? I don't understand it, it doesn't make sense to me. The constant, day to day rejection wears away at me and breaks my heart a little bit at a time. It's demoralizing. I wish I knew what it is. Things like:
Long, painted fingernails: Do men really find these appealing? They look threatening to me, like the woman is armed to claw someone or something. And the color...why should that matter?
Pedicures: Do men even look at a woman's feet? Do they actually care about the cuticles of her toes?? I really sort of doubt it.
Eyeliner: to me, it just looks slutty and cheap and artificial.
Hair: I don't care what anyone says, I'm not bleaching my hair blond for any man. However, it does seem that men like longer hair than what I have, and maybe a more feminine style than what I have. I'm so ticked right now that I'd like to just shave it short, like 1/4"long....but I'm considering letting it grow out to shoulder length, dye auburn highlights (my hair was red when I was little) with henna, and perm it so that it has slight waves (not awful, tight, kinked curls, no).
I don't know....I'm tired of people not liking me the way I am, I hate it.
Maybe if I were blond and stupid and dizzy/ditzy and helpless, and if all I cared about was makeup and visiting and giggling with equally ditzy friends, things would be different for me. I don't know why there's such a prejudice against smart women. It seems to me that a man with balls wouldn't be threatened by an intelligent woman.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Work today: The work itself went OK. But for some reason I don't understand, things got flippy for me after lunchtime. I don't know what you call it, anxiety attacks? Here is a description:
I started going...remote and silent. I wasn't even aware of it until one of the boxboys mentioned it. I believe the word he used was "catatonic". Then I started flapping a little bit, and gradually more..and more. Pretty soon I was flapping a lot. I felt...like my mind was slipping into a daze. Then I begn to have a feeling that I wanted to get out of the deli, to do tasks that would let me walk around and get out of there for a while, but I couldn't. A pressure developed around my chest and I felt a little short of breath, so I started gasping for air periodically. By this time I was not only flapping but also rocking in place (standing) and wanted desperately to go home or just get out of the entire place, for no particular reason except that it was noisy and just...too much.
I made myself a latte and set myself on tasks in the bakery, which has fewer customers and multitasking and chaos. That seemed to help, and after a while, I gradually felt better, but all the rest of the day I felt pretty remote.
Sometimes it's more of a full fledged panic attack, where my heart is pounding so hard that I can't hear much of anything and my hands are shaking really bad and I can't even think, but that's usually when I have soemone truly rotten to work with, like the cheap, rotten-hearted bitch that I wanted to kill (she told me that I stunk-loudly and in front of customers- for aout 4 hours, and I *didn't* stink at all...effing crackhead!!!) or the one when I first started who threatened to slap me because I couldn't process her verbal instructions very well. It isn't usually that bad...
And at times like this, I wonder if maybe I should qualify for some kind of training for a job that would pay better and that I'd be better qualified for.
I started going...remote and silent. I wasn't even aware of it until one of the boxboys mentioned it. I believe the word he used was "catatonic". Then I started flapping a little bit, and gradually more..and more. Pretty soon I was flapping a lot. I felt...like my mind was slipping into a daze. Then I begn to have a feeling that I wanted to get out of the deli, to do tasks that would let me walk around and get out of there for a while, but I couldn't. A pressure developed around my chest and I felt a little short of breath, so I started gasping for air periodically. By this time I was not only flapping but also rocking in place (standing) and wanted desperately to go home or just get out of the entire place, for no particular reason except that it was noisy and just...too much.
I made myself a latte and set myself on tasks in the bakery, which has fewer customers and multitasking and chaos. That seemed to help, and after a while, I gradually felt better, but all the rest of the day I felt pretty remote.
Sometimes it's more of a full fledged panic attack, where my heart is pounding so hard that I can't hear much of anything and my hands are shaking really bad and I can't even think, but that's usually when I have soemone truly rotten to work with, like the cheap, rotten-hearted bitch that I wanted to kill (she told me that I stunk-loudly and in front of customers- for aout 4 hours, and I *didn't* stink at all...effing crackhead!!!) or the one when I first started who threatened to slap me because I couldn't process her verbal instructions very well. It isn't usually that bad...
And at times like this, I wonder if maybe I should qualify for some kind of training for a job that would pay better and that I'd be better qualified for.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
I finally got my garlic planted...some of it, anyway. I didn't have enough room prepared to plant all the regular sized garlic, but I did get all the elephant garlic in the ground and a little of the standard type.
I'm eating some Haagen Dazs ice cream right now, eggnog flavor. It is so incredibly good that it's almost orgasmic. Oh mannnnn...... Mmmmmm. Ohhhh...I didn't know ice cream could be this good. Even Ben and Jerry's isn't this good. Eeeek! OK, that is enough..I'm getting brain freeze. I'll save the rest of it for when I'm depressed and pessimistic again.
People who know me might be surprised to hear that I experience that sort of extreme pleasure on a very regular basis. Taste....smells.....and particularly visuals, especially colors. Flowers are especially good for color, because of the depth and intensity of the hue. When I see a color that does that for me, it seems to throb and my brain glows with pleasure.....it's almost like getting high (except I never do *that*). The shape, the form, those are OK, but the color is what really hits me. My paintings are like that, too. They have objects- a peach, a flower, a piece of fruit....but it's really about color. My backgrounds are often as bright or brighter than the subject, and the intensity of the color is the type that feeds my brain- it's intense and often pure pigment right from the tube. I don't think other people who look at my work understand that. They see the piece of fruit or whatever and they're looking for a photo-realistic likeness, which was never, ever my intent. It was about color. The subject was only the means of conveying the color, not the point of the painting.
It irritates me when people look at my art and tell me what they think it means or make stupid assumptions. If they want to know what I meant, why don't they ask? They can't read my mind or know what I was thinking or what it is (if the work is not representational). Oh well. That is why if I ever exhibit my work (again) and get reviews or publicity, I don't even want to read it. It would just annoy me.
I'm eating some Haagen Dazs ice cream right now, eggnog flavor. It is so incredibly good that it's almost orgasmic. Oh mannnnn...... Mmmmmm. Ohhhh...I didn't know ice cream could be this good. Even Ben and Jerry's isn't this good. Eeeek! OK, that is enough..I'm getting brain freeze. I'll save the rest of it for when I'm depressed and pessimistic again.
People who know me might be surprised to hear that I experience that sort of extreme pleasure on a very regular basis. Taste....smells.....and particularly visuals, especially colors. Flowers are especially good for color, because of the depth and intensity of the hue. When I see a color that does that for me, it seems to throb and my brain glows with pleasure.....it's almost like getting high (except I never do *that*). The shape, the form, those are OK, but the color is what really hits me. My paintings are like that, too. They have objects- a peach, a flower, a piece of fruit....but it's really about color. My backgrounds are often as bright or brighter than the subject, and the intensity of the color is the type that feeds my brain- it's intense and often pure pigment right from the tube. I don't think other people who look at my work understand that. They see the piece of fruit or whatever and they're looking for a photo-realistic likeness, which was never, ever my intent. It was about color. The subject was only the means of conveying the color, not the point of the painting.
It irritates me when people look at my art and tell me what they think it means or make stupid assumptions. If they want to know what I meant, why don't they ask? They can't read my mind or know what I was thinking or what it is (if the work is not representational). Oh well. That is why if I ever exhibit my work (again) and get reviews or publicity, I don't even want to read it. It would just annoy me.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
My third son is currently (finally) being evaluated to ascertain whether or not he also has Asperger's or some other autism spectrum disorder. He is a wonderful kid and I love him just the way he is, but I do want his life to be easier than mine has been. Hell is life as an aspie being held to neurotypical expectations and being punished for not meeting them when you don't even know what they are! it sound rotten to say this (and self-defeatist as well) but I think it's the truth: I don't feel that I will ever really recover from a childhood (including teens and early adulthood) in which I was routinely and systematically penalized for being "different" and berated for not being "normal". I would love to wake up and have teh same self assurance that I had a a small child, before they squished me, but I'm not sure it'll ever happen. I want that for my son, though. He still has that self confidence, and I don't want people to go and take it away from him.
My youngest son (#6) is sleeping. He's sick. I think he's doing well developmentally, meeting all the milestones on time. His father and I are both aspie, so we've wondered what he will turn out like. The only red flag I have seen so far is that his head diameter is over the 90% percentile, while his length is at 40% and his weight is under 5% (which, if you're getting alarmed, is par for the course with my kids- they run small). Rapid head growth in the first two years is really common in autistic children and is one of the things they look for. He's very sociable, though..hasn't seemed to experience any stranger anxiety...he'll smile at almost anyone, and makes good eye contact, is alert and focused on the world around him, not off in a dream world like my lovely #3 son.
My children give me something to live for. I don't know what I'd do without them, probably get some job that was just enough to live on and hole up in a little rustic cabin on a moutain top. I would paint and garden and have animals, but I'd be hiding from the world with all lits cruel people who say and do nasty things. The kids force me to go out and battle my way through every day life and to develop more social skills than I ever would have otherwise- I just don't have a choice.
Charlie is sick and sleeping. The oldest two boys are visiting with a friend, doing social stuff (looking at Christmas lights in the nearest city, my idea of DULL!, but they're really happy)and the house is quiet. I think I'm going to turn this droning, whining machine off and paint or draw....or clean house, heh.
My youngest son (#6) is sleeping. He's sick. I think he's doing well developmentally, meeting all the milestones on time. His father and I are both aspie, so we've wondered what he will turn out like. The only red flag I have seen so far is that his head diameter is over the 90% percentile, while his length is at 40% and his weight is under 5% (which, if you're getting alarmed, is par for the course with my kids- they run small). Rapid head growth in the first two years is really common in autistic children and is one of the things they look for. He's very sociable, though..hasn't seemed to experience any stranger anxiety...he'll smile at almost anyone, and makes good eye contact, is alert and focused on the world around him, not off in a dream world like my lovely #3 son.
