The fact that I’d been working seven days a week for the past few weeks did not go unnoticed.
Of course, they noticed back in December how overloaded I was and they just chose to do something about it now…
Long story short, I’m not longer managing a person. We’ve split the companies I do the books for in half. I get the company I originally started working for and a company that I already have industry experience in. (Was that English? I don’t know. I’m tired.)
I’m thrilled to bits about this change because I really dislike the person we hired.
All four of us loved her during the interviews, but she has not lived up to the hype. She’s weak. I don’t do weak. (She’s every insecure and she’s said somethings that just put me on edge and make me want to rip her to shreds. This is even AFTER we upped my meds to curb the various issues managing her was causing me.)
She also doesn’t fucking listen. I’ve told her repeatedly that one of my biggest pet peeves is when people attach the check stub to the front of the invoice. I don’t need to see the check stub - I can do a search in QB if I need the check number and date. Whelp - she attached a fucking check stub to the front of a bunch of invoices I needed to go through. I wasn’t expecting to find a staple there - SINCE I SPECIFICALLY TOLD HER NOT TO DO THAT. Sliced my finger wide fucking open on the staple. And then I had to deal with the fact that no matter how I creased the stub, the stupid fucking thing was blocking the information I needed. I ended up going through that stack of invoices and putting the check stub where it belongs. (I know it sounds petty - but this is how we do things in this company’s accounting department. Period. It’s not the only thing she’s done wrong either, but I’m still pretty pissed off about my finger.)
I can’t wait to get rid of her.
In other news, I’ve kept my addiction to The Hunger Games to a minimum here. It’s for a couple of reasons -
1) I have friends who just aren’t in to certain pop culture things. I totally respect that and I don’t want to turn them off with my incessant babbling about the books.
2) The Twihards have driven me / still drive me nuts. Why celebrate a book where the main character is weak and the disco ball boyfriend is abusive? It’s not “romantic”; it’s upsetting and, on top of that, they’re poorly written. Don’t even get me started on the whole vampire sex, baby birth, imprinting thing. That’s the most disturbing thing I’ve ever read, and I’ve read some sick, twisted shit.
3) If I do have friends who are curious about the books, I want them to read them. With as few spoilers as possible.
4) If you’re checking out the movie before the books - the movie is a fair representation. It’s hard to make a first person narrative into a third person movie. They filled in some of the blanks, which was interesting, but other things strayed from the book and kind of annoyed me. On a scale of Shawshank Redemption (10) to absolute crap (1) I rate this a solid 8 - really good, but not perfect. The Harry Potter’s adaptions are about an 8.5 / 9 for comparison.
I will leave you with this from “Mockingjay” - possibly my favorite book of the trilogy - because I thought I saw a dandelion the other day:
What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again.
I’ve read Christine’s blog on and off since she’s been online. Hell, I remember when she chose the name Big Pink Cookie!
Like most of us old school bloggers, we have a lot of online friends in common and most of us are Facebook friends with each other. Well, Christine is a professional photographer now, and posted on Erika’s (the former Snazzykat) Facebook wall that she was going to be in Boston in May.
I sucked it up, sent Christine a FB message, and BAM!
I have my Red Dress photoshoot with a photographer I don’t know, haven’t yet met, but I feel like I know her pretty well and as a result, I trust her immensely. May is going to take forever to get here.
God bless teh interwebs.
I’m spending this afternoon alternating between uploading Black Mountain Symphony videos from my phone to YouTube (It’s y-o-u tube, not u-tube), listening to a thing BMS did on an Albany area radio station and splitting it into mp3s, installing the Sims 3 onto the iMac since my laptop hates it, working on my story and reading “The Principles of Knitting”.
I guess some people would call that multi-tasking.
I’m calling it mania. I have the attention span of a flea right now which is making all of that possible.
The first song BMS played on this radio show is a song of Charlie’s. He doesn’t perform with them a lot, and I’ve only heard him sing a few times, but I love it when he does. “In Your Waking Life” is already my favorite and I’ve only heard it twice, maybe three, times. The title of this entry is a line from it, and it really sums up the mania well.
I’m not selfish - so here’s “In Your Waking Life”, “Cradle” and “Stop Stopping” from the radio show. (Bill wasn’t there, so “Cradle” is missing the kick ass percussion solo. It’s still a great song, tho.)
Don’t be a dick, ya’ll - be sure and right-click.
If you like what you hear, check ‘em out on Facebook or MySpace. Buy their CD on CD Baby. Take in a live show! You won’t be sorry.
It’s March 14th and I’m already finished with 2012.
I can’t fucking catch a break anywhere.
Now that the accounting department has been vastly restructured at work, a lot of my happy came back. (Not that the bipolar is helping matters.)
Of course, the day after my happy started moving home, we found out one of our coworkers has cancer.
All I can say is that little bossman’s decision to get disability insurance for our employees was the best thing he’s ever done for the company since he took over.
I’m tired of dealing with all this grown up crap.
Seriously, what’s it going to take for 2012 to stop being such a major shitshow?!?!
... if you could even last an hour, that is.
It’s hard to describe to people what’s going on in there on a good day. On a bad day/week/month/year, it’s beyond impossible.
I dip into deep, deep, dark, scary dark, depressions a lot lately and they’re tinged with anger. Rage, even. The voices in my head are incredibly mean lately, too.
We’re working on fixing this, but it’s not like any other illness, where success is easier to measure. Therapy and pills are the weapons of choice, but they’re sticks and stones. I need higher power weaponry. Ninja level shit.
My body, however, wants to make this even harder to fight. Bad reactions to the slightest change in ingredients that makes a drug a generic, problems with my heart defects (yes, TWO! Two heart defects. Ha ha ha.), problems with insurance (because the pills that work aren’t always covered. yup.), and problems with side effects. (Remind me to tell you the story of how upping one of my meds two months ago made me go blind. Really.)
The wrong combination of pills fucks with my heart. The right combination of pills makes me top 200 pounds. A tolerable, almost perfect, combination of pills has me experiencing extremes lately: extreme stability and extreme bipolar. After all the trial and error, we’re not quite ready to give up on this combination. It’s worked so well for years. YEARS!
We tack on an extra milligram here and there, we change the times the meds are taken, we cross our fingers.
And we hope.
I stopped hanging around with other mentally ill people online a while ago. Some of them were faking. Some of them had learned how to work the system and get disability even though they’re not entitled to it. Some are seriously fucked in the head, and probably misdiagnosed. It’s not a world where I can find people I have things in common with anymore. The landscape has changed.
As I’ve gotten older, it’s gotten worse. I’m on my fourth go-round of trying to decide what we would need to cut to be able to live on J’s salary. I am getting to the point where I can, unquestionably, undeniably, qualify for SSDI. I’ve been subtle about it, but I’m exercising my rights under the ADA* that my employer make reasonable accommodations for me. And yet, I refuse to give up. Even though the writing is on the wall.
I grab my helmet, and my gun, and I head into the battle.
I refuse to give up this fight until I’ve won.
Or I die.
*Thank you, Teddy Kennedy. I will always love you forever for that.