We need a montage!

Today feels like a math word-problem kind of day.  As in, "It's 10 am on a Friday, two weeks before Christmas.  Kim's boss left work at 4pm yesterday, and won't be back until Monday.  How much work in the area of corporate finance do you think Kim will accomplish today?"

 

Answer: As little as possible.

 

# # #

 

Today—and maybe all weekend— is Montage Day.  Let's play a little catch up, shall we?

 

On October 11, Calla was born in the wee hours of the morning.  That same day, my best friends had a garage sale.  I went over to help out by keeping an eye on their daughter (my goddaughter, Chava) while they were taking care of business.  As I was running around with Chava in and out of the house and all around, my BFF Cheri was helping a couple of older black ladies carry their purchase, a vacuum cleaner, out to their car.

 

When they got out to their car, one of the ladies asked Cheri, "Is she your Saturday help?"  Cheri didn't have a clue as to what they were talking about, so the older woman clarified, "That nice young black lady: is she your Saturday help?"

 

Cheri, aghast, quickly explained that no, I was her best friend and her daughter's godmother.  The ladies were greatly impressed with how nice she was.  Because she had a black friend.  Ouch.

 

Gotta love livin' in the South.

 

# # #

 

Two of my male cousins, whose girlfriends are knocked up, are now unsure of the babies' paternity.  Apparently, both girls have been exposed as two-timers who were possibly screwing other guys around the time of conception.  Nice.

 

Gotta love livin' in the South (the remix).

 

# # #

 

Chava, who is now 3 ½ years old, has some very funny little-kid speech patterns.  The word "she" doesn't exist in her vocabulary; everything is "her".  As in, "Her went to the store with her mommy".  It's insanely cute.  She also mispronounces some words.  Coca-Cola is Coca-Lola; yellow used to be lellow (but she has yellow down pat now).  Oddly enough, she had no trouble at all saying "La Posada" the other day.  Weird kid.

 

Oh, and she loves coffee, which she'll sneak out of your mug if you leave it unattended.  She even likes her dad's coffee, which is black and unsweetened.  And I hate to say it because it makes us sound like child abusers, but she also likes red wine.  Before you start dialing the number for Child Protective services, the wine she'd had up until last weekend was just sips of communion wine in church… which she likes.  A lot.  As for last weekend, well, several of us were drinking wine at dinner, and Chava grabbed her mom's glass exclaiming, "I like wine!"  After we all snickered for a minute at how funny it was to hear that coming out of 3 year old's mouth, we shared smug glances as we thought about how she WOULDN'T like that wine if she took a sip, as it was a Beaujolais-villages, and not the candy-sweet communion wine.  It was like a silent adult conspiracy: let her take a sip, she'll be disgusted with the flavor, and won't try to steal sips of wine anymore.

 

We were so wrong.  She took a sip, hummed in enjoyment, and started to try to turn the glass up again.  Her mom quickly took her glass back, and we all spent the next five minutes talking about what a strange child she is, the 3 ½ year old who likes coffee and wine.  We decided that she's a 35 year old trapped in the body of a toddler.

 

# # #

 

I'm going to lunch now (it's now almost 12:30), so I guess I'll take up the montage later. I've had so much going on in my head, that I'm almost afraid of how long it will take to catch up!

The old grey mare

I'm breaking my radio silence to bring you a shocking and heartbreaking report. Tonight, while performing some personal grooming, I found a grey/silver hair.

In my pubes.

Just pass me a Geritol martini with a Metamucil chaser, and I'm going to try to forget it happened.

Happy Allhallowmas!

An unkind reflection

When I was about 26 years old, I began to write. Between personal
journals, fan fiction (Anne McCaffrey's Pern, in case you were
wondering), and being an extremely junior contributor on projects
belonging to writer friends, there was scarcely a day that went by
without me setting fingers to a keyboard. It felt so wonderful and
liberating: I was finally writing, something I'd always wanted to do.
I knew my talents fell firmly in the realm of the mediocre, but I was
doing it instead of just dreaming about it.

Writing had always been secret fantasy ever since I was a child. I
loved reading so much that I figured the only thing that could be
better would be if I were a writer, too, and gave others the same kind
of joy I found in books. Granted, my 12-year old thoughts probably
weren't so grandiose, but that was the main gist.

So what was the problem? Fear. I had writer friends who blew me away
with the eloquence of their words, their passionate thoughts; how
could I ever come close to that level of excellence? I could barely
speak in company for fear that something stupid would come out of my
mouth, so why would I think that I could write?

I have had a life-long battle with fear, and the Big F has won more
times than I can count. I've long had a reputation for being a
careful and deliberate person, very practical and mature. But I know,
in my heart of hearts, that a good 75% of that caution is really just
fear. Yes, fear can be a healthy and appropriate response, but not
when it's simply a fear of failure. That is the particular kind of
fear I've long tried to combat. The quote over to the right, near the
top of this page? Yeah, that's not so much something I live, as much
as it is something to which I aspire.

My mid-twenties were my breaking-out point. That time period was when
I finally began to know myself, to express myself, and to stop letting
fear win all the time. I tried my hand at writing, and loved it even
if I sucked. I discovered that my voice trends heavily to the
comedic, and it's very hard for me to be serious or grim when writing
non-journal type stuff. I guess it makes sense that one of my
all-time favorite writers is Terry Pratchett.

I let people other than my showerhead (yes, my showerhead is sentient;
he says he loves me and will never think my ass is too big) hear me
singing, and became known in my group as having a good voice. That
actually led to me doing vocals for a musician friend: yep, my voice
is recorded for posterity on a record, and I've even performed it in
concert. Even though that was a short little episode of my life, it
let me relive and remember the thrill of music and performance (I was
a symphony dork in school, playing flute, various clarinets, and
Elizabethan recorder).

I got past the feeling of being the fat-girl sidekick of the hot
chick, and just let myself be ME around people (especially the
male-type people)… and I discovered that I actually can be witty and
vivacious despite carrying major poundage, and that there are
male-type people who can see more than a dress size when they look at
a woman.

I began to walk with a confidence previously unknown to me. When I
entered a room, rather than trying to slink unnoticed into a corner, I
smiled and greeted and laughed. I didn't try to be an obnoxious
center of attention, but I wasn't afraid to be seen. I finally knew
beyond a doubt that I had worth as a person, and that I merited the
air I breathed. I had finally figured out that all I had to do was
just be myself, and I would be fairly happy. It sounds really simple,
doesn't it? "Be yourself." Believe me, that tiny statement is
fraught with more danger than a stretch of land in Cambodia, but I did
an okay job for a long time.

These days, I'm not so much myself. Or at least, I'm not the "myself"
that I used to be. But then again, I'm NOT the same person. I have
experienced soul-crushing grief for the first time; an emotional wound
that, while easier to handle everyday, still brings me to tears at odd
moments. I can honestly say that not a single day has passed that I
do not think of It. Not a single day, regardless of what I may
pretend. My miscarriage was more than just the loss of a baby. It
was the loss of a family, of a love, of a self-identity, of a future.
And now I feel like I am directionless, and I just don't know how to
find my way anymore.

While I've been overweight since puberty, my weight had been fairly
stable for ages and I had long been in a place of self-acceptance and
self-love. As Chris Rock crudely expressed while speaking for
confident chubsters, "Yeah, I have a gut, and there's some goooood
pussy under that gut!" But I've put on a lot of weight since
you-know-when. For the first time in over a decade, I do not like
myself. I do not like looking in the mirror. The person I see in
there is a gross stranger, and I don't want to know her. I have no
confidence, no sass, no pizzazz.

