So… that was randomly fitting. Not amused that it showed up today, though.
Yesterday, I was talking to a coworker about a coworker that left. Former coworker once told me that I wasn’t as tough as I thought I was.
I never told him that the scar between my eyebrows is from a cigarette. I was five or six when my mother chose to use my forehead as an ashtray.
But. Yeah.
Just because I don’t talk about all those “that which doesn’t kill me, makes me stronger” moments, doesn’t mean I don’t have them.
Back to the scar through, because that was the trigger.
Current coworker said that he’d be willing to go back and fix his mistakes. I said I wouldn’t change a fucking thing.
When he asked why, I didn’t really have an answer.
I just wouldn’t.
All the shit I went through - the chance to fix things - to have my father live longer - all of it… nope. Wouldn’t change a goddamn thing.
(Which makes me question my mental health, but that’s nothing new.)
There’s no way I’d trade my scars for better ones
Yeah.
I had this dream last night about my mother. I NEVER dream about her. When I dream about family it’s always my father… and it’s always the nightmare of finding him dead in his apartment.
I can’t even remember all the details, but it was upsetting.
LIKE SUPER UPSETTING.
I am obviously not as tough as I think I am if that dream rocked my world… and not in a good way.
Other than the dad-mares, I’e never woken up crying before.
I was back to being young me, pre-divorce, pre-death…
I’ve been lost and I’ve been sinking / Broken, coming back together / I’ve been stalling, slipping, falling…
Fuck, dude. You have no idea.
She fucking broke me and I relieved some of her greatest hits (yup, I went there) last night.
It took moving out and her dying before I could finally start to heal.
I’ve been lost and I’ve been broken / Finally coming back together
I’ve never been suicidal, but I’ve gone to dark, dangerous, places. She sent me there. Often.
I don’t wanna be afraid of my thoughts / I don’t wanna be scared of my shadow
It’s taken a lot of work to put her behind me… but, of course, I’m not free of her. I doubt I’ll ever be.
The part that I always come back to, the part that I can’t shake, is who my mother was before she became a monster.
She graduated from UConn with a degree in something like Home Ec - child development or some such nonsense.
She was a social worker.
A perfect PTA mom.
Everybody looks for love where it’s not // Everybody wants to know they matter
I don’t think I was ever truly loved.
I don’t think I ever mattered.
The pull of the bottle was stronger than the pull of her only child.
Sooooooooooo…
I’m already in this stupid bad headspace because of the fucking dream and my iPhone decides to play this during my commute.
I better dream of fucking puppies and unicorns tonight.
I’ll take “Things Missing from UCMB Road Trips”, Alex…
*snicker*
Somehow, I knew that damn hashtag would come back to haunt me.
After winning NaNoWriMo a few years ago, I decided to try Scrivener. Hey, anything recommended by John Finnemore has to be worth checking out. (Speaking of checking out, “Cabin Pressure” by John Finnemore is a BBC radio programme he wrote that features Babblingbrook Crazyhorse, Roger Allam, and Anthony Head. It is HYSTERICAL. There are 26 episodes but the best one is Qikiqtarjuaq.)
Shit. Sorry. I squirrelled.
But. OMG! I miss Cabin Pressure SO FUCKING MUCH.
Anywhooooo…
I’d been using Storyist and while I liked it, I wasn’t in love with it. I had to use a third party app if I wanted to write on my iPhone. It was a mess. A huge mess.
I tried Scrivener and DAMN!. It was love at first sight.
So. Much. Love.
I use it on my iPhone. I use it on my MacBook. I use(d) it on my iMac.
It was mobile. It was quick. It was perfect.
And then I bought that damn PC laptop for work.
I decided to check out Scriv 3 for Windows. (Rumor had it I might be sent to our Panhandle location from time to time so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to check it out.)
And - as I’ve become fond of saying lately - shit went sideways.
I couldn’t back up.
I couldn’t sync.
Fuck. I couldn’t even save.
Uninstall. Reinstall. Slaughter a chicken. Dance in a graveyard. Uninstall. Reinstall.
I could save.
I could backup.
I still couldn’t sync.
Isolate issue to Dropbov.
Uninstall. Reinstall. Insult the computer’s mother. Uninstall. Reinstall.
