The Blindfolded Heroine

“She’s always blindfolded, otherwise she wouldn’t do anything.”

Integrity.

A day where I realize the new deep.  I knew this realization was coming.  The actual gasping sense of realizing you are in way over your head and you do not know how to begin to survive.

I have a plan.  I have a plan I have asserted I will do.  To survive.  I’ve smiled and earnestly said yes, oh boy oh boy oh boy, I’ll work so hard for you.  And I’ve meant every oh and every boy.  But part of the plan is me figuring out how to let myself shift into an adult mode.  Into knowing, oh, no, that’s not acceptable when someone suggests a change or states a fact.  Into being the gatekeeper.  Into doing exactly what it is they’ve hired me to do.

One must sink or one must swim.  I always thought if I just lay still, I could just float, safely on my own, but there’s been enough of a breeze these days that my tiny allotment of clever inflatables is no match and, bam, I keep hitting the wall.

And that wouldn’t be so bad, except these fancy, high-tech walls are equipped with klaxons that ring like Operation anytime you fuck-up or are adjacent to any sort of fuck-up-yet-to-be.  And that wouldn’t be so bad except you ring the bell, word gets around.  Word gets around fast, if people aren’t already with their glasses at the tip of their nose, watching you.

I got asked today what was going well and was hard-pressed to think of anything, as I was so aware of the bad feedback and needing to correct it.  So desirous to be perfect, gleaming.  Spotless.  And it used to be that my perfectionism was painful because it existed outside of reality – it was my own standards I couldn’t meet.  Now, it’s everybody else’s.

So I need to focus.  Take time and figure this out.  Get my hair cut and look more professional (I suggested this, but was not dissuaded from my view.)   Be willing to spend some portion of Sunday working and picking nits.  I have to lay down on the paperwork and let myself find the rhythm of it.  I have to build flash cards and flow charts and checklists and make notes to staple to my forehead and in the midst of all of that…

I realize how much of me is taken up with other things, other desires, to be writing, often, or to be connecting with J. is another,  or thinking about something to share with my friends, or just to be laying somewhere just not-ting for a while. and how I thought I had all of those curious, distracting thoughts locked down.  That I was working hard at work.  But there’s a lot of needing to not push through and instead, feel the soft touch of one of these kind places and I don’t know how to cut that cold turkey because it’s kind of where my soul is.

But like it or not – and I don’t – something’s got to be done.

Jumpy

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Watching Turn while messing about on the internet.

Work essentially said – you’re responsible for earning the funds to pay your paycheck after this so.   If you don’t earn it, you don’t get paid.  After all of the already deflating news already, I feel…pissed? Frustrated beyond my perpetual beyond?  Done?  I understand it.  I understand the necessity for draconian measures.  There’s no survival without them, probably even with them. Well.  Yep.  That’s never going to happen.  We have to see how that’s never going to happen.  I have no capability of doing that.  I don’t WANT to do that. We all sat there silently in our chairs for an aggressively long period of time after the news.

So. Come on new job! Give me the chance to just say bugger off.  It again ups that emotional ante for when it inevitably is given to some other nice lady or nice young man or nice whoever and I have to reassess the facts of my reality. I should do it anyway, I will have to do it anyway, but if this is the reason, it would be such a nice reason. It would be such a balm.

It’s all mind games.  Something for a yes, something for a no.  Everything to keep the boat from rocking.  A magic, a spell, a prayer, a test.  The uncertainty is making me seasick these days, it’s straining my neck.  I want to say let the chips fall where they may, but I find myself profoundly unable to stop dancing, stop bargaining, stop freaking out.

That has long been my foremost defense. Freak out, freak out in advance so that reality is a much smaller step up when we’re faced with it. And right now, I am too tired to even begin to pose the hypotheses so it’s just everywhere.  The crap of this year, my slice of it, my go at 2016 is weighing upon me fiercely and I can’t wrap my head around it all.

Instead, we look, amidst the fuzzy hell of negative maybes, for the firm, glossy, transparent joys.

The kitten is tremendous and lovely and good.   Wild, of course, but that’s only because we feed her and so she has energy to burn.  She has been climbing on everything to the point where she’s chasing President Obama’s hands around the screen as we watch today’s press conference together.  Sliding off the back of the toilet.  Nibbling on my toes.

One of my most respected and admired reporters liked a tweet.
I wrote a little thing.  I communicated with someone I know voted for Trump in a somewhat considered way.
I ate wings that I really enjoyed at the time, but right now feel a little bit acidic in the old’ tum.
I’ve now watched, muted, about 9 hours of Turn.  I think I can say I know what’s going on – that and JJ Feild would be perfect aside from the tiny braid.
There will be books to read.   There will be songs to sing.  It’s just eight hours.  No reason to get jumpy.

