Down on the farm

I'm back at work in the store tonight, which is fine, cause that's another $40 towards my tattoo. I don't have to take anything out of checking to pay for it, which is nice, and I can give a good tip.

There's a Frenchman that comes down and buys wine all the time, and he was surprised when I pronounced his name correctly the first time. Tonight, as he left, he said, "Bon soir." I replied in kind, and he whipped around and said, "Even your accent is good. I think you don't give yourself enough credit." Then he tried to talk to me in French and I just said, "Je ne parle pas de Francais," which is the best I can do. Anyway, it made me happy that all those French lessons at least gave me a good accent. I think if I studied vocabulary I could probably do alright.

It's only 5 and I've already done all the sweeping up and laundry I can do....

Eat to feel better

So I just had another Cadbury Egg. I think it may have been my second one. And then I got the sugar shakes, so what did I do? I had cereal. Because eating makes everything better. Jesus, no wonder I'm getting fat! I eat to make things feel better! And man, do I want to eat right now. Everything is crap. I'm trapped in this house. I can't move out, and it's driving me mad.

The floors get started tomorrow, so the chaos is only beginning. I'm thinking of going to the local coffee shop with my iPad and just hanging out all day. I don't care if I have to spend money, I don't know if I can sit here with a bunch of strangers ripping up carpet in the next room.

I need a job. The little grocery store job is good - I made $500 towards my next tattoo - but it's just not the same. And I don't have a set schedule. It's just work every now and again when he feels like taking off and playing golf. I like to have a schedule; to know what I'm up against. I like to plan.

And maybe that's what bugs me most about my whole situation. I can't even plan. I don't know any of the perimeters, so I can't guess at the others. Damnit.

Follow that rabbit

I'm never late to anything. In fact, I'm one of those people who shows up a half an hour early to everything, waiting in your driveway with my radio on, killing time. I leave room for error when going to new places, and old. Waiting is my specialty.

And then this week happened. I've been late to work every day this week, sometimes by as much as half an hour. And my commute is literally 10 floors of a building. There is no excuse except for the near catatonia I've been in during sleep lately. I've been completely zonked out, but I wake up knowing I was dreaming; something was happening in a story line.

I wish I could remember my dreams, but I know they're troubling. I don't wake up refreshed and ready to go. I wake up confused, late, and panicking. I don't like that feeling one bit.

Boring myself

Yesterday I was fighting the nausea and working full-time to keep upright. It was a zombie attack, leading me to sleep the entire day away. And then came today. Today, I've got a little manic energy going on. I can't stop tapping my foot. Tap, tap, tap, go my toes. I'm wandering around the store looking for things to do, and new things to eat. I just want to chew. I don't feel full at all, and I've eaten 2 of those oatmeal bars already.

I can't think enough to think if I feel depressed, still. I'm just here on the surface. I have no feelings. I'm shaky. My nose is stuffy from the Celexa.

Tap, tap, tap. There's nothing on the internet. I could delve into the news, but the world is on fire and falling apart and I want nothing to do with it right now. So what to do with myself? I think I'll check all the laundry tags and make sure everything is priced. Exciting!

I'm late, I'm late!

The snow is crisp out on the vacant lot across from my building. Someone has built a snowman on the tennis courts below. All is quiet on a Sunday morning. And I'm late, again.

I jump out of bed and throw on the first sweater I find in the pile; and there's a pile. My clothes, freshly washed, lie in their hamper and across the bed, waiting to be put away. They've been there for days. Rushing into the kitchen, I grab my purse and find my keys on the counter. Stop. Go back to the bedroom and grab my meds. Can't forget those precious tidbits. Out the door I fly; 11 floors down and into the belly of the building.

Dark. I open the doors, grab the newspapers from the loading dock next door, and turn on the lights. Please don't let there be cockroaches, I think. I check the clock: 9:15. I hope he's not watching the video tapes to see when this place opens. I've been late a few days now. No one would know but me, since I'm the only one here, but I feel guilty all the same.

It's not like me to be late. I'm never late for things. I'm always too early - getting there before the hostess is ready. And now, I'm just so tired. My dreams are vivid, disturbing. I want to cry out but I wake up instead. And then it's late.

I ran out without breakfast, and now everything here looks good. I find a granola bar in my purse and proceed to gnaw it down. Not the same as a real breakfast. And I'm here till 2. What can I eat? Why does my jaw insist on chewing constantly? I must find something. Pretzels: too salty for a lithium body? Oatmeal squares: I could eat 5. My banana is too raw.

So I sit here, hungry, lonely, tired. Waiting for release. My leg twitches to a beat of it's own. Tap, tap, tapping away. I'm antsy.

Oh please no

Sprightly, you dance your little limbs across the carpet, headed for the next sheltered area under the laundry. Wobbly on the fibers, you seem to rattle as you run.

"Cockroach! I get it." said David.