My children give me something to live for. I don't know what I'd do without them, probably get some job that was just enough to live on and hole up in a little rustic cabin on a moutain top. I would paint and garden and have animals, but I'd be hiding from the world with all lits cruel people who say and do nasty things. The kids force me to go out and battle my way through every day life and to develop more social skills than I ever would have otherwise- I just don't have a choice.
Charlie is sick and sleeping. The oldest two boys are visiting with a friend, doing social stuff (looking at Christmas lights in the nearest city, my idea of DULL!, but they're really happy)and the house is quiet. I think I'm going to turn this droning, whining machine off and paint or draw....or clean house, heh.
Friday, December 01, 2006
I got the chocolate Mickey. Now he and Minnie are a happy couple. I am more or less leaving the claw machine alone, which means that I still play it occasionally, but not $5 at a time anymore. The vendor who maintains it must have gotten peeved at the toll I was taking: he has packed the animals in so tightly now that they'll hardly budge. Anyway, part of having Asperger's is being prone to obsessions. In my case they can be long-term or short term. I'm trying to make this one of the short term ones. I'll try to discuss obsessions some more when I get off of work tonight.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Sigh...I am feeling horribly guilty just now, because I spent too much money on the damned "claw machine" at work. This is the machine filled with stuffed animals, where you maneuver the claw and it lowers and either grabs the animal or doesn't. For a long time, I've had absolutely awful luck with the thing and suffered weeks of disappointment, until I finally gave up entirely. Well, that all changed tonight. I saw a chanukah teddy bear that looked easy to grab. I tried it with $2 and actually won it, my very first win! Woot!!!! Well, I came home with it, and my kids got excited and wanted to try, too. Back we went to the store. I won 4-5 more animals and got pretty danged good at it. These are the bigger animals, too, not the little beanie baby sized ones. Then I got the coveted Chocolate Minnie Mouse, a collector limited edition not available for retail sale. You can only get them by winning them. I wasted a lot of tries on the Mickey Mouse, which I would have gotten, except that it was attached to another animal which has a velcro hand. I didn't mean to spend as much as I did. It's just that after so much failure, it's SO danged satisfying to actually win, and to win repeatedly like that. We got a total of 8 toys.
When we got home, we lined all the animals up for Charlie (the baby) to pick one. He's almost a year old, and I swear, as bright as my others have been, he seems even smarter. He sat back and looked at them all in turn, and then reached out and picked one, a Russ denim patchwork bear (he seems to like patterns) and it was obvious that he understood that the one he picked was his, and the one he liked best. He's been playing with it all night, happily. I'm really glad we let him pick, because I was going to give him a different one, and give the one he picked to one of the other kids. Seeing him so happy helps temper some of the embarrassment of my newfound addiction.
Honestly, if I can just get the Mickey (to match Minnie) and the tree-stump house with a little squirrel in it, I'll swear off the thing entirely. :blush:
When we got home, we lined all the animals up for Charlie (the baby) to pick one. He's almost a year old, and I swear, as bright as my others have been, he seems even smarter. He sat back and looked at them all in turn, and then reached out and picked one, a Russ denim patchwork bear (he seems to like patterns) and it was obvious that he understood that the one he picked was his, and the one he liked best. He's been playing with it all night, happily. I'm really glad we let him pick, because I was going to give him a different one, and give the one he picked to one of the other kids. Seeing him so happy helps temper some of the embarrassment of my newfound addiction.
Honestly, if I can just get the Mickey (to match Minnie) and the tree-stump house with a little squirrel in it, I'll swear off the thing entirely. :blush:
Thursday, November 23, 2006
My computer's been down for over a week, thanks to my boys apparently infecting the machien with a virus. Anyway, now we have Linux instead, so no more virus worries. Unfortunately, I don't have Opera installe as a browser yet. Netscape and Konqueror both suck. I can hardly read wat I'm typing here, due to messed up font size, so please bear with me on th etypoes and misspellings.
Thanksgiving: I had it yesterday. Today I worked. I made:
A free range turkey, stuffed with oranges and cranberries and fresh sage from the garden, and orange and cranberry juice. I used an oven bag for the first time. (If you're wondering, I didn't really have any trouble with the bag, but it seemed sort of artificial and disagreeable in general, sort of like a condom. Just a nasty layer of plastic in the way, if you know what I mean). Um....I failed to realize how very lean my free range turkey was. It wasn't fatty l;ike th efactory-farmed ones. I also forgot to use at least a stic of butter, which I normally do. The result? A well cooked but too-lean turkey (honestly, I didn't know that was possible, but it is).
Potatoes: organic Yukon Golds. The gravy was tart (like oranges and cranberries) but a lot more flavorful than the usual bland smeary brown liquid. Again, it could have used soem fat. I never thoguht I'd be one to cpmpalin of a lack of fat in anything.......
Sweet potatoes: I sauteed them in butter and olive oil instead of baking them.
Green bean casserole: the old classic, but I added more mushrooms.
and cranberry relish, pumpkin cheesecake, pumpkin ice cream, and black olives.
The garden: I just planted about 300 or 400 flower bulbs. Maybe that's an exaggeration:
40 mixed daffodils
30-50 pheasant eye narcissus
24 fosteriana tulips (mixed colors)
24 mixed dutch crocuses
3 seedlign grown red daylilies
1 Charles Johnston daylily (also red)
peppermint- mayeb 5 plants
marjoram- 2-3 plants
lemon balm, 1
3 frittilaria persica
1 frittilaria raddeana
24 drumstick alliums
24 allium (do't remember name of species, starts with 'O' an dhas lots of letters)
24 tulip turkestanica
12 tulip clusiana "Cynthia"
3 eremurus "lemon chiffon"
I think that's all. The worst of it was digging up the huge rocks that kept cropping up eveyr time I tried to dig a hole for a bulb. The soudn of the shovel hitting rocks, eeeek!!! It started snowing as I was finishing up.....
I was going to write more, but I can't see what I'm writing and it's irritating beyond belief. Work, I've been a bitch, but am makign a serious effort to behave myself. I think half of it is that the days are geetting so short up here. At 7AM it's still dark, and it's dark again before 5PM. Some days, I hardly see any daylight at all, and it isn't even winter yet. I thought about sugggestign full spectrum lights at wrk, but seriously,. what are the odds of that happening? And yet, it's affectign us all. The short days make us crabby and teaful and depressed.....ugh.
Thanksgiving: I had it yesterday. Today I worked. I made:
A free range turkey, stuffed with oranges and cranberries and fresh sage from the garden, and orange and cranberry juice. I used an oven bag for the first time. (If you're wondering, I didn't really have any trouble with the bag, but it seemed sort of artificial and disagreeable in general, sort of like a condom. Just a nasty layer of plastic in the way, if you know what I mean). Um....I failed to realize how very lean my free range turkey was. It wasn't fatty l;ike th efactory-farmed ones. I also forgot to use at least a stic of butter, which I normally do. The result? A well cooked but too-lean turkey (honestly, I didn't know that was possible, but it is).
Potatoes: organic Yukon Golds. The gravy was tart (like oranges and cranberries) but a lot more flavorful than the usual bland smeary brown liquid. Again, it could have used soem fat. I never thoguht I'd be one to cpmpalin of a lack of fat in anything.......
Sweet potatoes: I sauteed them in butter and olive oil instead of baking them.
Green bean casserole: the old classic, but I added more mushrooms.
and cranberry relish, pumpkin cheesecake, pumpkin ice cream, and black olives.
The garden: I just planted about 300 or 400 flower bulbs. Maybe that's an exaggeration:
40 mixed daffodils
30-50 pheasant eye narcissus
24 fosteriana tulips (mixed colors)
24 mixed dutch crocuses
3 seedlign grown red daylilies
1 Charles Johnston daylily (also red)
peppermint- mayeb 5 plants
marjoram- 2-3 plants
lemon balm, 1
3 frittilaria persica
1 frittilaria raddeana
24 drumstick alliums
24 allium (do't remember name of species, starts with 'O' an dhas lots of letters)
24 tulip turkestanica
12 tulip clusiana "Cynthia"
3 eremurus "lemon chiffon"
I think that's all. The worst of it was digging up the huge rocks that kept cropping up eveyr time I tried to dig a hole for a bulb. The soudn of the shovel hitting rocks, eeeek!!! It started snowing as I was finishing up.....
I was going to write more, but I can't see what I'm writing and it's irritating beyond belief. Work, I've been a bitch, but am makign a serious effort to behave myself. I think half of it is that the days are geetting so short up here. At 7AM it's still dark, and it's dark again before 5PM. Some days, I hardly see any daylight at all, and it isn't even winter yet. I thought about sugggestign full spectrum lights at wrk, but seriously,. what are the odds of that happening? And yet, it's affectign us all. The short days make us crabby and teaful and depressed.....ugh.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Now I'm wondering whether the doctor is right. I answered the phone today at work, the lady on the other end had a voice like a knife, and my ear started right up hurting again. The notion of going through life with permanent hearing loss (OK, so I got a little upset) really pissed me off....especially since there really isn't anythign I can do about it. How could I prove it? Without a test before the incident, there's nothing to compare it's current state to. I have no real way of proving (even if an appreciable effect could be proven) the source of the damage as being the balloon incident. I can't afford to do anything about it. In short, I'm a nothing, and because I'm a nothing, she can get away with having fucked up my ear, if it is in fact damaged. The whole thing just makes me furious, in the sense of a white rage that all but blinds my vision (literally). She had no right....
I mean, OK...trying to calm down here....if it's just my jaw, then why does it hurt whenever I hear a sharp, shrill, or loud noise, and only in that ear, and for an extended period of time afterwards?