So I haven't been writing as much lately, and now I know why. While
part of it, in truth, is because I have little to report on the TTC
front and that I feel I am very boring, it is mostly because of
everything that is messed up in my head. For me, writing is a thing
of empowerment; even when I was sad and writing was a catharsis, I was
still in a place of "I am woman, hear me roar!" But now I am more
like the mouse than the lion, having emotionally regressed over a
decade.

I try to remember how I used to be, but that person seems like a
strange fantasy. I don't quite remember how to be her, how she felt,
how she acted. What made her think she was so great, anyway? I don't
know. I just wish I could remember.

2001: A Space Onion

I can't freaking believe I just discovered "The Onion" on Youtube. I now have a new comedic addiction. Here's a little somethin' for you.

Twilight is coming!

In all the crazy, non-stop drama that has been my life, I completely missed the release of the final Twilight book in early August. I picked it up almost a month late, but have read it cover to cover almost a half-dozen times since. I really like this series, and am sad it's over. I managed to get a extra mini-fix by downloading the partial draft of "Midnight Sun", but alas, it's over now.

But wait! There's even more proof that I've been living under a rock: I didn't know about the upcoming movie until about a week after I got the last book. And yeah, yeah, I'm looking forward to seeing the movie, but I gotta say that I've been laughing my ass off at some of the parodies I've found on Youtube. So of course I have to share! If you haven't read at least the first book, these won't make any sense, but if you have, I hope you bust a gut as much I have. Out of the billion I've watched, I like these two the best.

Nasty heifers...

… are in my office everyday.  For the second time this week (and come on, it's only Wednesday), I've been in the toilet and heard someone leave their stall, and walk out without washing their hands.  I just wished that I hadn't gone into a stall yet, so I could see just who the women are that leave with pee-hands.  That way I'd know whose little homemade treats to avoid, know what I mean?  People are always bringing in muffins or cookies or things to share with the office, and I shudder to think of eating pee-cookies.

 

Okay, yeah, the pee ladies at least get a squirt of hand-sanitizer (there's a dispenser just as you walk out of the toilet and it makes a distinct sound), but I still feel icked out about people not washing their hands after using the facilities.  I think of the sanitizer as an added bonus for paranoid people like me, not as a substitute for kindergarten-level hygiene.

 

And people wonder why I get so weird about things like washing up before preparing food (and then washing again after touching different types of food), or not letting people use my phone, or things like that. Some people are gross!

Look, Ma! No more blood!

I went to the doctor last week, and am happy to report that I am fine and dandy.  I had, as many had suggested, a withdrawal bleed.  I had considered that possibility, but dismissed it because as a PCOSer, believe me, I've had many a withdrawal bleed over the years.  The problem was the severity of the bleeding, and the nature of the blood.  So of course, I had to have a twist.

 

Apparently, when my over-abundant lining began sloughing off, I developed an actual bleeding wound.  As in, lining coming out, but causing a small tear where it was disengaging, and then me bleeding from that tear.  Lovely.

 

It wasn't funny at the time, but looking back now—with a week's worth of time to see it—I can't help but giggle at my RE's plan.  I go in with a complaint of severe vaginal/menstrual bleeding, and his remedy is to have me do a round of provera to induce a bleed.

 

What.  The.  Hell?!?!?  I'd only just gone down to a spot or two, and he wants me to bleed some more?  But it all made sense when he explained things, although I have to admit that I haven't started it [provera] yet.  I was/am curious to see what my body is going to do, so I decided to give it a week or two and see what happens.

 

My biggest frustration about the RE visit was that he kept using baby-talk with me.  I don't mean that he was telling me that I had an owwie and he'd kiss it and make it better.  No, I mean that he spoke to me like I was a PCOS/infertility "virgin", using small words and over-explaining things the way he'd have to on an initial consult with a newbie.  While I can appreciate how much it would help a newb, I just felt frustrated because it was wasting time.  I didn't need a 5-minute explanation of how provera works, really.  I'm the one who, by the time we were 10 minutes into our initial consultation, had him asking me if I were in the medical field.  Seriously.

 

Anyway, that whole bleeding drama seems over, so I'm happy about that.  But the major suckage is that my RE is leaving the practice at the end of the month.  In fact, he's moving to the other side of the state to open his own practice.  I'm sad that he's leaving, and very jealous of the women in Chattanooga who'll get to have him as their RE.

Bloody blood bloody blood blood

Two days after my mom's surgery was my expected ovulation date, and even with everything that was going on, I wasn't going to let that egg go to waste. Well, my temps didn't really rise enough to indicate ovulation. I mean, they went up a tad, but nowhere near my usual levels. I figured that with all the stress and craziness, my ovulation was just delayed. Not the first time, wouldn't be the last, no big whoop. I wasn't on drugs, or even using opks; I was just going by fertile signs and my usual calendar, so it was all very low-key and laid back.

Fast forward another three weeks, and I start seeing fertile signs again. Ah hah! This must be the real deal. I decided to use opks this time, got my positive, spermed up again, and settled in for a two week wait. Except that 3 days past ovulation--the Sunday before Labor Day-- I began to spot. It was a little heavier than spotting, actually, but lighter than a light day, so I'm going with "spotting". That went on for four days, and completely freaked me out. I don't generally spot at ovulation, and definitely not that much or for that long. If only I'd known what was coming.

On the fifth day after ovulation, which was this past Thursday night, I passed a big strawberry-sized clot. And that's when I all started. I bled harder than I've ever bled before in my life. Except for once, on a Friday night this past January when I miscarried. My uterus can't be large enough to have held all of what came out of me: giant waves of blood that soaked pads every other hour, grape-to-strawberry sized clots popping out constantly. I didn't tell anyone what was going on. I was freaking out way too much.

In the back of my mind, I wondered if maybe I'd gotten pregnant that first time I thought I would ovulate, and was I miscarrying now? After the first day, I broke down and took a pregnancy test (even though I really didn't want to know), and it was negative. I'm still not sure how I feel about that: part of me knows I would go bat-shit crazy if I was/had been pregnant, but at the same time at least I'd have a reason for all of this.

So, for reasons unknown, I have been bleeding to the point of actually being afraid at night, that I am going to go to sleep, bleed out, and die in my sleep. And despite that fear, I could not bring myself to go to a doctor. Me, the person who'll go to a doctor over a hangnail, wouldn't go when I was honestly afraid I might die. All because I could not handle even the possibility that I might be told that I'd been pregnant, and was miscarrying.

How effing stupid is that? Don't answer that, really. I know how stupid it is. The weirdest part of the bleeding is that there was no pain involved. Massive bleeding, yes. But no cramps or contractions or jabs of pain.

Anyway, I decided to do a little self-doctoring, and stopped my aspirin therapy as of Saturday. Even though my doc had told me that it wouldn't affect menstrual bleeding, I figured it wouldn't kill me to lay off for a few days and see what happened. Well, I don't know if it helped or if my gushing was winding down on its own, but today saw at least a 50% decrease in bleeding, down to a fairly "normal" amount of menstrual bleeding. If I am menstruating, which I'm not sure about. I had either:

*A 7-week miscarriage, or
*A cd45 ovulation, followed by a mere 6 day LP and a massive period, or
*A spontaneous freak occurrence of unending, vaginal stigmata.

But now, I have pain. WTF?!? Big blood, no pain. Much less blood, and there's cramps and stabbing and so on.

So, I'm going to call around tomorrow and see if I can 1) find a doctor, since I fired my horrible ob-gyn after my miscarriage and haven't found a new one yet, and 2) if I find one, beg for an urgent care appointment. Bloody freakiness, and I can be all martyr-like and fear in silence. But pain? Oh no, pain means something's really wrong, and I need tests and ultrasounds and palpitating and all that.

I'm taking my crazy self to bed now.

4 weeks= forever

A month. It's been nearly a month since I've set fingers to keyboard, and I can't believe how much has happened in four short weeks. I am still just kind of stumbling through the days, but it's getting better.