I could save.
I could back up.
I could sync.
And then…
Then the screen layout opened UPSIDE DOWN.
I swear to fuck, I cannot win.
But! I got it to sync and the Windows Scriv support team now has a new issue that should have popped up in Beta testing.
I’m going to stick to my Apple apps, though.
- - - - - - - - - -
About a year ago, I went to the eye doctor and got fitted for bifocals - glasses and contacts.
And so began the worst year of my life. Vision-wise.
I struggled to see far.
I struggled to see near.
I couldn’t cross stitch.
I couldn’t knit.
I couldn’t fucking read.
And so began this weird year of not wearing glasses / contacts or wearing contacts and cheaters or wearing glasses and holding the frames so that the lenses matched up to where my eyes were focused. (Does that make sense? It Englishes, right?)
I finally gave up and saw a different doctor this year.
The test pair of contacts? HOLY FUCK.
I am so excited to be able to see again.
- - - - - - - - - -
Stupidly enough, I’m so excited that I have to burn a day off to wait for the city permit guy to come to the house.
Oh, Wait… you don’t know the entire saga.
In December, we headed to Lowes to price out a new front door. We had everything we needed and got it to the HOA in time for the December Architectural Committee meeting.
In January, we were at Universal when I got the call that they needed six more pieces of information before they could discuss it in THAT NIGHT’S MEETING.
THEY. HAD. A. FUCKING MONTH.
(And I didn’t even get the door I wanted. I got the same ugly ass door that everyone has, so this shouldn’t have been an issue.)
In February, we finally get clearance from those fuckers that we could install the door.
Well, you can’t order the door without the HOA letter of approval - at least from Lowe’s - so that was a whole new time suck.
In March, we finally ordered the door.
In April, we applied for the permit. Because you can’t even fart in your house without a permit in DFB.
In May, the door was FINALLY installed.
It will be mid-June before we can fix up the paint around the door… because DFB has to come out and inspect it before we can do anything else. (Like we have to keep the stickers on the door! Why?????)
There is absolutely no reason for this to be so fucking hard.
All that to bring up the landfill.
(And if that isn’t a roundabout way to get to a point, then I don’t know what is.)
There is a landfill not too far from here and Waste Management owns it.
WM wants to tear down a building and create a second landfill there.
Which is - essentially - in our backyard.
I don’t know anyone who wants to live downwind of a landfill.
I agree that it will negatively affect the value of my house.
I am a loud and proud NIMBY… in this situation.
Just, Jesus fuck, let a girl put an ugly, community matching, door on her house, yeah?
Because there are way more important battles to fight.
I’m pre-empting my own fucking blog entry because, for as much as I love an absolutely terrible horror movie, even I can’t get past a movie who’s first line is - no shit - “There’s no such thing as strip ouija…” Like are you fucking kidding me?!?!
If all you have to offer me in the first half hour involves nudity or, well, strip ouija, yeah…. no.
Give me a red ball bouncing or rolling around on its own power or a good “The power of Christ compels you” any day.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
All of a sudden, all kinds of fan fic is getting bookmarked. (I might have rediscovered a Drarry fic group. Maybe. In my defence, my fics have been recommended there, so we were bound to cross paths again.)
So… apparently, when a guy gets an inappropriate boner and uses a pillow to hide his obvious interest, he grabs an emotional support boner cushion.
But, wait. It gets better.
“Like if a blueberry muffin was a person. A very intense blueberry muffin.”
OK. I get the cinnamon roll thing, but blueberry muffin? That’s a stretch even for my warped imagination. Doesn’t matter. That fic was such a fun read, I’ll probably read it again.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I’m still working a fuck ton. Still pissing my weekends away trying to get caught up.
Except, that wasn’t enough for me, so now I’m taking a CMA study course. (Not just part 1 or part 2, but the combined, so I’m in class Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday from 8-10:30.)
Yeah.
I’m a fucking idiot.
On the plus side, the new accountant is working out, so maybe I’ll be able to hand some of that off soon.
Also - we have a new Director of Operations. He’s so cute. He started, took a look at the way things are, and decided he had to make a fuck-ton of changes in procedures and staff. He and I are on the same page with a lot of things. Surprisingly, they were all the same things I wanted to change when I started. (And on 4/20, it will be a year.) So, yeah.