I am upset. I wear glasses, have a bum hip, Asperger's, teeth going bad, but one thing I did have was very sharp hearing. I guess I've still got my IQ and keen sense of smell. :sigh:
Alright, alright....I will TRY hard not to obsess about this anymore......
I mean, OK...trying to calm down here....if it's just my jaw, then why does it hurt whenever I hear a sharp, shrill, or loud noise, and only in that ear, and for an extended period of time afterwards?
I am upset. I wear glasses, have a bum hip, Asperger's, teeth going bad, but one thing I did have was very sharp hearing. I guess I've still got my IQ and keen sense of smell. :sigh:
Alright, alright....I will TRY hard not to obsess about this anymore......
Thursday, November 09, 2006
I've been seriously out of line. Too crabby, too irritable, too bitchy, too quick to blame people. Maybe I'm just over-stressed. I should find a better way of dealing with the stress, maybe working out at the gym, or meditation, or perhaps if I take up dancing again.....or maybe the St John's wort.
All I ever seem to do is to either work at work or drive around pickign kids up and working at home while they scream and fight and make messes, or sit and listen to Tim telling me why we should get back together while I look at the messes and feel miserable for standing there listening to him instead of cleaning. There is absolutely nothing fun in my life unless I can manage to have fun at work. Pathetic.
My ear is fine. There's a little fluid behind it, but most of the problem is apparently due to TMJ. In other words, the joint of my jaw is right up there next to my ear, and it's inflamed or sore, and it's so close to the ear that I mistook it for an earache. The doctor said that he sees 2-3 people a week with the same problem- they think they have an ear infection, but it's TMJ instead. My mom has TMJ, and I had trouble with it as a teen. My jaw still gets very sore easily and even threatens to dislocate under certain types of stress. So that's all it is.
All I ever seem to do is to either work at work or drive around pickign kids up and working at home while they scream and fight and make messes, or sit and listen to Tim telling me why we should get back together while I look at the messes and feel miserable for standing there listening to him instead of cleaning. There is absolutely nothing fun in my life unless I can manage to have fun at work. Pathetic.
My ear is fine. There's a little fluid behind it, but most of the problem is apparently due to TMJ. In other words, the joint of my jaw is right up there next to my ear, and it's inflamed or sore, and it's so close to the ear that I mistook it for an earache. The doctor said that he sees 2-3 people a week with the same problem- they think they have an ear infection, but it's TMJ instead. My mom has TMJ, and I had trouble with it as a teen. My jaw still gets very sore easily and even threatens to dislocate under certain types of stress. So that's all it is.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
My ear still hurts, and it's been hurting all day. I finally told one of the bosses (not the big bosses, but the guy right under them) that I am going to go to the doctor for it. He says that if it turns out to be caused by something work-related (such as the balloon being inflated at an ear-splitting rate) and not coincidental (an ear infection aggravated by the noise) then the stor will make a claim and pay for it. All day long I have been on edge and cringing from loud sounds and trying to protect that ear, using the other ear for the phone, etc. It might be that it wasn't her fault at all....but if it wasn't the balloon, then why didn't my ear like that before she did it? I actually had a friend at work tell me that essentially, my sudden onset of pain following the balloon incident was psychosomatic...honestly, if anyone other than her had said that, I'd be pretty displeased.
and I voted....
What else...I am deluged in work (at home). I wish I could hire someone for just one day to help me deep clean this place. Actually, that isn't the way I'd do it. The ideal sequence of events would be:
(Me) Go through most of the items and throw out the garbage and donate the usable stuff that I don't want or need.
(Me) Sort the stuff that only I can sort, such as papers and really special personal stuff.
(Me and hired help, for a day or two) Deep clean the place.
(a pipe dream) Shampoo the carpets
(mega pipe dream) Get rid of carpets altogether and get something cleaner.
(Finally) Set in place a system to facilitate ease of organization and maintenance, hopefully enlisting help from the children for at least a few of the smaller chores. The oldest ones are 11 and 13, seems like they could at least make their beds, throw away graded homework papers, and keep their clean clothes off the floor and put dirty ones in the laundry. Is that asking too much?
(Another pipe dream) A kitchen table. I really, *really* want a kitchen table! It feels primitive and dirty to sit wherever and shovel the food into our mouths seperately as we do. We need a table. I had no idea they were so expensive.
But yeah, first, I need to get rid of all the stuff I don't want.
and I voted....
What else...I am deluged in work (at home). I wish I could hire someone for just one day to help me deep clean this place. Actually, that isn't the way I'd do it. The ideal sequence of events would be:
(Me) Go through most of the items and throw out the garbage and donate the usable stuff that I don't want or need.
(Me) Sort the stuff that only I can sort, such as papers and really special personal stuff.
(Me and hired help, for a day or two) Deep clean the place.
(a pipe dream) Shampoo the carpets
(mega pipe dream) Get rid of carpets altogether and get something cleaner.
(Finally) Set in place a system to facilitate ease of organization and maintenance, hopefully enlisting help from the children for at least a few of the smaller chores. The oldest ones are 11 and 13, seems like they could at least make their beds, throw away graded homework papers, and keep their clean clothes off the floor and put dirty ones in the laundry. Is that asking too much?
(Another pipe dream) A kitchen table. I really, *really* want a kitchen table! It feels primitive and dirty to sit wherever and shovel the food into our mouths seperately as we do. We need a table. I had no idea they were so expensive.
But yeah, first, I need to get rid of all the stuff I don't want.
Monday, November 06, 2006
My flower bulbs are here! I don't have the bed ready for them yet, though. Also, some of the bulbs I was looking forward to the most (Oriental lilies on sale, the absolutely adorable "Jumblie" daffodil, and nectaroscordum) are out of stock. These were sort of crucial to the plan of the bed. Besides, I was really excited about them! :( The bed is going to be a burgundy-red color scheme, with sparse amounts of pale greenish-yellowish-white (sort of a moonlight yellow) allowed. I'm also trying to keep at least some of the foliage in the dark greenish red range, such as peppermint. Oh! If they smell good, that's better, because this bed is right next to the front door (which I don't use right now, but hope to).
Tenative replacements:
Lilies: Black Beauty, Black Dragon, Speciosum Rubrum, or Moonlight.
Narcissus/daffodils: Jenny (same shape as Jumblie, slightly bigger, not so cute, but paler yellow) or Thalia (very fragrant, grew it at my children's father's place where it is still quite the knockout- I just love Thalia). Tete a tete is another option, cute, small, but very yellow and lacks the reflexed petals which Jenny does have.
Tulips: Burgundy Lace is an extremely attractive looking fringed tulip. So is Swan Wings, but that's white, so I'll probably wait until another bed for it. Tulip Wilsoniana, a species tulip, is very red, has nice form, and is also small and cute at only 4-6" tall! (itty-bitty!!!) Tulip Sylvestris, another species tulip, is yellow-gold with a more graceful shape than other tulips and pendant buds. It's also fragrant, so has a better chance. Too bad it's not red on top of the rest of its attributes.... I might get Tulip Tarda (another species) even though it's yellow with white centers, simply because it's tough, little, cute, and fantastically inexpensive. We really need to stick with the red, though.... Burning Heart, a larger Darwin type tulip, is cream-yellow streaked and flamed with red. I've grown this one before. It was distinctly satisfying to see. It has enough red to go with the scheme, especially if combined with other all-red tulips, such as Madame Le Feber, a fosteriana type, which is easier to perennnialize than standard tulips.
Hmmm.
Or, I could just double up on the fritillaria persica, which I already have 3 of.... Groan, this is SO hard, I love plants!!!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am seriously pissed off with the "assistant manager" at work. I put that in quotes, because she seems to have distinctly forgotten the "assistant" part of it. This woman has a huge power trip going on, and there's nothing I can do about it. he knows that I have Asperger's, she knows that I have sensory issues, and she's pissed at me, because I'm completely uninterested in kissing her ass. There is no rule that I have to like her, and I refuse to pretend that I do. Oh, I'll jump through the hoops and do as I'm told, but as far as I'm concerned, this is all a formality. I know who the real manager of the bakery AND Deli is, and she's a sight more competent than this bitch is. I just keep my mouth shut when the A.M. is around. It's very easy for me to go off in my own little world and think and just work, and I get more done that way. Oh, right, so Asperger's...well, today she purposefully squeaked and squawked a mylar balloon she was inflating because she knows that I have a *particularly* keen sensitivity to that noise and find it almost unbearable. I mean, she made the thing SCREAM. It caused a physical pain, and my ear still hurts. What a fucking cunt. This female cuts me NO slack for anything aspie related, including stims, but she goes out of her way to exploit the weaknesses. I hate her. She is so incompetent as a manager that I really cannot comprehend why they haven't fired or at least demoted her. We just lost hundreds of dollars worth of food a week ago thanks to her laziness and self-interest (the refrigeration went down and she didn't move the food to a working cooler). She never, ever works on a day off or goes the extra mile, even when there is some huge monetary factor like that at stake. Oh, the food was lost, but she got out on time, that's what counts, right? She gets to see her soap opera, so all's well that ends well...for her, at least.
It isn't that I want her position, either. In fact, I think it should go to the person who should have had it in the first place- the worker who has far more seniority, kindness, and competence, who never wrongs anyone and whom everyone loves. I am not exaggerating, either. She really is that nice. We often don't agree, but we always get along, she definitely knows what she's doing, she bails the A.M. out when the shit hits the fan and the A.M. is cozily at home resting on her day off while we cope frantically, she does it uncomplainingly, and she has a way of putting us in our place without offending us, which frankly, is really damned hard- I have no idea how she does that. This woman is the epitome of a dedicated employee...I can't understand why she was passed over for the other gal, who hadn't even been there a year when she was made manager, while this one had some 5-6 years of seniority.