Last time I wrote, it was two days after Mom's surgery, and she was in SICU; it was also the day after my due date. Now, I know I said I wasn't going to dwell on the whole due date issue, but events conspired to make me think about it, albeit with more humor than I thought possible. Everything that happened seemed like a weird parallel of how I envision the first month of being a new parent to be, except that I was experiencing it with my mother rather than a newborn.

Right after "birth": I was at the hospital for ages, unable to tear myself away from my helpless and needy loved one. When I did leave her side, it was to eat and sleep, and not much else.

Maternity leave is over: Finally, though, after two weeks I had to go back to work (yes, I got the permanent position, and am gainfully employed!). I cannot begin to explain the guilt that plagued me at leaving her, even though she was out of the hospital and starting to slowly get better.

The daycare guilt: What made it worse was that, for reasons far too complex to go into now but that include having someone with her part of the time while I'm at work, mom is staying with relatives. So not only do I feel guilty about leaving her, but I'm leaving her with other people who couldn't possibly take as good care of her as I could.

New parent sleep deprivation and fatigue: I go to work. I get off work, and I go to someone else's home (cousin's house where mom is) and make sure mom has dinner. I do her laundry, run her errands, try to be good company, make sure she has all her medicines, check on her physical therapy progress, and all that good stuff. Finally, I go home myself and eat whatever's quick and easy, do household chores, and fall into bed far too late. Then morning comes and I do it all over again.

Oh, and let me remind you that I have a brand spankin' new job, too. Even though I've been in this department for about four months now, I had no idea that I had only been taught about half of what the job truly entails. Apparently they didn't want to go through the trouble of fully training temps, so all of us were taught bits and pieces-- different bits and pieces-- so that all together we sorta made a whole. Now, though, I've been tossed in the deep end and am having to very quickly learn how to tread water. The frustration I've been feeling at work isn't exactly helped by my worry about mom, or my fatigue.

My first week back, when everything was super-fresh and sharp? I nearly walked out of the building, and quit my job, the guilt and desire to care for mom were so strong. It's much better now, though. I'm getting a handle on my job, although I have no spare time at work. I am literally busy every minute from 8 to 5 except for my lunch hour. I have to admit, though, that the days go by remarkably quick, being so busy.

Mom is getting better. She's been pretty good about her therapy, and has good flexion in her knee. Her need for pain meds has decreased sharply, although she still needs our friend percocet a couple of times a day. My biggest worry is her appetite; she still barely eats anything, and frequently feels nauseous whenever she eats.

Anyway, I need to get to bed, it's getting late. So now you know why I haven't written in a while; it's just been crazy around here! I had my first "day off" in a month last Saturday, and even then I was helping friends move and going to a baby shower. I am a sucker and a glutton for it, ain't I?

And now for something cryptic: D, I haven't forgotten you, I swear. Gimme 24 hours, I promise.

My mother, the liar

I found out last night that my mother lied to me about the reason she's in SICU. Yeah, sure, her medical history made it good sense to put her there, but something happened. After her surgery, while she was in recovery, she had a cardiac "episode". Tests showed that it wasn't a heart attack, but something happened. Anyway, she's doing increasingly better, but is still in SICU.

I am exhausted, mentally & physically. Every member of the family, my mom's friends, plus MY friends, have all been calling me to find out how things are going. While I appreciate the show of love and support, I do not have the time or energy to return the 10+ calls per day.

1) Cell phones are not allowed in SICU.
2) I am in the SICU with mom most of the day, and also in the early evening.
3) There is zero cell phone reception in the hospital, so even if I wanted to sit on the phone, I couldn't.
4) Seeing as this is (gasp!) an intensive care unit, there are no telephones in the rooms. People who are in an ICU ward aren't chatting the day away.

So when I stumble home after dark, fumble sleepily through the kitchen to try to find something to eat, curse because there's not much to have low-sodium other than a salad, etc., I might remember to turn on the cell phones and check the messages from the day. But at that point, I probably won't call you back unless you're family and it's been over 48 hours since our last conversation.

Nothing personal, friends; I'm just so. freaking. tired. I wasn't expecting to be off work this week, but here it is. I have no idea if I'm going to have a job anymore when this is over, and that especially sucks since I'd just been offered a permanent position at the company where I'm temping. Bah. I can't really worry about that now.

Yesterday was my due date. Sob sob, boo hoo, I was a bit emotional yesterday, being in a hospital and all, but it didn't last long. There's too much real drama going on in my life right now, for me to linger too long on the sorrow of a theoretical due date for a baby who's been dead for 6 months.

Mom's surgery update

It's only 4pm, but I feel like I've been up and going for ages. Today was Mom's surgery, and we had to be at the hospital at 6am. It had originally been a leisurely 6:30 arrival time, but they called and changed it last night; she was going to be one of the first people taken in to surgery.

We got to the hospital, and were immediately sent off to the lab. Apparently her last-minute INR levels at yesterday's labs were wacky, and they wanted to do another check to see how it was to determine whether or not she should have surgery. Mom usually takes coumadin, but to prepare for this surgery they stopped coumadin 4 days ago, and had her take lovenox injections. And it was just funny to me, because as an infertile I'm used to women TTC using lovenox, rather than geriatric people. I joked with her that I was going to pimp out her dozens of extra syringes of the stuff, since I know so many TTCers using it.

Anyway, Mom had her surgery, and at some point it was over. I say "at some point" because I don't have a freaking clue, because the nurses didn't bother to contact me in the waiting room the way they're supposed to. I got the first call saying that the inital incision had been made at 9am, and then nothing until I got fed up after 2pm and went to hunt her down. I don't think it's exaggerating to say that I was quietly freaking out when I found out she was in SICU rather than a regular room.

Thankfully, her SICU stay seems to have been a preventative measure, rather than the result of an incident during the surgery. Because of her various and sundry health issues, the doctors and anesthetist thought it prudent to stick her in SICU to be on the safe side. So, that's where she is now. She's obviously very out of it, but is in a surprising amount of pain considering how fresh out of surgery she was. I mean, the really bad pain doesn't usually kick in that quick, but an hour out of recovery and she was already hitting the pain med pump.

I came home to get something to eat, as the cafeteria food is all heavily laden with salt unless I had a salad, and G-d knows I didn't want a salad today. So I've just had "breakfast", and will be heading back to hospital shortly.

Paging Dr. Feelgood

Just back from the doctor, and I'm feeling pretty good. My blood pressure, while a bit high for normal people, is absolutely fantastic for me (130/90). And in the last three weeks, I have lost 5 pounds without even trying. I'm cautiously happy about that, and just hope it continues.

I'm not bothering with counting calories or carbs or anything like that; the only thing I'm really being vigilant about is sodium. I mean, I'm using some common sense, like not deep-frying my cucumbers in lard, or refraining from spreading an entire jar of jam on a PB&J sandwich. But it's kinda neat to see that at least a couple of pounds are coming off just from my healthier eating habits.

By the way, I found a great peanut butter brand, Krema, which is nothing but ground up peanuts. No added sugar, salt, or weird oils. Yes, the peanut oil separates out, so you have to stir it really well before you eat it; yes, it is a little on the runny side; yes, the flavor takes a little getting used to if you're a typical American who's used to super sweet peanut butter. But by gosh, I can have peanut butter on occasion without feeling too terribly guilty about it, and I'm happy.

I hate my job, and I don't even have it yet

I've been so effing tired lately. The regular gal on my job-- not my crazy boss, but the other full time/non-temp type person-- was on vacation last week, so me and the other temp were so busy we barely had time to think. Not only was the "go to" person out, but the work load (of course) was about 70% heavier last week. I really don't care much for this job, but it's a paycheck. I can't believe I've been temping at this place for 4 months now.

