I always imagined myself moving in....artistic circles, full of creative people and witty repartee...you know, the lifelong Algonquin Round Table every snobby creative wants to see herself as a part of.
Instead, in the small hours of the morning, I am left to console myself with only the question: How the hell did I get HERE?
With no further ado, I present to you: "Scenes From an IM". Today's episode: In which Squeaky asks me if I want to go with her to see a theater production of "Sweeney Todd".
squeeky12345: I saw the movie it was pretty cool just wonderin how they are makin it a play its real gory
...le sigh.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Saturday, April 12, 2008
This Seemed Appropriate.
You Have a Melancholic Temperament |
 Introspective and reflective, you think about everything and anything. You are a soft-hearted daydreamer. You long for your ideal life. You love silence and solitude. Everyday life is usually too chaotic for you. Given enough time alone, it's easy for you to find inner peace. You tend to be spiritual, having found your own meaning of life. Wise and patient, you can help people through difficult times. At your worst, you brood and sulk. Your negative thoughts can trap you. You are reserved and withdrawn. This makes it hard to connect to others. You tend to over think small things, making decisions difficult. |
No Reason
As you might have guessed from my silence, I'm having a little bit of a rough time right about now. I don't even know for sure if that's the correct way to characterize it; it might not be a bad thing, but it surely FEELS bad. It's like...It's like the mud at the bottom of the lake is shifting, big slabs of ooze rearranging themselves, rising and falling and moving around. And in the long run, it will probably be a good thing for the lake--but in the short-term it feels scary and murky and dangerous. I feel like I'm figuring things out, a little--and one of the things I'm figuring out is exactly how little I've figured out.
One of the actual, concrete things I've learned lately, though, is this: I have absolutely no tolerance for my own faults and failings. I mean, NONE. I don't even have a reference point to frame them from. I read or hear people talking about "accepting yourself the way you are" and my immediate internal response is, and I quote, "???" I have no idea on how that might be accomplished. In my mind, if you have a fault, that's something wrong, and if something's wrong, you FIX it. You don't "accept" it or "tolerate" it or "live with" it--you root it out and crush it. And by "you", of course, I mean "me". Other people can do what they believe, and good for them--but if I know there's something wrong with me, I'm not going to be happy til it's fixed. And in my mind, there are so damn many things wrong with me. No wonder I feel overwhelmed all the time--I've got a to-do list that, if I held one end of it and dropped it out my fourth-story bedroom window, it would touch the ground, and that's not even counting laundry and the catbox.
And then there's work, which has been for the past two weeks an unsettling amount of crazy-go-nuts; supposedly the "busy season" isn't til midsummer, but I don't the faculty, staff, and students got that memo. And it's been honest-to-god actual WORK, not just goofiness where someone can't get to the internet because they didn't plug in their network cable, or their screen won't come on because the switch is OFF on the power strip their monitor's plugged into. We get plenty of those, of course, but for the past two weeks it's been serious work. And I love it. This is the first job that I've felt really COMFORTABLE in; even in my old-old-old job, the one I had for the first two years of this blog, I never felt like I fit in completely. Here, I do. I can't say I would choose to hang out with most of the people outside of work, but (with one or two exceptions) I don't actively dislike any of them either. And what's more, I know I do a good job, and more importantly I know my BOSSES know I do a good job. I'm not the most technically-apt person there, but I'm definitely the most willing to take on a task, or to help someone out. This past week, though, I've gotten home at the end of the day, and all I've wanted to do is just face-plant into the bed.
I don't know how people do it, though. I'm not deluded enough to believe that I'm the only person on earth who sees her own faults clearly; so how do people just accept themselves? I know I wouldn't date me (along with a litany of appearance-related issues, I sleep til odd hours, have horrible taste in television, and require way too much downtime); I'd think twice before inviting me to a party (I'm annoying and I apparently talk too loudly without realizing it, even though my hearing is fine--I think it's because I'm so used to people talking over me); basically, I'm one of those people who wears my dorky-ness on my sleeve. There are times even -I'm- embarrassed to be seen with me. But, see, here's the thing: all of that is when I look at how I would see myself if I was someone else. It's like, if there was no one else in the world, I would be okay with being exactly who I am and exactly how I am--but because there's this whole other world of people which I have to interact with, all the things I'm okay with about myself are transformed into flaws, which makes me even MORE uncomfortable than I would normally be. (Is this starting to sound perilously like the eternal complaint of the pompous and narcissistic--"Nobody gets me"? And that's another thing--one of the things I don't like about myself is that I'm self-absorbed. But if I'm not constantly picking myself apart, I'm worried that I'm being too easy on myself, being complacent...I worry sometimes that sometimes I'm not worrying enough.)
