Jimmy the Pimp is pushing hard to find me my next job.
I’m glad he is, because firing up a computer to do nothing more than read fan fic is proving difficult right now.
Do you think NHES will forgive me for not looking for work this week? I’m so emotionally ill, it’s carried over, and now I’m physically ill.
You know those anti-depressant commercials on TV?
NOT written by the clinically, seriously, honest-to-Dog-I wouldn’t-wish-this-on-ANYONE, depressed.
Shit, I’m so far down in the dumps that just the IDEA of moving at all hurts.
You know how you get the flu and get all achy and miserable? I don’t know about others, but, dude, even my hair hurts. MY HAIR.
I’m going to knitting tonight, despite the fact that leaving the house is the very last thing I want to do, particularly for that reason.
If I don’t force myself, I can’t get past this point. No drugs can compete with this and win.
I know.
I’ve tried.
——
In other news…
On Saturday, Silent P jokingly took offense to being called Silent P… I took a look at the contacts in my phone and am seriously considering sending him the following list.
I have people in my phone named Bear, Boski, Bipolar Bro, C-Rollz, Cute Printer Boy, D, DJ D, Drug Dealer, Duke of Stud, Fingers, FNFTF, Football Boyfriend, Jimmy the Pimp, Little Bro, Maxon, Orion, Rothie, Skinny, Soup, Sprout, Stellen (f), Stellen (m), The Chicken is Boba Fett, Umbatu X Jaboba, and Zop.
I used to have someone named “Carlos Spicyweiner” in there, too, but, uh, we broke up. Again. Maybe I’ll find someone else I can use that for… eventually.
If I ever lose my phone, I feel sorry for the person that finds it. They’re not going to have ANY idea who these people are.
Yeah, I should probably use the real names in my contact list, but I’m the one that has to look at them on a daily basis and I LIKE seeing the crazy names. They crack me up.
And honestly, at this point, I’m going to do whatever the fuck I have to do to keep smiling, even if 90% of them are fake.
this song always reminds me of my mood swings but that’s OK
If I seem to be disjointed, well I am.
I am not the type of man to let you in,
but you always reunite me with myself
every time I’m trapped inside of someone else.
And I can’t see tomorrow any more than I can dream
about somebody else’s life ’til through his eyes I’ve seen.
Will you love me for who I am,
not who I might have been
or who I’ll be tomorrow
when I’m someone else again?
Will you love me for what you see,
not who you think I’ll be?
when I wake up tomorrow
will you still remember me?
Will you love me?
Will you love me?
Sometimes I feel like an echo in my skin
every time I’ve gone and lost myself again,
but you meet me everywhere I try to hide;
open up my doors and let yourself inside.
And I could swear I’ve known you
for a thousand lives or more,
but every day I’m someone
that you’ve never seen before.
(Chorus)
‘Cause you’re the only face
that never changes, never leaves,
but when you look at me
who do you see?
I’ve always called it ‘sick’ when I’m dealing with people who don’t get what a deep, dark, black pit of despair real depression is… I still struggle with telling people what’s wrong with me. Hell, I struggled with telling J the truth tonight about a few things. (None of which belong here… I do keep some things private.) So, I fall back on “I don’t feel well” or “I dunno. Guess I’m just tired.”
It’s hard to look for a job when the voices in your head are telling you you’re completely worthless and that you’ll never find another job.
So imagine my surprise when I came home to this in my Facebook messages: You are intelligent and have an awesome command of the English language.
Remember a few days ago when I vented about companies deciding what my commute should be?
The first company to bring it up called me for a phone screen this morning (to my surprise). This is the same company who already asked me twice about my salary requirements and commute…
Needless to say, they called, asked those two questions, said sorry for wasting my time and ended the screen.
I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t want to work there anyway.
In the meantime, a job I applied for, that I did get a quick phone screen for, called me this morning to schedule a meeting with the CFO.
Interesting.
I’m still hoping to hear from everyone else I’ve met with already and I have an interview for a cost accounting job on Friday. I want to get into cost, and they’re willing to train - even with my required salary and experience level, I’m still a viable candidate.
I don’t know… this is pretty damn stressful and I’m at the end of my rope. I’m tired of being home alone all day every day.
It took me forever to get into Eleven, and once I started to love him… *poof* Two more episodes and it’s time for a new regeneration.
So much for being on series 8. So much for being under contract thru 2014.
I’m loving all the guessing as to who will become Twelve but the Cumberbabe should not even be considered.
NO. JUST. NO.
I don’t care that Moftiss work(s?) on Who. The ‘babe belongs on Sherlock, and for more than just series three.
Kind of related:
My friend has been living under a rock for the past few years and is just now finally watching the Harry Potter movies. (He’s read the books, at least, so that’s something…) I kind of like his FB statuses about seeing the movies for the first time. It reminds me of getting into Doctor Who, and Sherlock, The Hunger Games and, well, basically every fandom I’m a part of on tumblr. Watching the new kids join Teh Crazy, becoming one of the new kids… It’s a rite of passage almost and I’m glad I’m a part of it. I mean, it’s kind of awesome, really. I suppose it’s what parents feel when they watch their kids exploring the world for the first time.
Instead of prepping for tomorrow’s phone screen, I’m writing fan fic. Cabin Pressure this time.
What can I say? I’ve decided I like playing in other people’s sandboxes.