So of course, since this is the last place I really want to work forever, guess what? I got offered the full time, regular job yesterday. Even though I feel sick to my stomach, I accepted. I figured, I would have worked here until they ditched me or I found something else, so I might as well keep working here and get benefits kicked in.

I feel so guilty, like I'm being ungrateful and surly when I should be lighting a candle and saying thank-you prayers. But I really don't feel excited, because I don't really want this job. I know I need a job, but this isn't it, you know? But it has to be "it" for the moment, because I ain't stupid. Although to be honest, it isn't so much the actual job I dislike, but my boss. She is nuts, and when I officially move into the permanent position, I won't be in my little file room anymore. Nope, I'll be in the cubicle right next to her. All. Day. Long. Every. Single. Fucking. Day. I can already feel the ulcer coming on.

To make it worse, the other temp-- whom I happen to like very much-- will be let go once I'm hired. I'm probably not supposed to know that, but my crazy, stinky boss let it slip that the other temp would not be kept on once I went permanent. So, I feel even more guilty that a single mom who just moved to town a few months ago is about to be released, while here I am not even really wanting this job that she so desperately needs. Not that I don't desperately need it too, but you know what I mean. And on a selfish note, I don't want her to get fired because, damn it, there's too much effing work for them to let her go! We're crazy busy with 3 workers plus a supervisor now; it's freaking me out to think of how busy it will be with just 2 workers and a supervisor. As if I wasn't already apprehensive about this job.

There's just so much going on. I feel a little (read: a LOT) resentful that I interviewed for this job nearly 3 months ago, and they're just choosing someone. Even though I'm the one they chose, and I secretly don't even want the position, it still pisses me off that it took them this long to make a decision. And they haven't even done background checks (the HR lady told me), so I don't know what was taking so long. As a job-seeker, it is hugely annoying when companies advertise a job, interview candidates, and then take months on end to make a choice. People are looking for work now, not a quarter from now.

And of course, next Wednesday is Ye Olde Due Date. Blah blah blah, same old whining, different day. Next Tuesday is the day my mom has surgery, and I am quietly terrified that she is going to die. I am just far too mentally committed to personal and family issues right now to be able to handle the added stressors of this job situation, but I gotta suck it up and wear my big girl panties for now.

Don't listen to me, I'm just a temp

About two weeks ago, one of the IT guys came up to my little room and told me my computer had raised a "ding" and needed to have a mega-virus scan run on it.  It took about an hour or so, but it came up clear.  IT Dude advised me to clear my cache and cookies often, and if I do this, I won't come up on The List.

 

Now, I do that clean-up fairly frequently at home, but I honestly just don't think about doing it that often at work.  One, it's not my personal computer.  Two, I'm a temp.  Three, I have nothing to hide, so compulsive computer cleaning isn't as much a priority as it was at my last job.  You know, the job where my Big Gay Boss Friend would look up gay porn.  A lot.  Luckily, the two of us were the only people in the office, and our two computers weren't linked to any company network or anything; we were on a tiny little network of two.  Still, seeing as I was the computer savvy one, you'd better believe I was doing some constant upkeep to keep those computers clean.

 

Anyway, while I was talking to IT Dude, I asked him why, if the internet was available to all the employess-- albeit with some sites "FORBIDDEN!" or "BLOCKED BY BIG MANUFACTURING COMPANY's IT GODS!"--- they didn't use something like McAfee Site Advisor.  That way, the sites that aren't blocked would have a safety rating, and employees could engage in safer internet activities.  He immediately fell into advanced Geek Speak (I only know beginner Geek Speak, so he left me in the dust), explaining how it wouldn't work and that it wasn't necessary with the current filters.  I understood enough G.S. that I still wasn't convinced that it wouldn't be a good idea, but I just shrugged and went on with my business.

 

Now, two weeks later, you'll never guess what just landed in my email inbox: an inter-company email explaining how Site Advisor is going to be deployed on all the company's PC starting tomorrow afternoon, so that our browsing will be more safe.

 

OMFG <-- I generally hate IM speak (unless I'm actually IM'ing), so you should know just how much I mean that.

 

It could be a complete coincidence, but somehow I'm just not able to convince myself of that.  I mention Site Advisor two weeks ago to one of the IT Dudes, who sorta puts me down for my silly plebeian notions, and then suddenly the "new, grand" idea at the company is to use it?  Asshat.

TGI Humpday

Thanks to the stellar suggestions of several friends, I've been looking into several dietary websites where you can keep an online food diary. I have, quite magnanimously, decided to join one of those to keep track of my sodium intake, so I don't bore you all to death with numbers and whining about how hard it is to budget out my sodium over the day.

While still swollen, my ankles are not as big tonight as they usually are by the end of the day. I don't know if it's a real effect from my lowered sodium diet, seeing as it's only been about 5 days, but I'm a bit stoked to see a reduction. I'm just hoping this is a real trend, and not just a temporary aberration.

::

On a completely unrelated note, I have to ask: am I the only person in America who is sick of all the reality and competition television shows in primetime? I can't stand any of 'em. I don't care who can sing, dance, cook, lose the most weight, do standup, or sashay Shante better than the other contestants. If this tells you anything, I have never watched an entire episode of American Idol. When people talk about the shows and the folks on them, I never have a clue who they're talking about. Most of the time, I'm popping in a DVD to save me from "Dancing with Hell's Biggest Survivor Top Talent Idol".

By the same token, I'm also sick of the 5 billion cop/lawyer shows out there. And of course, to make my life complete, my mum loves them all. Allllllll of them. I'm just waiting for there to be a "CSI: Graceland", where an Elvis impersonator-turned-cop specializes in investigating crimes while in full regalia, sneer not optional. As with all such shows, there have to be exciting opening sequences showing scenic landmarks, such as the gates of Graceland, the Pyramid, and Neely's BBQ. I would actually watch a show with The King-- or even a pseudo King-- solving crimes here in the BBQ capitol whilst sporting polyester & sequins.

The fat and salt of it

So here's the part I didn't get around to in my previous whining, bitching emails: in the past 6 months (since you-know-when), I have apparently gained 15 pounds. Ho. Lee. Shite.

Now, since practically everyone reading is of the feminine persuasion, you might think it's weird that I didn't know how much I weighed until I went to the doctor last week. But see, here's the thing: I know I'm fat. I've been fat since the day adolescence kicked in. My weight--albeit far too large of a number-- has been stable for years, so there was no need for a scale. Between TTC and other medical appointments, I was weighed often enough in a doctor's office that I knew that my weight stayed within about a 5 lb range... until I miscarried, got depressed, and started eating poorly and too much.

Now I have the lovely situation where my doctor and the nutritionist he sent me to completely disagree. The (male) doctor is concerned about my weight & BP, and wants me on a low-cal diet to shed some pounds. The (female) nutritionist, on the other hand, is far more concerned about the typical Southern diet & sodium & BP, and wants me on a super low-sodium diet, screw counting calories. The nutritionist, a doctor in her own right, basically told me to use good common sense when it comes to fats and sugars, but not to freak out about counting calories, carbs, and all that stuff. My focus is counting sodium. She says that if I stay true to a good low-sodium diet as we went over, I will by default be eating healthier and making better choices, so worrying about counting calories & carbs would just be too much on top of everything else. I think I like the nutritionist's view. She's looking big-picture and long-term, and I like that view.

Here's what sucks, though: do you have any idea how much sodium is in practically everything we eat? Dude, it's everywhere. Even an 8oz serving of 2% milk has about 120mg of sodium. For me, as little sodium as I'm supposed to take in right now, that's more than 10% of my daily allotment. Eight ounces of milk. My personal ambrosia. Yes, I am a milkaholic, and I can't believe my sweet cow teat juice is so salty.