Oh, here I am griping about work and it's close to midnight. My ear is still throbbing. I don't dare say anything about it, because nothing will happen except she'll hear that it bugged/hurt me, and she'll take full advantage of it in the future.
Ah, and tomorrow is voting day!!! Woo hoo! Vote those jerks out of office! Steve Elgar, you have my vote!
Tenative replacements:
Lilies: Black Beauty, Black Dragon, Speciosum Rubrum, or Moonlight.
Narcissus/daffodils: Jenny (same shape as Jumblie, slightly bigger, not so cute, but paler yellow) or Thalia (very fragrant, grew it at my children's father's place where it is still quite the knockout- I just love Thalia). Tete a tete is another option, cute, small, but very yellow and lacks the reflexed petals which Jenny does have.
Tulips: Burgundy Lace is an extremely attractive looking fringed tulip. So is Swan Wings, but that's white, so I'll probably wait until another bed for it. Tulip Wilsoniana, a species tulip, is very red, has nice form, and is also small and cute at only 4-6" tall! (itty-bitty!!!) Tulip Sylvestris, another species tulip, is yellow-gold with a more graceful shape than other tulips and pendant buds. It's also fragrant, so has a better chance. Too bad it's not red on top of the rest of its attributes.... I might get Tulip Tarda (another species) even though it's yellow with white centers, simply because it's tough, little, cute, and fantastically inexpensive. We really need to stick with the red, though.... Burning Heart, a larger Darwin type tulip, is cream-yellow streaked and flamed with red. I've grown this one before. It was distinctly satisfying to see. It has enough red to go with the scheme, especially if combined with other all-red tulips, such as Madame Le Feber, a fosteriana type, which is easier to perennnialize than standard tulips.
Hmmm.
Or, I could just double up on the fritillaria persica, which I already have 3 of.... Groan, this is SO hard, I love plants!!!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am seriously pissed off with the "assistant manager" at work. I put that in quotes, because she seems to have distinctly forgotten the "assistant" part of it. This woman has a huge power trip going on, and there's nothing I can do about it. he knows that I have Asperger's, she knows that I have sensory issues, and she's pissed at me, because I'm completely uninterested in kissing her ass. There is no rule that I have to like her, and I refuse to pretend that I do. Oh, I'll jump through the hoops and do as I'm told, but as far as I'm concerned, this is all a formality. I know who the real manager of the bakery AND Deli is, and she's a sight more competent than this bitch is. I just keep my mouth shut when the A.M. is around. It's very easy for me to go off in my own little world and think and just work, and I get more done that way. Oh, right, so Asperger's...well, today she purposefully squeaked and squawked a mylar balloon she was inflating because she knows that I have a *particularly* keen sensitivity to that noise and find it almost unbearable. I mean, she made the thing SCREAM. It caused a physical pain, and my ear still hurts. What a fucking cunt. This female cuts me NO slack for anything aspie related, including stims, but she goes out of her way to exploit the weaknesses. I hate her. She is so incompetent as a manager that I really cannot comprehend why they haven't fired or at least demoted her. We just lost hundreds of dollars worth of food a week ago thanks to her laziness and self-interest (the refrigeration went down and she didn't move the food to a working cooler). She never, ever works on a day off or goes the extra mile, even when there is some huge monetary factor like that at stake. Oh, the food was lost, but she got out on time, that's what counts, right? She gets to see her soap opera, so all's well that ends well...for her, at least.
It isn't that I want her position, either. In fact, I think it should go to the person who should have had it in the first place- the worker who has far more seniority, kindness, and competence, who never wrongs anyone and whom everyone loves. I am not exaggerating, either. She really is that nice. We often don't agree, but we always get along, she definitely knows what she's doing, she bails the A.M. out when the shit hits the fan and the A.M. is cozily at home resting on her day off while we cope frantically, she does it uncomplainingly, and she has a way of putting us in our place without offending us, which frankly, is really damned hard- I have no idea how she does that. This woman is the epitome of a dedicated employee...I can't understand why she was passed over for the other gal, who hadn't even been there a year when she was made manager, while this one had some 5-6 years of seniority.
Oh, here I am griping about work and it's close to midnight. My ear is still throbbing. I don't dare say anything about it, because nothing will happen except she'll hear that it bugged/hurt me, and she'll take full advantage of it in the future.
Ah, and tomorrow is voting day!!! Woo hoo! Vote those jerks out of office! Steve Elgar, you have my vote!
My house is a mess. Some of it is due to the fact that I simply haven't had time to clean it. I was so sick on my last day off that I could hardly care for the baby, let alone clean anything. However, I also think that at least half the problem (no, it's got to be more than 50%) is the direct result of my yard-saling, thrift store frequenting propensities, which were compounded when I joined up with TIm. So I've been categorically whittling away at the possessions that aren't worth keeping. I've acquired a reputation as a "high maintanence woman" at work, due to my White's boots, which bemuses me considerably, because I've never thought of myself on those terms at all. My sister was high maintanence, I went dumpster diving (as a teen). But maybe there's some wisdom to being choosy about what material items you allow to accumulate around you, because after all, you're the one who has to pick them up and clean them. If I'm going to clutter my life up with *stuff*, the less of it the better, it should last, and I should enjoy looking at it and handling it enough that the daily chores of keeping up with it are less odious.
On that note, I bought myself a new set of dishes, blue glass, for less than $10. They are so pretty!!! And, they are slippery so they don't make nasty unpleasant sounds when I handle them, like some of the old ones did, eeek! I'm getting rid of the old ones (to the thrift store, not the trash). I will enjoy washing these. Eventually I want to get ALL cast iron or stainless steel cookware, no teflon or aluminum at all. No plastic utensils- bamboo or stainless steel. Perhaps a set of stainless steel silverware that matches for a change.
Another thing I splurged on was a really cheap full length mirror. Using this mirror, I tired on most of my clothes last night. Many of the ones that I wear all the time make me look fat, chunky, thick waisted, shorter than I am, or even more androgynous than I am! I got rid of all those...about half my clothes.
I think I'm going to be pretty discriminating about what I buy from now on. It's such a pain to get rid of it.
On that note, I bought myself a new set of dishes, blue glass, for less than $10. They are so pretty!!! And, they are slippery so they don't make nasty unpleasant sounds when I handle them, like some of the old ones did, eeek! I'm getting rid of the old ones (to the thrift store, not the trash). I will enjoy washing these. Eventually I want to get ALL cast iron or stainless steel cookware, no teflon or aluminum at all. No plastic utensils- bamboo or stainless steel. Perhaps a set of stainless steel silverware that matches for a change.
Another thing I splurged on was a really cheap full length mirror. Using this mirror, I tired on most of my clothes last night. Many of the ones that I wear all the time make me look fat, chunky, thick waisted, shorter than I am, or even more androgynous than I am! I got rid of all those...about half my clothes.
I think I'm going to be pretty discriminating about what I buy from now on. It's such a pain to get rid of it.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Nostalgic and homesick.....
===================================================
I had a dream about my grandmas about a week ago, and I've missed them ever since. In the dream, one of my grandmas died, and I was rally upset, because I had meant to thank her, to ask her about the Phillipines and her family there, and then bang, just like that, no more chances, all her history lost to me, all her memories not passed through to the next generation. In the dream, she died from blood poisoning following her knee operation, which is exactly how my paternal grandfather died. She is getting knee surgery....I really hope it was only a bad dream and nothing more. I've been trying to call her, but I'm afraid to. Making a phone call is this huge effort for me, and then the people usually don't even want to talk to me much. It's a lot of stress with very little reward most of the time. I need to do it, though....should set a deadline and something pleasant that I can't have until after I make that phone call.
Two of my co-workers have been griping about my perfume, which is natural essential oils of roses. They don't know that I wear it because it reminds me of my Grandma Amy. I wonder if all Catholics wear rose scented stuff, or just Filipino ones, or just the Filipino Catholics that I knew?? To me it is such a warm, loving scent, a scent that says that there is love and safety in the world. I cope a lot better at work when I wear it, because the scent is very reassuring. One of the gals is actually allergic and has asthsma (but she smokes cigarettes?!!!) so I've been abstaining when she's there. The other one simply doesn't like it. Well, I don't like her reek of poison tobacco, or that she crunches ice cubes all day long (and I am pretty damned sure that she does NOT pay for those ice cubes!) and there's not a damned thing I can do about it, so she'll just have to put up with my perfume, too. If it made her physically sick, I would stop wearing it around her, even though I don't like her....it's just wrong to make someone sick on purpose.
Anyway...family stuff. Yeah, I miss them all. They don't seem to like me very much, though, especially my father's family. I am the black sheep, because I moved to be with my mom, and was homeless for a year or two, and because I got divorced. Also, I'm probably the only one of my generation in the family who hasn't gone to college (who's old enough to, anyway). Ouch!
My earliest memories of sound: my dad's pipe organ music- Bach, Beethoven, Mozart. Some of the compositions seem to be hardwired into me. When other people play the same pieces, they don't sound right, not crisp and staccato and defined and intricate like they are under my dad's fingers. I probably heard them before I was even born. I've actually been considering going to church again not for spiritual reasons, but in order to join a choir and sing the hymns. Isn't that twisted and hypocritical? I used to sing a LOT, and I had a good voice then. My dad had us sing right in front of the whole congregation. Now I'd be terrified to do that. I don't even know what my voice sounds like anymore. It's sad.
College: since earliest childhood, I knew, almost as a given, that there were things I wanted out of life: to be a doctor, an artist, have lots of animals, and a family. Now I feel like I've given up on all of that, why live at all? I have not fulfilled my destiny. I just bounce around messing other people's lives up. In my heart, I still want it, I still want to be a doctor, but I don't see how. Also, I don't see how I could be a doctor AND an artist, and maybe I should choose. We come from a long line of doctors, I was supposed to be one, and here I am, producing fast food that I don't even think is fit to eat. I wouldn't care so much if I weren't smart...but I am....and I think too much abotu my job because there is nothing else to focus on, and then I get in trouble for taking it too serously. Obviously I need to go to college, but for what?
