Subtle Glow

There’s a meeting going on down the hall in a conference room that for whatever reason they don’t feel the need to shut the fucking door, so the entire half of the floor gets to hear this woman going on and on about whatever bullshit they are meeting about.

Seriously, it’s almost 1 and the meeting started when I got here at 8.

SHUT. THE. FUCK. ING. DOOR.

Maybe it’s just me, but it’s annoying.  Also - the guy across the aisle keeps bouncing his leg up and down, which causes my desk to vibrate because of whatever shitty construction they have us sitting on up here on the second floor.  When I ask him to stop he insists there’s no way I can feel it.

What the fuck?  Feel my urge to throw shit at you, fucker.

I stayed home sick yesterday and though I feel better today, it’s that bitchy sort of better that you feel as you’re recovering from illness.

I really want to be the friendly customer service chick but it’s proven to be more difficult than merely wanting.  This is only further evidenced by my increasing annoyance every time I get another email from a user with questions.  They aren’t even stupid questions.  They’re really good ones - actual problems.

But I just feel so hideous want to crawl into bed and not come out for awhile.

That’s weird, right?  I know.

But here’s the thing.  I love toast.  LOVE toast.  I could live on toast.  Always buttered.

The thing is, I hate when the butter is cold from the fridge.  It just ends up marring my perfectly golden brown toast and I don’t like that.

So, I usually keep my butter on the counter, next to the toaster.

Except, if anyone ever comes over and sees that I left the butter out, I throw it away.

Because I have issues.

So.  I need a butter dish.

I just spent the last hour scouring the internets for the music from Grey’s Anatomy.  Awesome!  Every week I watch that show and think - OH I have to find that song.  So now I’m getting to know a few of my new favorite artists.

Where have I been?  The Weepies…  *gush*  LOVE!

I can’t bring myself to write. I have plenty to write about, but nothing I’m ready to say.

I’ve made a choice for myself, something I can’t readily admit I suppose. And yet I find myself telling one friend, then two, then my mom, and waiting for one of them to say to me the same things that I’ve told myself. Ugly and hateful things.

I suppose in some ways I’m testing them. I keep reaching out, waiting for someone to tell me that I only deserve to be alone. Because that’s how I feel inside. So alone. This is why I cry myself to sleep at night.
Instead, I’ve only been met with unwavering support. I suppose I’ve chosen carefully when deciding who to tell. Or maybe I just don’t realize how many people will love and support me no matter what.

I hope that someday I can be as gentle and loving to myself as others are to me.

This week has been crazy. It wasn’t until yesterday I had a chance to stop and catch my breath - only to realize what a “lovely” entry I left you with.

The turkey burgers did NOT revisit me last week, thankfully. Though I did spend most of the weekend on the couch feeling like complete ass.

One of my girlfriends came over and brought me flowers and made me soup. It was very sweet of her and I was very grateful to her for doing it.

This week, I find myself avoiding her calls and completely annoyed with her.

Let’s just say I’ve had a lot on my mind lately. A lot of stressful things on my mind. The stress, in part, is also what is causing such problems with my stomach.

I know she’s trying to be helpful, and by helpful I mean be a nursemaid for me. The thing is, that totally irritates me. I don’t want to be mothered, I don’t want to be babied. It’s just not my style.

At the same time, how can I turn around and be a total bitch to her? She’s just trying to be nice.

But she also wants to talk about it every time I talk to her. The “it” being that stressful thing on my mind. I’ve asked her to please - just act like she doesn’t know anything about it unless I bring it up. If I bring it up then there’s your cue that I want to talk about it. If I don’t bring it up - then it really means I don’t want to talk about it. No, seriously - that’s what it means!
Time after time she’ll call me and we’re chatting along fine and then it’s “How are you?” and I’ll say “I’m fine, thanks.” and she’ll say “Really? But how ARE you doing?” or “I’m worried about you.” or AAAAAGH!!

It makes me want to fucking scream. Because again - she’s just trying to be nice. That’s her way of being a good friend. Meanwhile I feel like a total bitch because when she starts doing that shit I just want to bite her head off and tell her “STOP IT! I told you when I wanted to talk I would talk. Leave me alone for fuck’s sake about it.”

So, rather than do that I’m avoiding her phone calls. Eventually I’ll calm down enough to be able to talk to her and tell her what’s bothering me, but every time she calls the irritation level climbs back up a little bit.

Hey, guess what? The phone is ringing… Guess who?! grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

My stomach is not good today.  Know how I know?

I just burped and tasted last night’s turkey burgers.  Gross.

10 bucks says I’ll see them again before the day’s out.

School.

Yes, school.  So far, I’ve only had experience with public school - and public elementary school at that.

However, I have a total gripe about them.

The thing is, there are some parts to our current education system that have come a long (LONG) way in the last several years.  For instance, computers.  Many of the schools in our area have computer labs, and the children get a few hours a week on the computers.  I think that is Good.

However, some areas have NOT evolved.  It seems that the school still thinks that all students come from families where there is a Mr. and a Mrs. Parent in the home, and that the Mrs. Parent stays home all day while the student is at school.

I would think if you opened a file and there was a work number listed there for both parents (not to mention different addresses but okay) I would try calling the work number, or a cell phone (also listed) before I called and left a message on the home phone.   Not only that - but called and left a message on the home phone and didn’t call any of the other numbers.

It might be just me, but I find it highly annoying.

I am SO. DANG. TIRED.

I dragged all weekend, all day at work, and now it’s not even 8 o’clock and I’m thinking I need to snuggle into bed pretty soon. *yaaaaawn*

As far as weight goes… I’ve been doing ok. My total pounds lost as of last weekend was 7.5. Eh, I’m hoping that because it’s coming off slowly that it will be leaving for good.

I’m not going to be too hard on myself at this point, though. There are other factors going on here that I think might have a direct result on what’s coming off vs. what’s not. I just have to get through this hurdle and I’ll be back on track.

I do so much better drinking my water during the day if it’s right there next to me. I took the kiddo to his soccer game on Saturday, and just the thought of having a big bottle of water and having to use a public toilet to pee 3 or 4 times is so unappealing I found myself skipping the water. By then I’m off track for the whole day, pretty much. So, that’s something else I’ll want to pay attention and work on.

Please please PLEASE - if you are going to drive that fucking little tic-tac of a car:

STAY THE FUCK OUT OF THE BLIND SPOT!

Also - don’t go insane laying on the horn after I turn on my signal, look over my shoulder (and STILL couldn’t see you) and then start to merge into your lane.

Take notice: If you are in the blind spot, you DON’T EXIST.

Fuck.

I’m not sure what this movie had to do with tennis, as the title randomly suggests, other than the main character used to play tennis, and then for about 5 seconds he teaches tennis to a guy who comes from a well off family, at which point the tennis dude goes after the sister of the rich dude, marries her and then screws around on her until he knocks up his mistress and not wanting to come clean and lose his status with the rich family and go back to being a  poor bastard who might have had something to do with tennis decides the better option is to shoot the pregnant mistress.  With a shotgun.  His father-in-law’s shotgun to be exact.

Other than that, I was able to sit through an entire Woody Allen film.  For the first time ever!  And also probably the last.

That’s probably all there is to say about the flick.  Seriously.