Anyway, I hesitate to say this for fear of running people off, but I may start a kind of sodium diary here, so I can keep tabs on how I'm doing. Hey, at least I won't neurotic and female and fretting about calories, right? Just geriatric and worrying about sodium.

Excuse me while I clear my throat

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

After getting around to posting for the first time in forever, I decided to suck it up, and catch up on groups and blogs and whatnot, and see what's been happening in the world while I've been... whatever it is I've been doing.

The first thing I see on FF is Shadow Pregnancy's baby pic. Yes, her baby came a month early. Like me, she had BP issues. And as I always expected would happen to me, they took her baby early from IUGR. All personal anguish aside, he is a cutie.

::

On a good note, Cali is in her FET cycle, and ET is only a little over a week away. I'm keeping all my puffy toes and swollen fingers crossed for you, hon.

July: the month of hell

My doctor's visit Thursday did not go well. The change in my meds that they were trying not only didn't improve my BP, but it made it worse. Another change, another two weeks, here we go again. I just keep having the macabre thought that hopefully I won't die before the next appointment.

No, I'm not exactly Miss Mary Sunshine these days. Not only do I have the stress of uncontrolled BP (again), but it's July, what would have been my due month. I keep thinking that right now, I'm supposed have an huge baby-belly, be cranky yet excited, and have swollen ankles for an entirely different reason. I'm supposed to be getting ready to bring a baby home at the end of the month, not getting ready to ovulate then.

And even though I cancelled all my diaper, formula, etc. website memberships, I still occasionally get baby coupons and things in the mail. But the last week? It's really ramped up, I guess since it's my due month. I've gotten coupons galore, free diaper bag offers, diaper samples, and two-- count 'em, two-- big cans of formula. As if my head wasn't messed up enough.

Ever since the calendar read "July", I've been back to the emotional tentativeness of this past bleak January, where a look or a word can send me off the deep end. Practically everyday has seen crying jags so violent that I nearly convulse with the pain and anger of it. Anger at myself, my doctor, at God, at the universe, I don't know. It's like my emotional-healing clock has been completely reset, and I'm back to ground zero, just dealing with this for the first time.

There's one group on FF with whom I've been friends for years now. So much so, that we're running away and setting up shop on a new site that one of the ladies is creating (which of course, I will plug shamelessly once it's out of beta testing). But I had already kinda deserted the FF group, because of the newer girls (as in, she joined our long-standing group about, oh, two months before she got pregnant) on there got pregnant almost at the same instant I did. Seriously, our due dates are/were 3 days apart. T-h-r-e-e d-a-y-s.

Do you have any idea of how much just seeing her pregnancy ticker seems to mock me? How jealous I feel everytime she writes about a doctor's appointment, an ultrasound, feeling her baby kick? Knowing that I was supposed to be at the exact same phase of pregnancy? It got to the point where I just didn't go to the buddy group much anymore. It's selfish, true, but it's also an act of self-preservation. I just can't handle it right now.

Oh, and just to put a cherry on top of the sundae, my 20 year old cousin has gotten his (also) 20 year old girlfriend pregnant. Completely by accident, of course. She's about 4 months along I think, but they waited to announce it because "it wasn't the right time". Independence Day is one of our family gathering days, so here I am trying to play nice to this pregnant 20 year old, when all I want to is slap her first for being stupid, then be incredibly jealous because she gets to have a baby. My Dark Side is slightly pleased because she is white, and my cousin's grandmother is the main one in our family who has color issues. It will make for interesting family gossip, to be sure, and at least it won't be about me for a change.

And what they really meant about "it wasn't the right time" to reveal the pregnancy is that they were letting things cool down from the fallout of another 20/21 year old cousin who accidentally got his girlfriend pregnant, and didn't tell the family until the day the baby was born, which was the day before Mother's Day. Can you imagine finding out that your son/grandson/nephew/cousin was becoming a father, but didn't bother to tell anyone until the freaking baby was born?!? It is just Not Done. It makes me so proud, to have my family fulfilling every negative stereotype imaginable right now. Multiple unplanned pregnancies by young people, wigger girlfriends, fights where men get put out of the house and they go home to momma. Ahhh, yes, I believe the children are our future, all right.

Giant balloon feet are NOT fun

((I had written a long post, and lost more than half of it when my DSL went wonky. So, this is really abrupt because I didn't feel like being elegant and careful and rewriting it all.))

I can't believe it's been two weeks since I last posted. I've thought about posting, but that's about as far as it went. See, I suddenly started having the most ferocious peripheral edema ever. And yes, I like using proper names for things, but so you don't have to pull up the Merriam-Webster dictionary site, that basically means that my feet, ankles and legs have been swelling up like crazy.

Even though I've had hypertension issues for years, I never suffered from swelling up like a balloon. But about 2-3 weeks ago, I noticed that I had cankles in the late afternoon, and that my feet were puffy. I was a bit concerned, but it always went away when I came home and put my feet up, so I didn't rush off to the doctor right away. Plus, I was expecting my period and thought that maybe, just maybe, I was extra-bloated from PMS, the heat, and all that jazz.

Well, my period came and went (today is cd 10), and the swelling hung around. And then it got worse: it hadn't gone away when I woke up Wednesday morning. And by the time I got off work, my feet were barely fitting in my shoes. So, off to the doctor I went Thursday!

My blood pressure was completely out of control. So, my meds were readjusted, a diuretic added, and now we wait and see if I respond. My body is weird about blood pressure meds: my doc finds a good combo that works, and it works for about 2 years. Then, POOF! My body stops responding, and my BP shoots through the roof.

On the TTC front: this is a drug-free cycle for me. Since all this swelling and whatnot was happening right at the time I would have been taking clomid, I decided against that. I had enough going on without adding another drug to the mix, especially one like clomid.

::

My apologies to everyone participating in NCLM. I have been a dismal failure. I was already a couple of days behind before the giant feet kicked in; then once that happened, it was all over. The last thing I needed to do when I got home was to sit at a desk some more! I was online maybe 20 minutes a day after work, and that was mostly to check my email and pay bills. So, no comment leaving going on for me. Unless I manage to somehow hit, say, a hundred blogs in the next 4 days, I will failed NCLM. :P

Scattergory Saturday!

Calliope has declared today to be game-day, and challenged us with Scattergories. Per Cali:

SCATTERGORIES - Use the first letter of your first name to answer each of the following. They have to be real places, names, things - nothing made up. You can not use your own name for the boy/girl names.

(Note from me, the splendiferous Kim: Please note that my questions are numbered differently, as the original list had no #4. I can't have a list with missing numbers; it would be bugging me all day!)

1. What is your name? Kim
2. A 4 letter word: knot
3. A vehicle: Kia
4. A boy’s name: Kane
5. A girl’s name: Katya
6. Drink: Kool Aid (Oh Yeah!)
7. An occupation: king
8. Something you wear: kerchief
9. A celebrity: Kiera Knightly
10. Something found in a bathroom: KY Jelly
11. Reason for being late: kissing in the car.... at least, that was why I was late for curfew as a teen!
12. Something you shout: "Kitties!" (Okay, I don't shout that, but I've known plenty of toddlers that do.)
13. A body part: knee
14. Word to describe yourself: kinky

Crafts R Fun

I have been crazed for crafts for as long as I can remember. I don't know where that love began, but I'm fairly certain it was nourished by two things: the "Little House" series of books by Laura Ingalls Wilder, and a fabulous book called "Steven Caney's Kids' America". The first described life in frontier America, while the second actually showed you how to do all those marvelous things that are now considered crafts (rather than everyday life). The older I got, the more I delved into the world of crafts. To name just a few, there was: spinning, weaving, candle & soap making, sewing & embroidery, quilting, basket weaving, beadwork, leather craft, crochet, doll making, and various forms of unusual cookery.