===================================================
I had a dream about my grandmas about a week ago, and I've missed them ever since. In the dream, one of my grandmas died, and I was rally upset, because I had meant to thank her, to ask her about the Phillipines and her family there, and then bang, just like that, no more chances, all her history lost to me, all her memories not passed through to the next generation. In the dream, she died from blood poisoning following her knee operation, which is exactly how my paternal grandfather died. She is getting knee surgery....I really hope it was only a bad dream and nothing more. I've been trying to call her, but I'm afraid to. Making a phone call is this huge effort for me, and then the people usually don't even want to talk to me much. It's a lot of stress with very little reward most of the time. I need to do it, though....should set a deadline and something pleasant that I can't have until after I make that phone call.
Two of my co-workers have been griping about my perfume, which is natural essential oils of roses. They don't know that I wear it because it reminds me of my Grandma Amy. I wonder if all Catholics wear rose scented stuff, or just Filipino ones, or just the Filipino Catholics that I knew?? To me it is such a warm, loving scent, a scent that says that there is love and safety in the world. I cope a lot better at work when I wear it, because the scent is very reassuring. One of the gals is actually allergic and has asthsma (but she smokes cigarettes?!!!) so I've been abstaining when she's there. The other one simply doesn't like it. Well, I don't like her reek of poison tobacco, or that she crunches ice cubes all day long (and I am pretty damned sure that she does NOT pay for those ice cubes!) and there's not a damned thing I can do about it, so she'll just have to put up with my perfume, too. If it made her physically sick, I would stop wearing it around her, even though I don't like her....it's just wrong to make someone sick on purpose.
Anyway...family stuff. Yeah, I miss them all. They don't seem to like me very much, though, especially my father's family. I am the black sheep, because I moved to be with my mom, and was homeless for a year or two, and because I got divorced. Also, I'm probably the only one of my generation in the family who hasn't gone to college (who's old enough to, anyway). Ouch!
My earliest memories of sound: my dad's pipe organ music- Bach, Beethoven, Mozart. Some of the compositions seem to be hardwired into me. When other people play the same pieces, they don't sound right, not crisp and staccato and defined and intricate like they are under my dad's fingers. I probably heard them before I was even born. I've actually been considering going to church again not for spiritual reasons, but in order to join a choir and sing the hymns. Isn't that twisted and hypocritical? I used to sing a LOT, and I had a good voice then. My dad had us sing right in front of the whole congregation. Now I'd be terrified to do that. I don't even know what my voice sounds like anymore. It's sad.
College: since earliest childhood, I knew, almost as a given, that there were things I wanted out of life: to be a doctor, an artist, have lots of animals, and a family. Now I feel like I've given up on all of that, why live at all? I have not fulfilled my destiny. I just bounce around messing other people's lives up. In my heart, I still want it, I still want to be a doctor, but I don't see how. Also, I don't see how I could be a doctor AND an artist, and maybe I should choose. We come from a long line of doctors, I was supposed to be one, and here I am, producing fast food that I don't even think is fit to eat. I wouldn't care so much if I weren't smart...but I am....and I think too much abotu my job because there is nothing else to focus on, and then I get in trouble for taking it too serously. Obviously I need to go to college, but for what?
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
I've decided he's probably right. Nobody else is going to want me. Or, rephrased, none of the sort of guys that I would want are going to want me. I'm ugly, and even if I got cosmetic surgery, I still don't have the all-important social graces and poise that it takes to get on in this world where "normal" is so paramount to success.
But, I'm not going to let it bother me. I have a lot of kids, a lot of goats, and a lot of interesting things to do. The world won't end if I don't have a mate or if some time goes by and things eventually do work out between Tim and I.
I have a house to clean. A big yard to landscape and plant flowers in, and to make vegetable beds for. Paintings to paint, books to read, quilts to finish, all sorts of great things to do. There's more to life than romantic love. And while I undeniably would like that, not so much for sex or financial security or sheer romance as much for simple companionship and long term bonding, it might not happen for me anymore, or maybe friendship is what I'll get. I have a life to live. I'm not going to sit around wasting it with wishful thinking.
But, I'm not going to let it bother me. I have a lot of kids, a lot of goats, and a lot of interesting things to do. The world won't end if I don't have a mate or if some time goes by and things eventually do work out between Tim and I.
I have a house to clean. A big yard to landscape and plant flowers in, and to make vegetable beds for. Paintings to paint, books to read, quilts to finish, all sorts of great things to do. There's more to life than romantic love. And while I undeniably would like that, not so much for sex or financial security or sheer romance as much for simple companionship and long term bonding, it might not happen for me anymore, or maybe friendship is what I'll get. I have a life to live. I'm not going to sit around wasting it with wishful thinking.
Monday, October 23, 2006
While at the store paying for my routine morning latte:
Checker: "oh, I like your necklace! Did you get it from the gumball machine? That's where I got mine!"
Hers looks like hematite, but it isn't. It's plastic. I am a bit surprised that such a good imitation of hematite can be produced. I proceed to explain that actually, I made my necklace myself, and it's all real: freshwater pearls, rhodonite beads, and a jasper heart shaped pendant. Her personality is rather reflective. Not much sinks in, but she bounces a lot of enthusiasm and energy around. She goes on to tout the necklaces in the gumball machine.
I wouldn't wear plastic. I like things that are real. So it's a bit ironic and slightly irritating that even when I do wear real pearls and semi-precious gemstones, people assume that it is plastic!
Oh, whatever. I take life too seriously.
Checker: "oh, I like your necklace! Did you get it from the gumball machine? That's where I got mine!"
Hers looks like hematite, but it isn't. It's plastic. I am a bit surprised that such a good imitation of hematite can be produced. I proceed to explain that actually, I made my necklace myself, and it's all real: freshwater pearls, rhodonite beads, and a jasper heart shaped pendant. Her personality is rather reflective. Not much sinks in, but she bounces a lot of enthusiasm and energy around. She goes on to tout the necklaces in the gumball machine.
I wouldn't wear plastic. I like things that are real. So it's a bit ironic and slightly irritating that even when I do wear real pearls and semi-precious gemstones, people assume that it is plastic!
Oh, whatever. I take life too seriously.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
::Body::
I am in the bath, in the clear, clean hot water of the freshly scoured tub.
I survey my body:
Feet- feet that have borne my weight, faithful servants ferrying me around at work. The nails are long. I reach up, find the clippers, and trim them. The thin skin over the tops of my feet still retains the impression of the socks I wore today, and the lines of the new boots, the lacing pattern. I study it, thinking about how those boots hurt at first, how it made the feet suffer.
Calves- hairy. Need shaving. I don't want to take a bath in my own hair and soapsuds. Besides, no razors, need to buy some.
Knees- Hill family knees, not well formed. They stick out knobbly like. They aren't set in smoothly, seamlessly like other women's knees. I wonder if those women even appreciate what nice knees they have. I see knees like mine in my uncles, who needed knee surgery, and I see them one of my sons. My grandpa died of an infection following his knee surgery. Hmmm. My left knee has two scars. One is where I cut it open on broken concrete as a fourth grader. I remember the concrete, because it was near where I used to bury any dead birds I found, holding little funerals for them. The other scar is longer and not as old. I don't remember what caused it. The right knee got kicked by a horse once. Luckily for me, his hoofprint circled my patella. Otherwise the kneecap probably would have been broken. As it was, I limped along for a few days, at least, with a big purple bruise. I look at these knees and wonder whether they'll need surgery when I get older.
Thighs- They're still plump with extra fat and flesh retained during the last pregnancy, reserves for breastfeeding the baby. I'm still nursing him, but probably will have to bicycle and exercise to get them firm and toned again.
Hips- Hips that have cradled seven babies and birthed six. Hips that have labored and worked hard, harder than most women here, I think. Hips that have hurt, and I can hardly blame them, after all I've put them through. The pelvis is wide. Wide and motherly, having held all those babies, but not as wide as some. I look at these hips, think about the beautiful butterfly shape of the bones....wonder if they will ever cradle and embrace their complement, heavier, differently shaped, bigger yet seeking shelter. Will these bones touch against another's or will they be alone? I look at them, and think that probably, they will. I like men entirely too much for it to be otherwise. I wonder whose, and I don't know.....
I am in the bath, in the clear, clean hot water of the freshly scoured tub.
I survey my body:
Feet- feet that have borne my weight, faithful servants ferrying me around at work. The nails are long. I reach up, find the clippers, and trim them. The thin skin over the tops of my feet still retains the impression of the socks I wore today, and the lines of the new boots, the lacing pattern. I study it, thinking about how those boots hurt at first, how it made the feet suffer.
Calves- hairy. Need shaving. I don't want to take a bath in my own hair and soapsuds. Besides, no razors, need to buy some.
Knees- Hill family knees, not well formed. They stick out knobbly like. They aren't set in smoothly, seamlessly like other women's knees. I wonder if those women even appreciate what nice knees they have. I see knees like mine in my uncles, who needed knee surgery, and I see them one of my sons. My grandpa died of an infection following his knee surgery. Hmmm. My left knee has two scars. One is where I cut it open on broken concrete as a fourth grader. I remember the concrete, because it was near where I used to bury any dead birds I found, holding little funerals for them. The other scar is longer and not as old. I don't remember what caused it. The right knee got kicked by a horse once. Luckily for me, his hoofprint circled my patella. Otherwise the kneecap probably would have been broken. As it was, I limped along for a few days, at least, with a big purple bruise. I look at these knees and wonder whether they'll need surgery when I get older.
Thighs- They're still plump with extra fat and flesh retained during the last pregnancy, reserves for breastfeeding the baby. I'm still nursing him, but probably will have to bicycle and exercise to get them firm and toned again.