My first reaction was to stare. I couldn't think of what to do next, though I knew it had to get far from me. He crushed it with his boot and left to go back to his business at the front desk. And there it sat. Crushed, but still visibly a cockroach. I reached out quickly with my shoe and smeared it across the carpet, sweeping the remains under the counter.

And then it happened: my skin started to crawl. I can feel it on the bottom of my shoe. There's a spot now that feels different than the rest of my foot. I keep turning to look at the wet spot its death left and wondering if there are more coming.

I've gotten better about cockroaches. I'm not afraid of bugs, in fact, I used to collect beetles, but I hate, HATE cockroaches. In an LSD fueled haze one time I saw giant, hissing Madagascar cockroaches crawling all over each other in the corner of a room. I was so petrified that I couldn't move: I just wanted to scream and hide, which I did - in the opposite corner of the room - until I could get enough courage to run.

Life here will never be the same. Now I know they're out there, waiting. One could come out from under the counter at any time. One could be living somewhere in the store and jump out at me. I need to find some spray....

Ambitious

She said it in a matter of fact voice; a matter of fact thing: "I run from the things that scare me. I just learned it. When something makes me uncomfortable I sink into depression, I withdraw from others, I take that pain inside. But at least it takes less pain now to make me realize what I'm doing."

I thought Nicole was so right. When something is wrong I sleep more, I sink into depression, I withdraw. And I don't know if it's the depression that comes first or the pain, but I'm starting to think it's the pain.

Losing your job hurts. It doesn't just hurt for a second, no, that's just the initial sting, like a scorpion. But then it aches, and the aching doesn't just fade. It stays with you, like a migraine. And eventually, all the lights, the good things in your life, just hurt, too. Eventually everything hurts and it's all too much, and then there you are - in depression.

So here I am. I'm grateful for a lot of stuff, but it just seems the more I'm grateful the less happy I am. It's not having the desired effect. And I think it's because I'm a snob. I think maybe, just maybe, losing my job and not being able to find one is a lesson I'm supposed to learn. Maybe my HP knocking me down a peg. See, I wouldn't ever date a guy who lived at home (didn't care the circumstances), I would look down on people without even thinking about it like that. I would spend money carelessly on things like blenders and gourmet foods because I could afford it. And now that I can't even buy cheap groceries, I'm remembering what a farce expensive food stores are. How silly it is to eat out all the time.

I think I'm supposed to be learning a lot more from this season of my life than I've been getting out of it. Working in the store has taught me, again, the value of work. It's good to have a job, any job, and when someone asks you to do it, and really counts on you, you have to get it done. There's no messing around and ignoring your projects in a job like mine. I don't get to come in and sit at my desk and check Facebook. I have to do the laundry, and code the packages, and price the new products. He's counting on me.

So I'm relearning the value of work, and real work. Not desk work, but actual labor. And I'm remembering how much more I enjoy it than desk work. If I could make the money I made sitting at a desk by doing retail work I would take it in a heartbeat. I'd rather be on my feet greeting customers, running the register, refolding products instead of staring at a computer screen and being bored out of my mind.

Maybe I should just take a part time gig and then work retail. Maybe that's the best way to go about this. Maybe I should take out that loan and go to school for what I want instead of what will further my career. Maybe I'm just not a career girl, afterall....

Something funny happened on the way to the basement

Reverb asks, what's the most memorable gift, tangible or emotional, you received this year? Well, we've already discussed the gift of unemployment, my gift of Europe to myself, Adam's Christmas kiss, and the fact that Angry Birds on the iPad has become an amazing gift of laziness, but there's a nice little gift I just received for the end of the year.

There's a little store downstairs in my dad's apartment building. He has just the basics: laundry detergent, boxed dinners, wine, laundry, and packages. He's a busy guy, with two buildings and 18 floors each of apartments. He seems to know everyone, and is always smiling and chatting when I go down to get packages. He's helped me numerous times by emailing when something urgent comes in.

The other day my dad went down to get something and Mohammed looked especially busy. "You know, my daughter is unemployed. She could help you during the holidays." And so it began. I brushed off my dad's comment when he told me later, but this morning Mohammed emailed me and asked me to come down. Because I can't say no, I went.

And something funny happened. I walked in and immediately he began showing me how to do stuff and telling me how much things were. "So when you get the laundry you tag it like this," he said, showing me where to staple those little pink tags you get on your dry cleaning. Apparently they go through dry cleaning just fine. I always wondered. "Always check id. It's not worth the fine."

"I'm going home overseas next month, and I'll put you in charge. You're responsible. You've worked retail before, right?" "Right," I said. Though it's been a while.

And so right then and there, Mohammed trusted me with his store. Someone saw something in me and gave me responsibility without even seeing me in action. Someone hired me. I know, it's not a full-time job, and it's not permanent, but someone saw fit to hire me after an interview. I'm not worthless, after all. I can work. And with that simple little action, Mohammed gave me some self-esteem back.