But my one big failure is/was knitting; I never could quite get the hang of knitting. I haven't given up, though; I recently went out and bought some knitting needles and an instructional book ("So you're too stupid to knit, huh?") in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, this time I can get it. I am unbelievably jealous of all the blogs I've seen lately boasting gorgeous knitted masterpieces.

It's a bit odd, but my urge to create things, to play about with crafts, seemed to drain away around the same time that I began TTC. Perhaps my psyche became so focused on one type of creation, that I had no mental energy left to think about another. Lately, though, I find myself thinking more and more about wanting—no, needing—to make something. To sit down with raw materials, and through the labor of my hands and mind, turn it into something else. To feel the justifiable pride of a job well done.

Yeah, it doesn't exactly take a Freud to figure me out.

::

In random news, here are two comments overheard while walking in the hallway at work. The comments are unrelated, were heard at different times, and are proof that I am, at heart, still in 5^th grade:

1) "So, just how big is your bush?"

2) "I get just as much pleasure from watching, and then you don't have that pain at the end of the evening."

My pocket protector is better than yours

Have I mentioned how incredibly anal-retentive I am sometimes? That I have created a spreadsheet for NCLM so that I can keep up with my commenting tally each day? Complete with color coding for new favorites, old favorites, people I know in real life, etc? I was born to be someone’s executive assistant.

Cd20 and randomness

I am playing catchup tonight for NCLM; I felt so yucky last night that there was no way I could sit and read blogs and try to make sense of anything. So, you get a craptastic post from me because I really need to go and read what you’re writing and do double-duty on my commenting.

I’ve had two days of positive opks (Tuesday & Wednesday), and last night I revisited the horrific pain of clomid-induced ovulation. Actually, I think my ovaries were flipping themselves inside out in protest of the work being forced upon them. Or maybe they were playing jump rope with my fallopian tubes (Double dutch? Count me in!). At least, that’s what it felt like. Hell, who am I kidding? I’m still feeling it, at least a little bit.

Today is cd20, I’ve been spermed up, and now there’s just the wait. I really haven’t missed this part, the interminable two week wait.

::

Okay, I can’t get this freaking song out of my head. Partly because it’s just a kick-ass song. But part of it, I know, is sweet reminiscing about the first time I kissed a girl. I went through months of agonizing about whether or not I was a lesbian because I really liked it. A lot. But I really liked boys, too, so what the hell?!? It ain’t easy to be 17 and trying to figure out your sexual identity, especially when you realize that you don’t squarely fit into either camp.

19 weeks and (still) counting

It has been 19 weeks since my miscarriage, and I do not understand how that much time has gone by. At least the first four weeks are lost in a haze of partial amnesia. I remember a few distinct events, but most of that time is a blur of sleeping, overeating, and watching both seasons of "Dead Like Me" on DVD over and over again. It was a time of feeling very fragile, as if a single harsh word could cause me to break down.

In that 19 weeks, a friend had a baby, and another girlfriend discovered she was pregnant; a friend's marriage almost ended, and a cousin got married; I overused semi-colons, and I slowly, painfully, began coming back to life. For all that I've been bitching about Supervisor Karol, I have to admit that I'm almost grateful for her. No more than two weeks ago, I was wondering if I'd permanently lost my fire, that certain spark that garnered me nicknames like Diva and Scrappy in certain circles over the years. Between clomid and Karol, though, I woke up. With a vengeance, true, but I'll forgive myself for going over the top just as long as I'm no longer in that funk, that boring neutral-beige haze of indifference that was coloring everything in my life.

Lately I find myself paying a lot of attention to time. Thinking about how long I've been trying to conceive, how long friends have been married, how long since the miracle who is my goddaughter was born. But I know the root of it all is the pregnancy-that-was. I still can't help but think how far along I would be on such & such day. Or about how, at this point, I would have an even bigger belly, bulging out with a baby, feeling kicking feet and poking elbows and mystery bits. Just last night, I had the passing thought, "If I hadn't miscarried, but went into premature labor now, my baby would have a pretty good chance at 30 weeks."

I really think it'll get a little better once my due date passes. Once I can get past the end of July, and stop counting the weeks of my non-existent pregnancy, perhaps I can let things go a little more. Of course, it doesn't help that my mom now has a surgery planned for my due date; it just gives me another reason to remember that date, another reason to stress out as the date approaches. The last time my mom had surgery, she nearly died. As in, me standing by her bedside and being pushed out of the way while alarms went off and people rushed in to work on her; leaning against a wall and watching as my mother struggled for her life, fought for something as basic as a breath.

Hell, is it August yet?

Riding the clomid crazy train

I'm home sick today, and figured I'd take a moment before nap time to do a little catch-up. I had my interview two weeks ago (well, it'll be two weeks as of tomorrow), and there's been no word, announcement, or job offer. I'm honestly not sure how I feel about it all. Supervisor Karol has opened up a big can of crazy, and I don't know that I'd be able to work under her as a "real" employee even if a miracle occurred and I was offered the job. I mean, I just can't even begin to describe the crazy that wafts off of this woman. So much crazy that random people in the building comment sympathetically when they realize just whom I work under. It's really nuts.

So I called in to my agency this morning to let them know I was taking off for illness. The agent assumed I had cold bug, and I just along with it because it was easier. Besides, I really didn't want to have to explain the agonizing pain of having an abscess in the crease of my armpit, and that moving that arm causes shafts of agony to lance through me. And I don't even want to go into what will happen in the next 24-48 hours, when it bursts open.

Anyway, I hate the timing of it all, because I know this will all end up looking really suspicious: that I just happen to get "ill" starting on Thursday, and will probably be home tomorrow on Friday, too... right before a holiday on Monday. I've been the boss before, and I know I would secretly be thinking that someone just wanted an extra-long holiday weekend. Oh well, I can't help what people think. If anyone gives me shite about it, maybe I'll hike up my shirt, peel back the gauze pad that will be covering the healing wound, and let them get a good look at the raw hole in my flesh.

The moods I've been in lately, I'd do it, too. I decided I wanted to give clomid a try for a few months, to hopefully get me ovulating regularly again post m/c. I've been not-pregnant longer than I was pregnant, and my body still isn't back to normal. Back when I was anovulatory, a few cycles of clomid are what kick-started my body, resulting in somewhat-normal ovulation even when I wasn't on meds; I'm hoping it works again.

But of course there's a drawback: the side effects. I've done clomid, femara, and even a couple of soy cycles, and never felt the raging moodiness that so many women talk about getting with estrogen-tinkering drugs (especially clomid). Five previous clomid cycles, and the worst I would say about them is that I experienced quite painful ovulation. Never had the whole emotional thing, though.

I can never say that again. Last week was clomid week, Monday cd3 through Friday cd7, and by the time Friday rolled around, I was certifiable. Worst part, though, is that it took me several days to figure out why I was such a crazed bitch. Don't get me wrong; I fully accept, embrace and celebrate my inner bitch. But Clomid Bitch is another animal entirely, and no one is safe from her wrath, breakdowns, and hysteria.

Last Friday was the day when Supervisor Karol showed her ass. I know I wasn't overreacting by being upset by her words and actions, because the other 3 people in the area were also aghast and upset. But I, or rather Clomid Bitch, was so pissed and offended that I nearly walked off the job and quit.

Saturday morning I was expecting a phone call from my BFF Cheri to go to the zoo with her and my goddaughter Chava. Well, the phone never rang. And of course, I didn't call because something in my crazy-brain told me that I bother my friends by calling them and wanting to see them, and that if they wanted to see me they would call ME (I know, it makes no sense at all). I moped around the house for hours, getting progressively upset, convinced that no one loves me, no one wants my company, and that I am going to die alone in a horrible retirement home where they tie you to the bed. It turned out that she had indeed called, but that there was something funky going on with either the network or my phone, because I didn't get a message until the next day.