Hips- Hips that have cradled seven babies and birthed six. Hips that have labored and worked hard, harder than most women here, I think. Hips that have hurt, and I can hardly blame them, after all I've put them through. The pelvis is wide. Wide and motherly, having held all those babies, but not as wide as some. I look at these hips, think about the beautiful butterfly shape of the bones....wonder if they will ever cradle and embrace their complement, heavier, differently shaped, bigger yet seeking shelter. Will these bones touch against another's or will they be alone? I look at them, and think that probably, they will. I like men entirely too much for it to be otherwise. I wonder whose, and I don't know.....
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Why is it that I can go all day long and keep up a good front while I'm crumbling away inside, and then cry half the night? I must look like I have a heart of ice to the casual onlooker. I don't....but I just don't know how to show feelings, and even if I did, then they'd just say, "well, take him back then!".
But it isn't that. It's the whole hopelessness of it all. I am so fucking BORED. I really, *really* want an intelligent conversation, or just to go out and do something different for a change. It's not going to happen. It isn't so much that I'm ugly, because I've observed other people who are quite a bit uglier and seem happily mated with plenty of friends. It's that I take things so seriously and don't have any social charm. I'm afraid to flirt (don't want to seem like a slut or to let on that a guy is attractive to me), my sense of humor is not funny to a lot of people, and I can switch from laughing my head off to dead serious in seconds, which really seems to throw others for a loop.
So I just look through them and tune them out. They don't see me anyway...not really.
But it isn't that. It's the whole hopelessness of it all. I am so fucking BORED. I really, *really* want an intelligent conversation, or just to go out and do something different for a change. It's not going to happen. It isn't so much that I'm ugly, because I've observed other people who are quite a bit uglier and seem happily mated with plenty of friends. It's that I take things so seriously and don't have any social charm. I'm afraid to flirt (don't want to seem like a slut or to let on that a guy is attractive to me), my sense of humor is not funny to a lot of people, and I can switch from laughing my head off to dead serious in seconds, which really seems to throw others for a loop.
So I just look through them and tune them out. They don't see me anyway...not really.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Sigh.......
Okay, so he's gone now. I'm all alone, just like I wanted to be. But, I feel strange. Everything else is the same, but he's gone. It's surreal. I don't even know what I feel. :-/ And I know he said he didn't mean it when he said that nobody else would want me, but I can't quite shake the feeling that he's probably right. I look into the mirror and I just think, "Blech". Who would want that? Attempts at improvement make it more glaringly ugly. Makeup...I look like a clown or a goth or something horrid, UGH.
Time for the St. John's wort, I guess.....
Okay, so he's gone now. I'm all alone, just like I wanted to be. But, I feel strange. Everything else is the same, but he's gone. It's surreal. I don't even know what I feel. :-/ And I know he said he didn't mean it when he said that nobody else would want me, but I can't quite shake the feeling that he's probably right. I look into the mirror and I just think, "Blech". Who would want that? Attempts at improvement make it more glaringly ugly. Makeup...I look like a clown or a goth or something horrid, UGH.
Time for the St. John's wort, I guess.....
Friday, October 13, 2006
Oh god. He is strangling me to death with his neediness. All he seems to see or think about is memememememe...what HE needs. It's as though I have some sudden obligation to make him as utterly happy as I can, because, why? Because, in my heart, he says, I know that I want to! AAaaaargh!!!!!!!!!!
I'm trying to be nice and decent and tactful and all that, and it just isn't working. Instead, I feel like I'm on the verge of losing my mind (at which point he pipes up and says, "Yeah, me too!,How do you think I feel?")
Hello! I wasn't the one who got drunk with a baby in my care and who tried to drive off before discovering that I was too danged drunk to go anywhere, and so passed out until I could drive again (hopefully soon enough that the baby's mother would be blissfully ignorant of the whole debacle), except, luckily for the baby, someone called the cops before any driving could be done. That was you, dear, not me. That was my baby, unfed, diaper unchanged, for four whole hours, crying unattended while you and your stupid pickle-brained drinking buddy haw-haw-hawed your way through at least one bottle of vodka and possibly another. I was the one who lost 5 hours ($40 worth) of work that I couldn't afford to lose, so I could rescue my child and keep him from being taken away from me, who stood there trembling with my baby in my arms, so thankful that he was alive and unharmed. If only he could talk and tell me the truth, of all the other things he's had to go through, but he can't. He has to content himself with looking up at me innocently and sweetly and hoping/trusting that I won't hurt him or let anyone else hurt him, either. It's my duty. I'm a mother.
So enough with the damned guilt trips! Shove them down your craw! All my life, as long as I live, I'll not be able to make up what's already happened to the poor kid, and it'll be on my record with CPS, even though I didn't flipping do anything wrong except let you spend a few hours with your kid, when you'd been begging me for weeks. That's what giving in gets me. It's going to take a helluva lot more than guilt trips or begging or emotional manipulation to get anywhere at all with me in the future.
I despise drunks. I've always hated the sound of bars. How in the world did I end up in this disastrous mess? By trusting you, duh.
I'm trying to be nice and decent and tactful and all that, and it just isn't working. Instead, I feel like I'm on the verge of losing my mind (at which point he pipes up and says, "Yeah, me too!,How do you think I feel?")
Hello! I wasn't the one who got drunk with a baby in my care and who tried to drive off before discovering that I was too danged drunk to go anywhere, and so passed out until I could drive again (hopefully soon enough that the baby's mother would be blissfully ignorant of the whole debacle), except, luckily for the baby, someone called the cops before any driving could be done. That was you, dear, not me. That was my baby, unfed, diaper unchanged, for four whole hours, crying unattended while you and your stupid pickle-brained drinking buddy haw-haw-hawed your way through at least one bottle of vodka and possibly another. I was the one who lost 5 hours ($40 worth) of work that I couldn't afford to lose, so I could rescue my child and keep him from being taken away from me, who stood there trembling with my baby in my arms, so thankful that he was alive and unharmed. If only he could talk and tell me the truth, of all the other things he's had to go through, but he can't. He has to content himself with looking up at me innocently and sweetly and hoping/trusting that I won't hurt him or let anyone else hurt him, either. It's my duty. I'm a mother.
So enough with the damned guilt trips! Shove them down your craw! All my life, as long as I live, I'll not be able to make up what's already happened to the poor kid, and it'll be on my record with CPS, even though I didn't flipping do anything wrong except let you spend a few hours with your kid, when you'd been begging me for weeks. That's what giving in gets me. It's going to take a helluva lot more than guilt trips or begging or emotional manipulation to get anywhere at all with me in the future.
I despise drunks. I've always hated the sound of bars. How in the world did I end up in this disastrous mess? By trusting you, duh.
I keep buying things I don't need. Being a thrifty frugal sort by nature, it doesn't usually put me out a lot of money, but the fact is that in a small one bedroom house with 8 people, there just isn't any room for stuff I don't need, even it it's FREE stuff. What I should do is to make a list of things that I really need to want, and if the item isn't on the list, I won't take it, even if it's given to me. Wait....what to do if I get something cool that I never knew existed or hadn't thoght of, or never had, and I really like it?
First items on the list:
a Louet spinning wheel and wool cards
Flower bulbs
Supplies to make concrete stepping stones
possibly another sturdy sports bra, if I found one cheap.
First items on the list:
a Louet spinning wheel and wool cards
Flower bulbs
Supplies to make concrete stepping stones
possibly another sturdy sports bra, if I found one cheap.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Early memories and signs that I wasn't quite like the other people:
*I lived in my own little world and was very introspective. In fact, I don't remember speaking anywhere near as much as I *thought*. In addition, it was years before I could easily articulate the things I was thinking about.
*I did not understand boundaries. Oh, I got plenty of spankings....but somehow, I thought rules and boundaries were for people who wanted them, for regular people who wanted to be constrained by them, not for me.
*Other children seemed rather petty, babyish, and uninteresting, as a whole. They seemed to always be agreeing with one another without actually thinking very much about the subject they claimed to agree on.
*I couldn't understand the emphasis on money. If all they wanted was money, why didn't they just pass around an offering plate like they do at church?
*Nor could I understand clothing. I saw some big, lovely fuzzy burdock leaves and asked my babysitter why she couldn't use those for a bathing suit, so we could go swimming. She laughed as though it were absurd. I couldn't see why, they looked nice to me!
*I particularly hated people who talked behind people's backs and then acted all phony nice. I made a point to tell them what others were saying about them and to promote honesty between the two backstabbing parties. It didn't help, and I couldn't understand why not.
*The first thing I remember reading was some kind of a medical book. It belonged to my Grandfather (a doctor) and must have been from his time in the military (WWII). The book listed various injuries and whether the person had a good chance of living or not. I think it must have been discussing triage, a concept I didn't unerstand yet. I walked to school chanting silently to myself, that if a person lost an arm or a leg, they would probably live, but if they lost both legs and arms, they'd die (and all the variations in between). I really liked this book and found it fascinating, but one day my Grandpa discovered me reading it and took it away. He was really upset for some reason and I heard him scolding my teenage uncles. He seemed to think they had left it out...but I think I had found it in the attic. I looked for that book again, week after week, on the shelf where I'd put it, but I never found it again and that made me sad. I'm not sure they knew I could read. I was somewhere between 4 and 6.
*I was talking to my dad abbout numbers. He kept trying to show me about number lines, and my numbers didn't look like that. I told him that my numbers went up, kind of like stairs, into infinity, and that they were transparent and black. He went away mumbling "transparent black numbers....." as though that were an oxymoron. What I wanted to say was that in order for me to do math at all, I had to visually flip through these numbers, they were (were? still are!) like cards overlapping a little bit. When you find the one you want, it lights up. To add, you have to count ahead or skip the desired number of cards. Adding was easy, you just went up the stairs. Subtraction was hard because of the way the cards were layered, it's like falling down the stairs and then looking back up to make sure you fell far enough. You can see the numbers ahead, but not the ones behind. Multiples of ten were a different color or bolder. When I recited numbers (I counted out loud all the time) I emphasized the bold numbers. My uncle teased me for this and asked me why, but I couldn't explain it.