Yes, it does sound like I'm going a little bit crazy, doesn't it. I worry about that too, a little. Mostly, though, I think I'm on the verge of figuring something out; whatever it is, I hope it helps, and that it's nowhere near as scary as it feels.
One of the actual, concrete things I've learned lately, though, is this: I have absolutely no tolerance for my own faults and failings. I mean, NONE. I don't even have a reference point to frame them from. I read or hear people talking about "accepting yourself the way you are" and my immediate internal response is, and I quote, "???" I have no idea on how that might be accomplished. In my mind, if you have a fault, that's something wrong, and if something's wrong, you FIX it. You don't "accept" it or "tolerate" it or "live with" it--you root it out and crush it. And by "you", of course, I mean "me". Other people can do what they believe, and good for them--but if I know there's something wrong with me, I'm not going to be happy til it's fixed. And in my mind, there are so damn many things wrong with me. No wonder I feel overwhelmed all the time--I've got a to-do list that, if I held one end of it and dropped it out my fourth-story bedroom window, it would touch the ground, and that's not even counting laundry and the catbox.
And then there's work, which has been for the past two weeks an unsettling amount of crazy-go-nuts; supposedly the "busy season" isn't til midsummer, but I don't the faculty, staff, and students got that memo. And it's been honest-to-god actual WORK, not just goofiness where someone can't get to the internet because they didn't plug in their network cable, or their screen won't come on because the switch is OFF on the power strip their monitor's plugged into. We get plenty of those, of course, but for the past two weeks it's been serious work. And I love it. This is the first job that I've felt really COMFORTABLE in; even in my old-old-old job, the one I had for the first two years of this blog, I never felt like I fit in completely. Here, I do. I can't say I would choose to hang out with most of the people outside of work, but (with one or two exceptions) I don't actively dislike any of them either. And what's more, I know I do a good job, and more importantly I know my BOSSES know I do a good job. I'm not the most technically-apt person there, but I'm definitely the most willing to take on a task, or to help someone out. This past week, though, I've gotten home at the end of the day, and all I've wanted to do is just face-plant into the bed.
I don't know how people do it, though. I'm not deluded enough to believe that I'm the only person on earth who sees her own faults clearly; so how do people just accept themselves? I know I wouldn't date me (along with a litany of appearance-related issues, I sleep til odd hours, have horrible taste in television, and require way too much downtime); I'd think twice before inviting me to a party (I'm annoying and I apparently talk too loudly without realizing it, even though my hearing is fine--I think it's because I'm so used to people talking over me); basically, I'm one of those people who wears my dorky-ness on my sleeve. There are times even -I'm- embarrassed to be seen with me. But, see, here's the thing: all of that is when I look at how I would see myself if I was someone else. It's like, if there was no one else in the world, I would be okay with being exactly who I am and exactly how I am--but because there's this whole other world of people which I have to interact with, all the things I'm okay with about myself are transformed into flaws, which makes me even MORE uncomfortable than I would normally be. (Is this starting to sound perilously like the eternal complaint of the pompous and narcissistic--"Nobody gets me"? And that's another thing--one of the things I don't like about myself is that I'm self-absorbed. But if I'm not constantly picking myself apart, I'm worried that I'm being too easy on myself, being complacent...I worry sometimes that sometimes I'm not worrying enough.)
Yes, it does sound like I'm going a little bit crazy, doesn't it. I worry about that too, a little. Mostly, though, I think I'm on the verge of figuring something out; whatever it is, I hope it helps, and that it's nowhere near as scary as it feels.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Still Here
Just so everyone knows:
---I'm alive.
---I'm well. (I actually mean that. I've been chewing over a couple of revelations over the past week or so, and I don't know if it's spring, Lexapro, or what, but things are making a little more sense than they used to. I'll go into more detail later...)
---...except that I had my last wisdom tooth pulled today, emergency-style, because it sorta disintegrated Friday night, leaving a snaggly edge cutting my cheek and an exposed root which reacted poorly to such vicious stimuli as air, water, saliva, and possibly thought-waves. It HURT, is what I'm sayin'. I called the oral surgeon first thing this morning, drove up to Skokie, and I am now sans-tooth, with a cheek which looks like I'm collecting nuts and berries for a long winter. I'm chewing on gauze rolls and wet tea-bags to stop the bleeding. But it's the LAST ONE, and hopefully I won't need anything more pulled for a while. And it could have been SOOOOOOO much worse--I was afraid they were going to have to go to WAY more extensive measures to get it out, especially when the surgeon said my roots were "curvy" and thus liable to break. But it came right out, curvy roots and all, with no kind of heavy equipment required. I think I have a dental angel sitting on my shoulder.