You may think I'm joking, but I am deadly serious: I was honestly on the verge of quitting my much-needed temp job, and writing off my best friends of 15 years, because I was emotionally unstable from freaking clomid. I seriously became the Mayor of Crazytown. Luckily, though, once I realized how much more intense things were and that it was because of clomid, I was able to keep myself on a more even keel. If I decide to take clomid again, I think I'll warn my BFFs so they can be my support system.

Days of My (Temporary) Life, weeks 5-6

I can't get into Blogger/Blogspot from work, but I discovered the nifty email-a-post function, and it has set me free. Thank you, Blogspot, for giving me a way to post to my blog instead of working! Sometimes the font and whatnot are a little funky, but I can always fix that later.

April 28-May 2: week 5
Two new temps arrive, and I don't even have the energy right now to come up with imaginative aliases. Let's just call them Gigi and Ellen. I see them long enough to say hello, then I'm off to my little fileroom/office/hole. Thankfully, it's pretty calm and there isn't much work to do, so Andrea can concentrate on starting to train the newbies. Of course, both those "newbies" have years of accounting experience, so they're way ahead of me there.

I decided to toss my name into the hat, and ask to be considered for the permanent position. Accounting work might not be exactly what I wanted to do, but it's a job opportunity; those are scarce enough that I can't let it go by without at least making an effort! I talked to the HR director, and she put my resume into the dogpile.

One of the temps, Ellen, left about halfway through the day; then, she didn't show up on Tuesday. By Thursday, she was asking if she could work part-time until the workload increases. Her reasoning was that she prefers to be kept busy, and there just isn't enough work right now for a supervisor, a senior clerk, and three temps.

Now, Ellen is correct. There are periods where there just isn't any real work to do. But here's the thing: the company is anticipating more work coming our way in the next couple of months, which is why "they" insisted on hiring so many of us temps. If there are days where I have a couple of hours where I'm just counting the holes in the ceiling, that's just fine; I'm still getting paid.

That's the part I don't get about Ellen: regardless of whether we're being loaded down, or are sitting around relatively bored, we're getting paid. Every hour we're here, we're on the clock. And as a temp with no benefits or paid time off, I'd prefer to be here and bored, than at home and not making any moolah. But that's just me. See, Mama Kim needs a new pair of shoes. And to pay her rent, and to put gas in her car's tank.


May 5-9: week 6
So, I'm finally mostly caught up, as I'm at least writing about the current week. Ellen continues to work part time, and complain to me when she's bored. I have become something of the "listening ear" for everyone, and I think it all has to do with location, location, location. Because I'm away from the A/P area, and in a mostly private little room, everyone likes to come down here occasionally to "get away" for a few minutes. And when they "get away", that usually includes venting to me about whatever is going on back in the cubes.

I'm doing okay with the A/P work; Andrea and Karol both say I'm learning well and quickly. Now, while that was enough with the temps that were here before, I can't help but wonder how I'm doing in comparison with Gigi and Ellen, both of whom walked in the door with years of A/P experience. The reason I'm a little bothered/worried is because I know that Gigi is going for the permanent position, too, and I have to be honest and say that she's more qualified than I am.

Damn, I hate being honest like that. But really, if I were the boss, I would pick her over me. And of course, neither she nor I are the only applicants for the position; there are others in the running as well. But both of us were recommended by Supervisor Karol, so I'd like to think that we might have a small advantage over the other applicants. What I'm praying for now is that the one position magically morphs into two, so that I'll have a better chance of perhaps getting one of them.

My formal interview is this afternoon at 2pm, so wish me luck. Of course, I think it's absolutely ridiculous to have scheduled an interview on a Friday afternoon when both parties are in the same building. Heck, I'm on the same floor as the head of accounts; I pass her cubicle a thousand times everyday. And now, on a Friday --the day I usually do icky physical stuff, like filing, messing with storage boxes, shredding papers, etc.—I have to try to remain extra-presentable and sweat-free. Not to mention dreading an interview all day on a Friday, when my thoughts should be heading in the direction of weekend freedom.

Days of My (Temporary) Life, week 4

April 21-22: week 4, Monday & Tuesday
My actual training in A/P began, although I had been shown a couple of things the previous week. It's a little frustrating for me, because I'm the type of person who HATES not knowing what they're doing. I mean I often would prefer not to do a thing, than to take a chance and do a thing incorrectly. This makes new jobs a huge pain in the ass for me. One good thing, though, is that I'm not afraid to ask questions.

Beryl—the temp who got hit on the arm—is showing off her insanity to the world at large. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that Supervisor Karol was right to hit her; not at all, and there's no excuse for it. But Beryl is just going over the top now, and it's clear that she's just trying to make a big enough stink that the company won't get rid of her out of fear of some kind of suit.

Supervisor Karol scarcely dares to say a word to Beryl, for fear that it will be taken the wrong way; almost anything Karol says is met with barely disguised animosity from Beryl now. Even though their cubicles are right next to one another, 90% of the time Karol communicates with her via email. And even that doesn't work, because Beryl prints out the emails, and if they're corrective in nature or constructive criticism, Beryl says that "she's trying to set me up!"

Beryl is almost spending more time in the HR office than she is in her cubicle actually doing work. She snips back whenever Karol dares to speak a word. She corrals Andrea and myself every chance she gets, trying to get sympathy for her "cause".

On Tuesday, Beryl actually called the EEOC to report her incident. Supposedly, someone there told her she could call the police and make report the incident as an assault. So with that in her ear, she began to talk about calling the police. Great big ole can of crazy.

On a side note, the needed third temp, Coco, started on Tuesday as well. Now the A/P department has all the people that the high muckety-mucks say it'll need once all the work from the acquisitions trickles down.


April 23: week 4, Wednesday
Crazy Beryl does Something. I don't know exactly what, but everyone has had enough. Her temp assignment is being terminated, and she is being asked to leave the premises. In the meantime, I think she might have called the police and asked them to come out. Supervisor Karol was told to leave the A/P area, but to stay where she could be contacted in case the police needed to speak with her.

Some boss, bless their soul, decided to send Andrea, Coco and myself out to lunch on the company's dime. We took a long lunch, ate far too much, and didn't have to witness any of the yuckiness that may have occurred while we were out. All we know for sure is that Beryl is gone, gone, gone.

And to top everything off, Karol gets a phone call that her mother is terminally ill and fading fast. So now Karol is not only worrying that she might end up getting arrested, but also trying to make travel arrangements out of state to see about her mother. Somehow, I have become her sounding board and she tells me all this stuff; I really have no idea how that happened.


April 24: week 4, Thursday
Just around lunchtime, Coco gets a phone call. Like most of us temps, she's still "shopping" for a full-time gig even while temping somewhere. Well, she'd interviewed with a company the week before she came here, and they called to offer her a job. And because she's not stupid, she accepted the position.

A/P department scorecard: down 1 because crazy Beryl was fired yesterday. Now down 2, because Coco (who was here all of 3 days) won't be back after today. Karol has arranged to be out next Monday and Tuesday, since she's headed out of town for a long weekend for her family affairs. This leaves Andrea to oversee me… and the two NEW temps who will be starting on Monday. Poor Andrea. She's done most of the training for all the temps that have come through (except me), and now there are going to be two more. When the only backup person she has is little ole me, who has all of 1 week's experience in the job.

Karol mentions to me that even though the company uses temps a lot, and prefers to do so, there is an actual, permanent A/P position that has posted. You know, just in case I might want to apply for the job. She mentions this a couple of times. Gee, I wonder if it's a hint or something?

Is there a baby?

Holy crap, if there's not an update on Dosmamas soon, I'm going to bust a gasket. Blow a gasket? Well, whatever you do with gaskets.