*Spelling was simple. I just pronounced things as irrationally as they were spelled, inside my head. So I had this constant stream going on: Ve-get-ables! Wed-nes-day! pe-op-le! (pee-oh-pull) fri-end! (fry-end) and I would see the words as I said them. I was very good at spelling.
*I daydreamed all the time. My thoughts were so vivid that people could wave hands in front of my face and I would not see them. Teachers complained of my not paying attention. I hardly heard what they said, anyhow.
*I loved art, but it was a little frustrating, because I had exact ideas of what I wanted to draw, and sometimes I even tried to trace it on the paper, but it didn't come out the way I wanted it to. I drew the same subject over and over and over and over again, hundreds of times, trying to get it right. Teachers got sick and tired of seeing the same subject matter.
*Poeple seemed so petty and crabby. They worried abot all sorts of trivial things I didn't care about, and then the things that did interest me, such as small snail shells found behind the hedges, or a matchbox, or an insect, were only bothersome annoyances to them. They expected me to care about what they liked, and yet they routinely destroyed or insulted what meant the most to me. That seemed so wrong.
---------------------------------------------------
If I think of more, I'll add that. In a nutshell, even though I was a child, I felt quite equal to the adults around me and expected to be treated with the same respect. If someone was condescending or abusive to me, I held a grudge against them for years, because I felt that they simply had no right to act that way.
*I lived in my own little world and was very introspective. In fact, I don't remember speaking anywhere near as much as I *thought*. In addition, it was years before I could easily articulate the things I was thinking about.
*I did not understand boundaries. Oh, I got plenty of spankings....but somehow, I thought rules and boundaries were for people who wanted them, for regular people who wanted to be constrained by them, not for me.
*Other children seemed rather petty, babyish, and uninteresting, as a whole. They seemed to always be agreeing with one another without actually thinking very much about the subject they claimed to agree on.
*I couldn't understand the emphasis on money. If all they wanted was money, why didn't they just pass around an offering plate like they do at church?
*Nor could I understand clothing. I saw some big, lovely fuzzy burdock leaves and asked my babysitter why she couldn't use those for a bathing suit, so we could go swimming. She laughed as though it were absurd. I couldn't see why, they looked nice to me!
*I particularly hated people who talked behind people's backs and then acted all phony nice. I made a point to tell them what others were saying about them and to promote honesty between the two backstabbing parties. It didn't help, and I couldn't understand why not.
*The first thing I remember reading was some kind of a medical book. It belonged to my Grandfather (a doctor) and must have been from his time in the military (WWII). The book listed various injuries and whether the person had a good chance of living or not. I think it must have been discussing triage, a concept I didn't unerstand yet. I walked to school chanting silently to myself, that if a person lost an arm or a leg, they would probably live, but if they lost both legs and arms, they'd die (and all the variations in between). I really liked this book and found it fascinating, but one day my Grandpa discovered me reading it and took it away. He was really upset for some reason and I heard him scolding my teenage uncles. He seemed to think they had left it out...but I think I had found it in the attic. I looked for that book again, week after week, on the shelf where I'd put it, but I never found it again and that made me sad. I'm not sure they knew I could read. I was somewhere between 4 and 6.
*I was talking to my dad abbout numbers. He kept trying to show me about number lines, and my numbers didn't look like that. I told him that my numbers went up, kind of like stairs, into infinity, and that they were transparent and black. He went away mumbling "transparent black numbers....." as though that were an oxymoron. What I wanted to say was that in order for me to do math at all, I had to visually flip through these numbers, they were (were? still are!) like cards overlapping a little bit. When you find the one you want, it lights up. To add, you have to count ahead or skip the desired number of cards. Adding was easy, you just went up the stairs. Subtraction was hard because of the way the cards were layered, it's like falling down the stairs and then looking back up to make sure you fell far enough. You can see the numbers ahead, but not the ones behind. Multiples of ten were a different color or bolder. When I recited numbers (I counted out loud all the time) I emphasized the bold numbers. My uncle teased me for this and asked me why, but I couldn't explain it.
*Spelling was simple. I just pronounced things as irrationally as they were spelled, inside my head. So I had this constant stream going on: Ve-get-ables! Wed-nes-day! pe-op-le! (pee-oh-pull) fri-end! (fry-end) and I would see the words as I said them. I was very good at spelling.
*I daydreamed all the time. My thoughts were so vivid that people could wave hands in front of my face and I would not see them. Teachers complained of my not paying attention. I hardly heard what they said, anyhow.
*I loved art, but it was a little frustrating, because I had exact ideas of what I wanted to draw, and sometimes I even tried to trace it on the paper, but it didn't come out the way I wanted it to. I drew the same subject over and over and over and over again, hundreds of times, trying to get it right. Teachers got sick and tired of seeing the same subject matter.
*Poeple seemed so petty and crabby. They worried abot all sorts of trivial things I didn't care about, and then the things that did interest me, such as small snail shells found behind the hedges, or a matchbox, or an insect, were only bothersome annoyances to them. They expected me to care about what they liked, and yet they routinely destroyed or insulted what meant the most to me. That seemed so wrong.
---------------------------------------------------
If I think of more, I'll add that. In a nutshell, even though I was a child, I felt quite equal to the adults around me and expected to be treated with the same respect. If someone was condescending or abusive to me, I held a grudge against them for years, because I felt that they simply had no right to act that way.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
::Work::
Wait. They don't care. They don't care if the food is substandard, if customers get bad service or no service at all, or the cleanliness leaves a lot to be desired. All this time I've been working my little hiney off trying to do my job the very best I can, and not only is my manager not pleased, he's pissed at me for it. Fuck it, then.
Wait. They don't care. They don't care if the food is substandard, if customers get bad service or no service at all, or the cleanliness leaves a lot to be desired. All this time I've been working my little hiney off trying to do my job the very best I can, and not only is my manager not pleased, he's pissed at me for it. Fuck it, then.
Monday, October 02, 2006
I'm always stirring up the shit. I think it's because I'm both terrified and contemptuous of complacency. I'd rather risk a bit of a reputation for constantly bringing up things people want left alone, or pointing out flaws, than to see people fall into ruts and stay there. Plodding along in the same old modes of thought day after day...not because it's the best way, but simply because it's comfortable and they're lazy. They're not going to take a fresh look at what they do or even stop to think about it unless someone goads them into it. That mindset (set? "concrete" might be a better term!) annoys the hell out of me, so I'm willing to risk a little dislike to poke them into seeing another point of view or stopping to question the M.O.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
He keeps on saying that he loves me, and I know that he wants me to say the same thing back, but I can't. I mean, I care about him, I'd be awfully upset if anything happened to him, and I feel affection for him...but I know that isn't what he'll be thinking I mean if I apply the label "love" to that, even though I could conceivably be called love in other contexts, such as with a brother or child or friend. This makes me feel sad.
But the kind of love that rips your guts out, that approaches insanity, where you'd do anything at all for someone, where you live and breathe sustained by the sight or mere thought of the one you love....I haven't felt that way in a while, and I don't know if I really want to again. It's too scary, it hurts too much.
The truth of it is that I just feel sort of blank and empty inside. It's like the lines from an Elton John song: "I want love, but it's impossible....a man like me is dead in places, other men feel liberated...I can't love shot full of holes, I don't feel nothing, I just feel cold.." That's how I feel right now. It isn't that I don't love him, it's just that I feel so wrung out and worn down and stressed out that I scarcely feel anything else.
Maybe love is for other people, one of the many pleasant things that are for other people, normal people, not people like me. Still, he loves me, and that means something. My heart can't be much broken right now, but his can. So, I should try to work it out for his sake, and maybe my feeling will return after a while...
But the kind of love that rips your guts out, that approaches insanity, where you'd do anything at all for someone, where you live and breathe sustained by the sight or mere thought of the one you love....I haven't felt that way in a while, and I don't know if I really want to again. It's too scary, it hurts too much.
The truth of it is that I just feel sort of blank and empty inside. It's like the lines from an Elton John song: "I want love, but it's impossible....a man like me is dead in places, other men feel liberated...I can't love shot full of holes, I don't feel nothing, I just feel cold.." That's how I feel right now. It isn't that I don't love him, it's just that I feel so wrung out and worn down and stressed out that I scarcely feel anything else.
Maybe love is for other people, one of the many pleasant things that are for other people, normal people, not people like me. Still, he loves me, and that means something. My heart can't be much broken right now, but his can. So, I should try to work it out for his sake, and maybe my feeling will return after a while...
Friday, September 22, 2006
I'm having to make my boyfriend move out. I hate to do it, particularly since we have a child together. Breaking up is always excruciatingly unpleasant, and what's hard about this is that I'm not really as angry as I need to be in order to do it quite effectively.
I don't know what's wrong with me, that I can't make relationships work even when I try. I think it's got something to do with boundaries, I have such a hard time enforcing them. I wish I could just have calm and stability and happiness, not in the effusive constantly joyous sense of the word, just....contentedness, peace.
I don't know what's wrong with me, that I can't make relationships work even when I try. I think it's got something to do with boundaries, I have such a hard time enforcing them. I wish I could just have calm and stability and happiness, not in the effusive constantly joyous sense of the word, just....contentedness, peace.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Thursday, September 07, 2006
I am beginning to realize that strong emotion of any kind scares me:
...............................................................
Boring as it may be, I suppose my preferred state of mind is running on an even keel. Sort of a neutral gray or gray-blue.