There are other developments. I'll write more about them later, but they're good ones, mostly. I think they are, anyhow.
Mostly, though, I just wanted to say--still here.
---I'm alive.
---I'm well. (I actually mean that. I've been chewing over a couple of revelations over the past week or so, and I don't know if it's spring, Lexapro, or what, but things are making a little more sense than they used to. I'll go into more detail later...)
---...except that I had my last wisdom tooth pulled today, emergency-style, because it sorta disintegrated Friday night, leaving a snaggly edge cutting my cheek and an exposed root which reacted poorly to such vicious stimuli as air, water, saliva, and possibly thought-waves. It HURT, is what I'm sayin'. I called the oral surgeon first thing this morning, drove up to Skokie, and I am now sans-tooth, with a cheek which looks like I'm collecting nuts and berries for a long winter. I'm chewing on gauze rolls and wet tea-bags to stop the bleeding. But it's the LAST ONE, and hopefully I won't need anything more pulled for a while. And it could have been SOOOOOOO much worse--I was afraid they were going to have to go to WAY more extensive measures to get it out, especially when the surgeon said my roots were "curvy" and thus liable to break. But it came right out, curvy roots and all, with no kind of heavy equipment required. I think I have a dental angel sitting on my shoulder.
There are other developments. I'll write more about them later, but they're good ones, mostly. I think they are, anyhow.
Mostly, though, I just wanted to say--still here.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Things You Don't See Often
I would like to take this moment to say that my dentist is a truly awesome guy.
One of the things I don't think I've mentioned in this blog is that, though it's completely invisible from the outside, the inside of my mouth is a complete train-wreck. Til I was 14, I had perfect teeth; then I got my braces off. I really think the process of having them removed was at least part of the problem; I had the glued-on style of brackets, and they used some sort of acid to break the bond between the tooth and the cement. Before that, I never had a cavity; after that, things got bad pretty quickly.
When I was a freshman in college, I had a root canal. It was a DISASTER. It took two days, for one thing, and it HURT, and the crown wasn't fitted correctly, and in the end, several years later, the tooth cracked. But the root canal itself pretty much turned me off of dentistry. I didn't go near a dentist for about seven years...
...during which time I'd managed to tear stuff up for real. First there was the heroin, which made me puke a lot; like bulimics, heroin addicts are known for their eroded tooth enamel from puking. Then there was the methadone, which has dry mouth as one of its side effects; less saliva equals more cavities. And then there's my legendary love of sugar in all its forms; any little kid can tell you what THAT will do.
The outcome of it all was that my first dentist peered into my mouth while she waited for my x-rays, and said, "Well, it doesn't look so bad, and..." (pins up the X-ray) "...Oh my GOD, what did you DO here???" I had a cavity in every tooth in my mouth except my top fronts.
That was a few years ago. Over time, we made a lot of progress; then I lost my job, and everything came to a screeching halt. Actually it had slowed substantially before that; I owed her a lot of money, for one thing, and couldn't pay it. Once I had no insurance either, there wasn't much chance to get anything else done.
And that was fine; I mean, I knew, I had to get it done eventually, but...well, nothing actually HURT. That was a good thing, right?
Well, a good thing while it lasted, anyway. Around the time I noticed a big spot on one of my bottom molars, I also noticed a rather unpleasant sensation in the area whenever I ate or drank anything sweet, or cold, or hot...or breathed through my mouth while outside. It was sensitive, and it got worse and worse. Finally it was just a dull throb most of the time, with spikes of white-hot pain for variety.
I called my endodontist, to whom I owed nothing, and scheduled a root canal.
I'd had root canals from this guy before, and they weren't bad, but I was dreading this one; for one, when I'd had them before, it wasn't on an actively-painful tooth; and for another, it had been a long time, and I sorta didn't remember how easy it had been.
Well. I went in yesterday, and after five injections of Novocaine, about half an hour of drilling and scraping and what-not, and some of that temporary cement that tastes like cloves, it's done (well, except for the crown, which: big deal...) And the only things that hurt are a) where the five needles full of Novocaine went in; and b) my jaw, from the bite-block and being held open for nearly an hour. That's it. The tooth doesn't hurt at all; I can eat actual food, of a temperature other than "room"; and breathing no longer hurts my teeth, which is a good thing.
I love my dentist. Anyone who can make a root-canal painless is full of win.
