The Wisdom in Spam

Job Application.jpgI didn’t know what I was going to write about today; it’s been a shit day, and I pretty much decided that I’m not going back to work because fuck that place and those people. Pretty much because I haven’t quit or found a job in years, and the prospect of having to hardcore get down to it freaks me out quite a bit. I’ve just been dilly-dallying for the past month, putting in applications here and there.

Full disclosure: I got and quit my job at Domino’s in 2013, but I’m an old hand at getting and quitting jobs at Domino’s. That’s no big deal. Anyway. 

Then I think about when I got this job, and how badly I panicked when it was time to go to my interview, and even worse when it was my first day. I’m scared a lot, and when I say a lot, I mean a freaking lot, and it isn’t safe to try new things and new experiences, especially all by myself. It isn’t safe at all. It’s big and scary and I would rather be four years old and facing monsters under my bed in the dark. Without a blanket to hide under. Dangling my feet over the edge of the bed.

But it’s not fair to myself to keep going to work at a place that makes me so miserable I ugly cry in public. And in private. Really, whenever the urge strikes. I’ve ugly cried more this year already than I did last year, and I had such a bad time with side effects from Topamax last year I ended up skipping my 20th reunion Homecoming game.

So today I posted a status on Facebook: so this is probably gonna be my last day here. Who’s hiring? Within minutes, a friend of mine posted that his part-time job was hiring. At my old mall! At my happy place! I told him I’d apply when I got home tonight, and he said he’d told his boss. Super important bonus: they sell body jewelry, so I won’t have to hide my piercings. So wish me luck on this one, y’all. Thanks fam.

When I got home tonight I changed my clothes and applied for that job. And it’s funny: I wouldn’t give my youngest brother my email a few weeks ago when he called our mom and said he needed it for a job application, because who ever heard of an employer needing a reference’s email address? Well, now I have. Whatever, I still don’t believe my brother. He also said he needed our parents’ birthdates for his application. And really, come on. Know your own parents’ birthdays, jeez.

So I texted my old assistant manager for his email, and I texted another friend to make sure I could use him as a reference. I’m reasonably certain that I’ve asked him that before, and I knew he’d agree, but it’s just good manners to ask, right? Plus I was simply hoping to hear back from him because he’s had a pretty shit time of it lately.

I did hear back, and he did agree, and when he asked what was going on, I told him I want to cry every time I even think about work and I can’t do this shit anymore. Like I don’t plan on going back and I’m crying now because fuck them so much. That sounds like TMI now, but if you’re not going to be honest with your friends, what’s the point of having them, right?

So of course he confirmed that the shit is fucked and gave me some directions for job hunting. And his wife just got a new job herself, and she said she’ll keep an eye out for me, too. Sometimes I think maybe I have better friends than I deserve. But  then I remember that I’m not my job, and I’m a decent person, so there’s that.

And then I went to my dashboard to read my spam comments. Yes, it was all spam, but one of them struck a nerve.

It is the best time to make a few plans for the long run and it’s time to be happy.
I have read this publish and if I may I wish to counsel you few fascinating things
or advice. Perhaps you can write subsequent articles referring to this article.
I wish to read even more issues about it!

Okay, maybe not that last bit, but the first sentence, for real though. Thanks, spam.

And then my husband texted me that he’s bringing me home a weird chair, and all’s right with the world. I’ll show you pics tomorrow. I hope it’s weird af.


This Lacuna Comes Uncoiled

I know, I know, I’ve been gone a while, and I crapped out on the March Photo Challenge and most of ICLW. But everybody loves excuses, right? They’re like parfait. Plus, I like the word ‘lacuna.’

It has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad past few weeks. Are things any better now? Maybe, kind of, I guess, some of them. Some are as bad as ever, some are worse.

I’m two week waiting right now, after my first round of letrozole, that I was in the midst of taking during our first trip to court for custody. I only had a few hot flashes and four days of bone pain, so I’ll vote that it’s better than Clomid.

Oh yes, court. The only thing we got resolved so far is that she can’t refuse to let us see our baby anymore like she did for over three months, which, I’ll admit, is at least a start.

Maybe schools could add a bit to sex ed, take a day to explain that children are not weapons, that when you refuse to settle custody agreeably, the only people who profit are lawyers and social workers. Boy, do they profit!

Obviously, there’s a lot more to it, but I’m not really willing to share much more here until everything is worked out, which will be at least a few more months.

So I’ve been breaking out in hives almost daily, occasionally from heat, mostly from stress. I’ve woken up screaming from nightmares every single night for three weeks straight, but that finally seems to be winding down.

I applied for a job yesterday, kind of. Okay, I wrote down my name and phone number for the owner of a snow cone stand. I love snow cones. Plus I’d get to be in a little box all day by myself. Could it get any better?

I’ve tried to write, I’ve opened blank posts and stared at them, but just closed them again without a single word. I have been reading and thinking about all of you, but it’s been too hard to comment.

I hope I can do some catching up and get back to posting soon. I owe strugglingwithbipolar a post, at the very least.

Right now, there’s not much else to do besides keep on keepin’ on, make sure we take care of daughter the best we can when we do have her, and pee on a stick…on our anniversary.