..............................................................
People often tell me that I should smile more often. Frankly, I don't like smiling a lot. It hurts my face, yes, with a physical pain, if overdone. It shows my ugly teeth (wish I'd been privileged enough for braces). It feels....extreme and overexuberant. A *little* smiling, OK. But all the time? No! It's uncomposed.
..............................................................
God, I'm boring.
..............................................................
I think perhaps people think that I'm unhappy if I'm not smiling. This is not the case at all! I'm at my happiest when calm, composed, thinking about something that tickles my mind. It's just the way I am. I'm happy, really.
.............................................................
Another thing: smiling just because you're standing there telling me to isn't going to help me at all. I will just plaster the (artficial feeling) smile onto my face until I determine that a reasonable amount of time must have passed, and then allow my face to resume it's natural, neutral expression again. It feels so FAKE!
<::><::><::><::><::><::><::><::><::><::><::><::><::><::><::><::><::>
And here's something else that's bothering me.
Why do I reject the men that I like the most, not always intentionally but through my actions?
Why do I act cold or pretend like I don't like a guy, even if my insides are swimming with excitement and I can hardly think for the blood pounding in my head?
Why do I ignore them?
Why am I so afraid to look at them?
Why does it *hurt* me to look at an attractive man? Yeah, it does, it hurts. It's almost an electric shock like sensation, but in my eyes, and not quite physical. That's the best way I can describe it.
Why is it so *damned* hard for me to admit that I love or care about a man, and even harder to tell them so?
I mean, why can I tell just about everyone else on the face of the earth that I like a particular man, but then, if it come down to telling him myself...Oh god NO, please no.
These things hurt me. I wish that I could be more expressive, that I didn't have to be afraid. The more I love a guy, the less able I am to communicate it to him, except through actions, such as remembering his preferences.
:-/
- Love: oh, don't get me started... This has got to be the most intimidating thing on earth, after snakes. No, scarier than snakes....love _is_ the most frightening, period.
- Anger: Feeling angry makes me shake; I hate it.
- Happiness/joy: feels...silly, embarrassing.
- Sadness: probably I take this better than the others, but still, too much is pretty unbearable.
...............................................................
Boring as it may be, I suppose my preferred state of mind is running on an even keel. Sort of a neutral gray or gray-blue.
..............................................................
People often tell me that I should smile more often. Frankly, I don't like smiling a lot. It hurts my face, yes, with a physical pain, if overdone. It shows my ugly teeth (wish I'd been privileged enough for braces). It feels....extreme and overexuberant. A *little* smiling, OK. But all the time? No! It's uncomposed.
..............................................................
God, I'm boring.
..............................................................
I think perhaps people think that I'm unhappy if I'm not smiling. This is not the case at all! I'm at my happiest when calm, composed, thinking about something that tickles my mind. It's just the way I am. I'm happy, really.
.............................................................
Another thing: smiling just because you're standing there telling me to isn't going to help me at all. I will just plaster the (artficial feeling) smile onto my face until I determine that a reasonable amount of time must have passed, and then allow my face to resume it's natural, neutral expression again. It feels so FAKE!
<::><::><::><::><::><::><::><::><::><::><::><::><::><::><::><::><::>
And here's something else that's bothering me.
Why do I reject the men that I like the most, not always intentionally but through my actions?
Why do I act cold or pretend like I don't like a guy, even if my insides are swimming with excitement and I can hardly think for the blood pounding in my head?
Why do I ignore them?
Why am I so afraid to look at them?
Why does it *hurt* me to look at an attractive man? Yeah, it does, it hurts. It's almost an electric shock like sensation, but in my eyes, and not quite physical. That's the best way I can describe it.
Why is it so *damned* hard for me to admit that I love or care about a man, and even harder to tell them so?
I mean, why can I tell just about everyone else on the face of the earth that I like a particular man, but then, if it come down to telling him myself...Oh god NO, please no.
These things hurt me. I wish that I could be more expressive, that I didn't have to be afraid. The more I love a guy, the less able I am to communicate it to him, except through actions, such as remembering his preferences.
:-/
Thursday, August 31, 2006
I wonder what would happen if the word love were banned from our vocabulary. I sometimes feel that our culture cheapens love by applying it to every and any sort of "like" or "affetion" or even "that is pleasant".Love is everywhere. When you hear the word, your ears don't perk up, you don't turn to look, it isn't even romantic. Hearing it from a person very often means that they're either about to try to talk you into something you'd rather not do or they want to obligate you into something.
If we couldn't say it at all, would we put more effort into *showing* the depth of our feeling for the people who mattered most to us? When we did say it, wouldn't it be because it had sat festering in our breast until finally, against the law, the words had to be uttered because you felt them so strongly?
And wouldn't we expand our vocabulary, not only of speech but of actions, to embrace all the variations and nuances of being pleased with a thing or person?
If we couldn't say it at all, would we put more effort into *showing* the depth of our feeling for the people who mattered most to us? When we did say it, wouldn't it be because it had sat festering in our breast until finally, against the law, the words had to be uttered because you felt them so strongly?
And wouldn't we expand our vocabulary, not only of speech but of actions, to embrace all the variations and nuances of being pleased with a thing or person?
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Well, now that I have an oven, I'm back into the baking mood again. Sadly enough, my knack for baking seemed to have drifted away in the meantime... Actually, the potato onion knishes I made last night were awfully good. Perfect, in fact. It's the apple filled challah I'm making (er, burning) right now that's got me humiliated. I guess it really DOES need to raise 2-3 times in order to turn out well, and substituting cherries for apples is a bad, bad idea. I mean, they're tasty and all, but they leak all over and ooze cherry juice all over the pan and burn and the smell is awful. And it's not as sweet as it should be, either. I have no idea why not...except that the dough wa sa lot stickier than usual (sweet doughs often are) and so I had to use more flour than the recipe called for. (Uh, that might be why it's not sweet enough and feels too dense...duh...) Dang it, I wanted to make something *nice*! Well, maybe next time I'll follow the directions more closely instead of doing it "my way".
I'm feeling a little better about my job. A couple of the people who've been irritating me the most are either gone or leaving soon. Also I realized why I was so stressed out, and even though that element is unlikely to change, being able to recognize it has been helpful. I still find the knowledge that I'm contributing to sending people to their demise (via obesity, heart disease, high cholesterol, and god only knows what else) somewhat disturbing, but it's also true that I can make healthier foods available for people to choose from. The only thing is, if Staci leaves, I honestly don't know if I'll want to stay. It'd be too much like drudgery with her gone, she's such a kick.
Oh, wait- I had a little less than the amount of yeast called for. That might be part of why it's so dense. Yeah. (Note to self: buy more yeast, a lot of it, like half a pound)
I'm so tired. I have to be out the door tomorrow at about 6:00-6:30, to get my car into the shop to be worked on before work, and hope that they get it done in time. Ugh, tomorrow is freight day, and the freezer's going to be packed FULL of boxes of bread dough weighing 40# each, that all have to be sorted and stacked. Groan...thinking about it makes me hips hurt already. I'll bread chicken instead. I did freight tha last two Fridays.
Realized something else disturbing: I tend to find men who project a tragic or melancholic aura attractive. WTF???? WHY haven't I ever examined this screwed up facet of myself before? And then, after I've been with them for a while and tried to nurse them back to happiness, one of two things happens: They're happy, and I'm bored and see someone else sad that I'd like to cheer up (whih isn't saying that I cheat- I don't- it's just that I feel sorry for sad men), or: They remain depressed because that's their normal mode, and I begin to get offended by it (What's the matter with you? Aren't I good enough? I'm TRYING to make you happy!!!). And see, the basic premise here, that I can be responsible for anyone else's happiness, is all wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.....
I guess part of it is that wounded guys look so much like sad little boys. You just sort of want to hold them and kiss the owies and make them all better, because guys are supposed to have that stiff upper lip and it's really hard to take to see them all forlorn. :-/
I'm feeling a little better about my job. A couple of the people who've been irritating me the most are either gone or leaving soon. Also I realized why I was so stressed out, and even though that element is unlikely to change, being able to recognize it has been helpful. I still find the knowledge that I'm contributing to sending people to their demise (via obesity, heart disease, high cholesterol, and god only knows what else) somewhat disturbing, but it's also true that I can make healthier foods available for people to choose from. The only thing is, if Staci leaves, I honestly don't know if I'll want to stay. It'd be too much like drudgery with her gone, she's such a kick.
Oh, wait- I had a little less than the amount of yeast called for. That might be part of why it's so dense. Yeah. (Note to self: buy more yeast, a lot of it, like half a pound)
I'm so tired. I have to be out the door tomorrow at about 6:00-6:30, to get my car into the shop to be worked on before work, and hope that they get it done in time. Ugh, tomorrow is freight day, and the freezer's going to be packed FULL of boxes of bread dough weighing 40# each, that all have to be sorted and stacked. Groan...thinking about it makes me hips hurt already. I'll bread chicken instead. I did freight tha last two Fridays.
Realized something else disturbing: I tend to find men who project a tragic or melancholic aura attractive. WTF???? WHY haven't I ever examined this screwed up facet of myself before? And then, after I've been with them for a while and tried to nurse them back to happiness, one of two things happens: They're happy, and I'm bored and see someone else sad that I'd like to cheer up (whih isn't saying that I cheat- I don't- it's just that I feel sorry for sad men), or: They remain depressed because that's their normal mode, and I begin to get offended by it (What's the matter with you? Aren't I good enough? I'm TRYING to make you happy!!!). And see, the basic premise here, that I can be responsible for anyone else's happiness, is all wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.....
I guess part of it is that wounded guys look so much like sad little boys. You just sort of want to hold them and kiss the owies and make them all better, because guys are supposed to have that stiff upper lip and it's really hard to take to see them all forlorn. :-/