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.