 

 

 

The Instigating Action

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We are already in line for the next big disaster.  The next big thing we don’t see coming is alright in the queue.  We can’t stop it, we can’t speed it up, the…

Jesus Christ, and here it is!

So, the thing about being in a singles group is that people kinda sorta expect you to have some interest in dating.  Sigh.  Not to just have a bit of wordplay and a smile and go home and lock your doors and windows against anyone trying to follow you home.

The guy I kinda sorta liked hasn’t left the group but is essentially inactive.  He also was too old for me, lived across the country, and is not altogether interested in anything I am.  But I decided I liked him before he said I was pretty and this meant that things keep their natural order.

The other guy who started chatting with me a few months ago, messaged again tonight and essentially said that if I lived closer and I wasn’t so busy (busy losing my mind maybe) that he’d be “all over me.”  There was lots of innuendo that I darted back because I could, because I’m gifted in that way.  But…I don’t…live closer and I don’t…like him like that.  It is the essential notion of friendzoning that I find myself splattered against.

This is such a sixteen year-old girl’s issue.  But here we are.  I tried to speak my truth that I like things stupid slow, stupid texty, stupid never meeting and stupid never doing anything about anything.  It sat for a moment and then I sort of half-reneged on my kiss-off.  Because I need to be interacting with boys to be any better at interacting with boys and because I feel guilty that I don’t dig him because his body doesn’t make me feel all lit up.  It might be because of his size, but Dude A wasn’t a slender elf-type and the RP dude could have been Jabba the Hutt and it didn’t matter in either of those cases.

I just feel profoundly odd.  Like, people talk this way all the time, but I don’t and when I feel so jammed up about so many other things…today was another financial blow that is just crap and awful and unfair and left me feeling off-kilter anyway.

So, I feel no responsibility whatsoever to that conversation and will basically pretend for now that it didn’t occur.  I am such a charming singleton.

In other news, I started a job application for another county job that I will definitely not get – most definitely because I refuse to select Whimsical as one of my top 3 traits.  When we all know how important, nay, essential my whimsy is to me.

Meanwhile, my sister and I are both losing our hair again in great stressful swathes.  I keep touching it today and thinking that there isn’t enough.  It doesn’t feel right.  Like I’m going to reach up as in a horror movie and find a massive bald patch.   Signs and symbols, my friends.

Fleet of Foot

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And all over the map.

Okay, fair warning to everyone, this is just going to be even more complainy and irritable than usual.  Just FYI.  I just need to deal with what I need to deal with so I can take a breath.  The tempest in my teacup.

My hands feel stiff, after spending all day feeling 50% convinced that my mouth/jaw situation was getting better and mostly forgetting about it, I now am clenched and aching and zapping in pain and horrified and…then, fine, okay, bearable, distracted.

I am working on accepting that the causes I have identified have lead to the negative experience I am having rather than UGH, AH, I JUST FEEL NO GOOD.

These include:

  • Double my usual dose of soda today.
  • Eating nothing good for me whatsoever.
  • Stress beaming out of every orifice I got.
  • Hormones nailing me on the cross of bones that bear my flesh.
  • I haven’t found the mouthguard.
  • I haven’t looked.
  • It’s just Murphy’s Law.
  • I have not had the things I want to distract me around to distract me.
  • Just because the hard and dark places are identified around us, doesn’t mean we always are able to march into their doors with steel-toed boots.   Sometimes we have to crab-crawl backwards so we don’t know the moment we are in from the moment we are out.

I had another of yesterday’s illuminating boss conversations with my mentor.  I didn’t expect and I did not receive some super special job offer to just throw off my shackles and work at the shop in a descriptionless capacity for what I am making now.   Just, y’know, social media dilettante consultant to the stars who will just run the register but get this massive pay raise because we like her so much.

Despite how much easier it would make my life right now.

Even if there are specific reasons that she could not make long-term offers to me in the first place, even if she would be delighted to do that were it possible.  Even if…that did not happen.

Instead, we mostly talked about people I could talk to and what now that, I guess, I am officially calling it open-season on job hunting.

This includes her getting in touch with a high-powered mutual friend of ours who came from our small town and has worked her way up in the universe with no small dose of ambition (backed up, of course, by being very good at what she does.)

I do have this moment of wondering whether or not I want to do anything related to what field this woman works in – education, though not as a teacher – or if the idea of working someplace downtown is prohibitive or, or, or…but information gathering will not harm me.  Right now, having conversations feels a heck of a lot better than scurrying to pull up job search websites and throw mental darts at listings.  At any rate, I’m going to have my resume and we’ll all do lunch and it’ll be like adults do these things.