One of the things I don't think I've mentioned in this blog is that, though it's completely invisible from the outside, the inside of my mouth is a complete train-wreck. Til I was 14, I had perfect teeth; then I got my braces off. I really think the process of having them removed was at least part of the problem; I had the glued-on style of brackets, and they used some sort of acid to break the bond between the tooth and the cement. Before that, I never had a cavity; after that, things got bad pretty quickly.
When I was a freshman in college, I had a root canal. It was a DISASTER. It took two days, for one thing, and it HURT, and the crown wasn't fitted correctly, and in the end, several years later, the tooth cracked. But the root canal itself pretty much turned me off of dentistry. I didn't go near a dentist for about seven years...
...during which time I'd managed to tear stuff up for real. First there was the heroin, which made me puke a lot; like bulimics, heroin addicts are known for their eroded tooth enamel from puking. Then there was the methadone, which has dry mouth as one of its side effects; less saliva equals more cavities. And then there's my legendary love of sugar in all its forms; any little kid can tell you what THAT will do.
The outcome of it all was that my first dentist peered into my mouth while she waited for my x-rays, and said, "Well, it doesn't look so bad, and..." (pins up the X-ray) "...Oh my GOD, what did you DO here???" I had a cavity in every tooth in my mouth except my top fronts.
That was a few years ago. Over time, we made a lot of progress; then I lost my job, and everything came to a screeching halt. Actually it had slowed substantially before that; I owed her a lot of money, for one thing, and couldn't pay it. Once I had no insurance either, there wasn't much chance to get anything else done.
And that was fine; I mean, I knew, I had to get it done eventually, but...well, nothing actually HURT. That was a good thing, right?
Well, a good thing while it lasted, anyway. Around the time I noticed a big spot on one of my bottom molars, I also noticed a rather unpleasant sensation in the area whenever I ate or drank anything sweet, or cold, or hot...or breathed through my mouth while outside. It was sensitive, and it got worse and worse. Finally it was just a dull throb most of the time, with spikes of white-hot pain for variety.
I called my endodontist, to whom I owed nothing, and scheduled a root canal.
I'd had root canals from this guy before, and they weren't bad, but I was dreading this one; for one, when I'd had them before, it wasn't on an actively-painful tooth; and for another, it had been a long time, and I sorta didn't remember how easy it had been.
Well. I went in yesterday, and after five injections of Novocaine, about half an hour of drilling and scraping and what-not, and some of that temporary cement that tastes like cloves, it's done (well, except for the crown, which: big deal...) And the only things that hurt are a) where the five needles full of Novocaine went in; and b) my jaw, from the bite-block and being held open for nearly an hour. That's it. The tooth doesn't hurt at all; I can eat actual food, of a temperature other than "room"; and breathing no longer hurts my teeth, which is a good thing.
I love my dentist. Anyone who can make a root-canal painless is full of win.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Open Letter, Again
Dear Digestive System:
You need to desist with this whole "flu" thing. No one wants to hear any more of your obscene gurglings, least of all me. And frankly, when it's gotten to the point that I've memorized the number of tiles on the bathroom floor, it's clear that I've spent entirely too much time in there.
Stop it. NOW. I mean it.
Sincerely,
Gladys
You need to desist with this whole "flu" thing. No one wants to hear any more of your obscene gurglings, least of all me. And frankly, when it's gotten to the point that I've memorized the number of tiles on the bathroom floor, it's clear that I've spent entirely too much time in there.
Stop it. NOW. I mean it.
Sincerely,
Gladys
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Urgghh
You know what I REALLY, really hate?
Stomach flu.
And the worst is when it attacks in a work environment. How DOES one handle, for example, the knowledge that one is not only responsible for the wicked stench in the ladies' room (one no "courtesy flush" can alleviate), but also for the ten-minute parade of methane-based sound effects? Other than hiding out in the stall til everyone is gone, then shamefacedly sneaking away hoping no one is on stakeout outside the door, what do you DO in a situation like that?? The Walk of Restroom Shame??
I feel like crap. Which is, perhaps, appropriate, since that has been my primary activity for going on twelve hours now.
Urgh.
Stomach flu.
And the worst is when it attacks in a work environment. How DOES one handle, for example, the knowledge that one is not only responsible for the wicked stench in the ladies' room (one no "courtesy flush" can alleviate), but also for the ten-minute parade of methane-based sound effects? Other than hiding out in the stall til everyone is gone, then shamefacedly sneaking away hoping no one is on stakeout outside the door, what do you DO in a situation like that?? The Walk of Restroom Shame??
I feel like crap. Which is, perhaps, appropriate, since that has been my primary activity for going on twelve hours now.
Urgh.
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