Welcome to [the company], dude. Where you come in all excited to make some meaningful changes and realise that you’re never going to get there because YOU’RE STILL CLEANING UP THE FUCKING PAST.
Seriously.
He didn’t understand when I told him why I hadn’t closed 2020 or any of 2021 yet.
Dylan O’Brien is totally on my list. You know, THE LIST.
On Monday, I stumbled across some very good fan fic.
You know: Poetry. Angels sing. God is in the heavens and all is right in the world.
When I find something that makes me want to NEVER! WRITE! AGAIN! I treasure that bitch.
And then, when I finish it, I obsess over whatever my current WIP is.
I’m on draft 4 of my shitty Teen Wolf fic, draft 3 of my Yuri!!! On Ice fic, draft 6 of my Harry Potter Eighth Year fic (now with multiple POVs! WOOO!), and I’m stuck on the 2nd3rd4thfuck it, I lost count draft of my Harry Potter soulmates fic.
It’s probably an understatement that I’m obsessing over what fic to obsess over…
But. FUCK.
For as smart as I am, for as many words as I’ve written over my lifetime, for the voices I’ve cultivated both for ‘serious’ writing and ‘internet’ writing, I still suffer from Imposter Syndrome.
My writing has won fucking awards. It’s popular on AO3. It’s made grown men cry. It answered that age old question, How Do You Tell Someone You Don’t Love Them Any More? It’s opened wounds. It’s healed them.
It’s alive and amazing and wonderful and it’s something I created. By myself. For myself.
But. FUCK.
That little lemony piece of goodness I finished snacking on - why was it so fucking short - was just an amazing piece.
One day, I’ll be able to write mindblowing tales of tentacle porn between ghosts, blow up T-Rexes, and walruses who are calculating the square root of cheese while doing lines of coke and having sex with chickens…
No.
Wait.
That wasn’t the story I just read.
That was the fucked up dream I had when I added a doxy to my nighttime ‘fuck insomnia’ cocktail.
Kinda made me never want to sleep again.
Seriously.
*sigh*
- - - - - - - - - -
One of my fanfic groups asked if you were any AO3 tag which one(s) would you be?
I chewed on that question for days but the winner is: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT
Honorable mention went to no beta we die like men, but I’m totally a dead dove.
The deadest of doves.
- - - - - - - - - -
Day whatever of Quarantine is under my belt (we both tested fucking positive!) and I am miserable.
Thankfully, that little habit I developed of working over the weekend has served me well. My home office is set up and (mostly) organized and I’ve been working without missing a beat.
In other news, we’re not firing my staff accountant… she quit.
Small little issue with her replacement, but I’m hoping it won’t blow up into something larger. I’m all for second chances and this seems like it might be worth the risk.
I may write multiple shitty drafts, but I’ve never written anything this bad.
Soooooooo. A lot has happened in two months.
The one I find most amusing is that I posted my 10 favourite R.E.M. songs on Facebook and somebody caught the fact that both Good Advices and Wendell Gee were on the list.
Somebody’s been paying attention. If you don’t know what the significance is… well, I’m afraid I can’t help you. (Says “Wendell” who blogs at “goodadvices”.com and has an email address of “wendellgee1985”.)
The second one is that we fired and hired a CPA firm on Friday and then hired a new AR person this morning.
I AM SO EXCITED.
I know I’m an asshole, but I am so glad to be letting go of my AR person. I’ve have a problem with her since I started there. Her emails are typically written in redneck and are terribly embarrassing to read. As her boss, it’s HORRIFYING to come across these in my inbox. She’s such a bad reflection on me and my department… and I’ve let my feelings known. She’s also incapable of following instructions and refuses to take responsibility for anything. My number one rule is Own. Your. Shit. and she refuses. So… we’re bringing someone on board who will.
- - - - - - - - - - -
There’s so much I do - and don’t - want to talk about that I can’t even find a place to begin or a way to separate the two.
The major thing is: Mitch McConnell is a fucking asshole. But that’s really neither here nor there… it’s not like we didn’t know it.
I don’t know. I’m alive. I’m still working weekends. I’ve gotten better at running more frequently. I’m studying for two major exams. I’m focusing on Ukrainian.