Feeling Snarky

I visited my goddaughter this morning to take her a birthday present; I couldn't wait for her party later today! It was magical to see her little face light up with excitement when she saw her very own tricycle. It was a lovely morning visit, complete with the requisite first spills onto the concrete.

Then I came home and got on the internet. And started feeling more and more snarky the more I read on one of the IF boards I frequent. It seems like most of the posts are rubbing me the wrong way today. I know that a part of it is me; yes, I'm happy that today is my goddaughter's birthday, but I'm a little sad because before the m/c I had figured out that I'd be moving into my third trimester when this day rolled around.

It was all coincidental, but it was really neat: I'd have just moved into my 2nd tri about the time Mama Shel's son Miles was born. I'd be moving into my 3rd tri when my goddaughter turned 3. My little one would be born right around, or maybe even ON, one of my BFF's birthday. Now, instead, all of these joyous occasions will be slightly dimmed for me.

But back to the IF bulletin boards! Yes, I'm a little off-center, but this isn't all me; I was bent out of shape about some of these issues long ago, so I know it isn't all personal issues making me ticky.

Private-- even password protected-- forums
This particular site now offers completely private forums. You can create your own little place, not appear in the directory, and even set up a password so that even if someone accidentally managed to stumble upon your little group, they couldn't enter.

Now that this is possible, every group that feels like it's been persecuted, gawked at, or just plain doesn't want anyone else to see their board, can create a secret-squirrel forum. What. Utter. Bullshit.

It's very simple: If you don't want anyone to see what you've written, then don't write it on a semi-public internet message board, idjit. If you want to have a truly private place to have your high school-esque clique, where no one can join without your approval & no one else can see what you write, then go somewhere like Yahoogroups or MSN groups and make your own little place for free.

You see, I paid my membership fees to this site (yes, it is one of those you pay for!), and that is supposed to give me access to all the bulletin boards. But now, suddenly, there are going to be countless boards that my $$$ can't get me access? Look, if I want to go and read the forum about "Raising & Milking Goats for Fun, Profit, and to Feed Your Newborn," I should be able to. Even though I don't have a goat. Or a goat-milk drinking baby. Or a baby at all, for that matter. It's a forum on the boards that I paid to be on, and therefore I feel I should have access to it.

I know that some people feel like they've gotten more attention than they'd like, or that they've gotten negative attention, on "their" board. So they think this privacy thing is super-de-dooper. But I really just think that:
-It isn't "your" board, even if you created it; it's just a board where a topic you relate to is discussed. The board belongs to the website, therefore any paying member of the website has a right to read and comment there.
-Yes, one would hope that people would be respectful of certain situations and of others' feelings, but let's be real. A bulletin board is just like life: some people will be wonderful and supportive, some will stand on the sidelines and just watch, and some will be total & complete asshats. And because it can be fairly anonymous, the asshats often feel free to be even more asshattier than they would in Real Life. (Asshattier? Did I just make up a new word?)
-If you like to be on "your" board because you get support and help from the others there, WHY would you take it private and deprive others of the opportunity to get that same help?!? As you can see, this whole thing is just punching all my buttons.

Swaying for Gender
There are a lot of women/couples who are not only trying to have a baby, but who are trying to have a baby of a specific gender. I've always thought this a little silly, but can somewhat understand a mom of 4 boys wishing she had a girl. Okay, I'm lying; I really don't understand it. Or, rather, I can intellectually see it, but it just doesn't make any emotional sense to me.

I know that my views are slanted because of my own experiences and circumstances, but I kinda think trying tricks and popping pills to have a certain gender is somewhat arrogant and ungrateful. Having the arrogance to assume that you definitely will conceive no matter what, so it's fine to "sway" with positions, pills, potions and intercourse timing. Being so ungrateful that you're not excited enough about possibly having a child, but that it needs to be a certain gender to make you happy.

Not to mention that this whole TTC business is often involved enough without adding in another variable in the form of gender selection. Is it really such a horrible thing to have 4 boys, instead of 3 boys and a girl? In the modern industrialized world, where rules of masculine primogeniture are no longer important, is it really that vital to try for a son after having 2 girls? Again, even typing that makes me feel slightly ill, as someone desperately wishing for just a child, period.

I will be fair--which is not very easy today-- and say that I don't think that all swayers are horrible people. I really don't. But the horror cases I've seen, coupled with my own background, make me cringe whenever I look at those kinds of boards. And with the mood I'm in today, I don't know why I went there. I always have this voice in my head growling things that Are Not Nice.

But you know what? I'm an adult, which means I didn't write anything snarky there. That's what I have a blog for.

Days of My (Temporary) Life, week 3

April 14: Monday, week three
When I got in, there was a new person in Joanne’s cubicle. Yes, the axe had fallen on Friday, and they hadn’t even had the decency to tell Joanne that she was being let go. Karol fell back on the thing of, notify the agency, and they’ll call the temp and let them know not to go back.

I know it’s the way it goes sometimes, and that it works in the temp employee’s favor as well. Like, if you get into a situation that really isn’t working out for you, you don’t have to tell the employer that you’re quitting; no, you tell your AGENCY, and they contact the employer to tell them that you’re “declining further work on this assignment” and that they’ll fill your shoes right away.

I still think it’s shitty to look a person in the eyes on Friday and say, “Have a nice weekend,” knowing all along that you’ve basically fired them and didn’t tell them. Once again I will say, I am SO happy that I’m in the file room.

The new temp girl’s name is Beryl. She seems nice. The other A/P clerk, Andrea—who is great but barely got mentioned in the previous post—is a little frustrated. Apparently the brunt of training the temps falls on her shoulders, and Beryl is the third one in about two months. Supervisor Karol keeps running through them, or running them off, I guess.


April 16: Wednesday, week three
Beryl is very upset. Reportedly, on yesterday. Karol became frustrated while trying to teach Beryl something, and hit her on the arm to make her stop moving the mouse. Beryl says that her arm hurts still, a day later, and that she is uncomfortable with Karol. Beryl went down to Human Resources and reported the incident.

Karol admitted that she hit Beryl, but claimed that it was a slap on the arm, rather than the punch that Beryl is reporting. Either way, she now has an adverse record in her employee file.

I am in disbelief that there is more drama happening in this teeny-tiny department. And am glad that I’m only here for this week to do more filing, and then I’m outta here!

April 18: Friday, week three
Once again, at barely past 8:00am, while I was fixing my first cup of Joe, Karol approached me. And again, she asked if I’d like to learn A/P, and stay on for a while. She’d had a meeting the day before, where it had been divulged that the company had recently acquired several new companies, and the A/P department here would be taking on their work when things get settled over the next couple of months. As a consequence, not only do they need temp Beryl, but the Powers That Be have stated that she should hire two MORE temps as well. I still think Karol is kinda nuts, but also think that if the universe threw this at me twice, I should pay attention. I told her I would accept the assignment, and we both got to work making it happen.

Even though I had some grave misgivings, I reminded myself that it’s a temp assignment: if I end up disliking the work, or finding that I absolutely couldn’t work with Karol, then I could always quit and get another assignment. My agent knew about Karol, not only from me, but also from Beryl (who came through the same agency as I).

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not someone who just quits things on a whim. In fact, my temperament is stubborn enough that I’ll often stay at something long past the time I should have stopped; but I’m just too stubborn to “give in”. But in this case, I had to give myself the mental relief of a possible “out” to feel comfortable with taking on the A/P job.

So, bwahaha, the joke’s on me. For three weeks straight I’ve told myself, “It’s just two (three) weeks; no matter how nuts it is around here, you can put up with it for a couple of weeks and a paycheck.” And now I’m going to be working here for a bit. Yep, feeling all kinds of mixed up.