Wednesday, March 30, 2005
This week was Easter week. It started off with dinner at my sister's house while my mom cooked and checked my sis's IV antibiotic drip. PF and I ate, joked around with my fam, and afterwards we drove over to Tower Theater in the rain to view Downfall. The film's about the last few days down in Hitler's bunker. You know what's coming, but it's still awful. Magda Goebbels gives me nightmares, and the gal who plays Traudl Junge (Alexandra Maria Lara) looked too much like Chandra Levy for my comfort. It was like watching a ghost. Chandra was very fresh and pretty in real life, not the messy looking girl or the glamour freak on the covers of all the enquirers, so it was really hard to watch her doppelganger nazi twin running around in Hitler's bunker, and frankly, it made the film that much more disturbing and fascinating.
We came home to find that Churchill, my Russian Blue freak of a cat had run away. He came back the next evening. Still, that was rough, because he fell off the roof somehow in the rain and I thought maybe he'd been carried off by the raccoon that ate Seamas's tail.
His tail, by the way, is doing fine. We had a recheck today, and they were irritated with me for having so much krazy glue on the end, but you have NO IDEA how much that tail thwacks walls and splits open. The glue was there to keep everything closed off. I told my dad I'd gotten a lecture at the vet, and he said "WTF? Did you tell them we put that stuff in BRAINS???" No, I didn't. When the vet tech disapprovingly approached me 15 minutes after I'd woken up and driven my dog to an early appointment, I just said "thanks" and left asap. So no one else in the lobby could hear what an idiot these people think I am. But his tail is holding, and he's not ripping into it. As far as I'm concerned, success.
Frogs are okay I think. I'm still doing oral cipro. If you have giant frogs, they tell you to pry their mouths open with a spoon. My frogs won't have anything to do with a spoon. I have to slip a fingernail under a corner and then slide their mouths open. Things most people don't know about frogs: some of them have teeth. Pacman frogs, horned frogs and bull frogs can actually make you bleed if you get bitten. Mine are White's, and one is a giant indonesian that weighs half a pound. The other is a female Australian who is just a few grams off. And they have sharp ridges in their mouths, but nothing scary. Still. Having a giant frog bite your hand and hang on is pretty weird. However, Sparky is a cuddler who will back up to a warm spot on your elbow and sort of peep out from the coziness, and Beep is too lethargic for most things because she's recuperating from her abscess. She's recovering pretty well from their infection, but not as fast as Sparky. I had to take a "froggy fecal" in to the herpetologist. I still haven't gotten the results on nematodal infection, but that's probably the one thing about amphibians that seriously makes me get the willies. Anything with worms actually crawling around inside of them gives me nightmares. Kinda like Magda Goebbels, but actually even worse.
I had some tests done myself and they came out okay.
And congratulations to Melanie and Chris and Steven! Their family grew by 4 feet this week. How cute are those twins? Man. Adorable. (that's add-or-abluh en Francais)
Friday, March 25, 2005
Things are going okay today. It's a daily thing for me, things. Whatnot. Nothing spectacularly horrifying or great in my life, so that's good. That's the absolute definition of "GOOD", non? Not okay. "Okay" is when you don't really want to tell everyone the bad stuff, and are coping with it well. Good is when there's really nothing awful or wonderful, you're just pleasantly coasting.'
Frogs are kosher (I think), dog is okay (for now) and I'm going to a matinee and riding the rails into town in about an hour.
Which, for some reason, makes me think of Terri Schiavo, who is all over the news. I'm not that fascinated by her, I think she should have been unpluggled a long time ago. But I have since made it clear that should anything happen to me during any point in my life, that I'm to be a full code (fully rescuscitated no matter what) and then if I'm vegetative, I need to be unpluggled and allowed to find my way to freedom. And then I want to be cremated, dropped into an ornate ginger jar, and wedged into our family's Grandfather Clock. Where all our cremated pets go. After awhile, and they need room for another dog, I want to be taken up to Desolation Wilderness Area and sprinkled near Twin Lakes. Are you getting this PF? This is IN WRITING. No respirators or feeding tubes unless I can blink twice for no and once for yes.
As far as Mrs. Schiavo is concerned, today I learned: her husband has had an affair and two children with another woman while married to an asparagus. Shocker! Lordy. What the hell would any normal person do, jump a veggie's bones for a little satisfaction? I ask you, what kind of marriage has no sex or conversation or nagging? Lordy. I mean, Hawking nagged on a voice synthesizer for pete's sake.
Poor Mr. Schiavo.
Yesterday I learned he went to nursing school to TAKE CARE OF HIS FUCKED UP WIFE properly. For 15 years.
And he never divorced her because...well, probably because she said she wanted to be allowed to die in writing, and her parents would become her guardians and they don't like the idea of dead people actually dying. Which caused a lot of arguments in courts where the husband always wins the battles, but loses the war to idiocy. So, he's a self sacrificer I guess, in more ways than one.
Personally, I would never have kids with a man married to a potato, but that's just me and that's all I have to say about his extracurricular activities. It seems not that his marriage is a sham, but more of a political recourse. Wow. Strength comes to those who ask for it, I guess.
Poor Mrs. Schiavo. I sincerely doubt that when she said "till death do us part", did she mean that she'd be hooked up to a feeding tube and whatnot, turned to keep her from getting a cubitis or two in her ankles, and diapered and bathed like an infant for the last 15 years; or that her husband would have to do that for her as she slowly turned into someone neither of them would recognize. It would be one thing to say "she totally responds, her bp goes up, she makes eye contact and can blink and grunt as answers to questions" but she can't. According to all the docs, who probably know a lot more than GWB and Jebbo, she can't. 15 years is too long to wait for recovery for anything.
Republicans??? Are insane. If you listen to what they say about this case, and others like it, they talk about sanctity of life. They never mention dignity.
What the fuck? Sanctity of life does not include torture of bodies without consciousness, and if that's what docs and husbands are saying about people they have cared for for 15 years, I'm inclined to agree with the guy who went to nursing school.
And what makes matters worse? This case is mainly being funded by a group of republibacon RTLs from Sacramento who are calling Mr. Schiavo "the same as Scott Peterson." How offensive can you be and not get shot in the head at close range and then bbq'd? You stupid idiots. 200,000 people die in a Tsunami and you spent 5+ mil on legal aid for on some crazy fam in Florida to "save" a chick who said "please don't." Bewilderingly flabbergasting.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
I just spent the evening with Allykat at her uncle's house up here in El Dorado Hills. This is near the place (Coloma) where gold was found in the 1800s, sparking deep and neverending interest in California in general. Sutter's mill is a stone's throw. Okay, about 70 stone's throws, but if we really really wanted to, we could hike to that place. Except Ally is scared of rattlers.
Okay, I am too.
It's beautiful here. The house is thouroughly modern but unpretentious with a natural zinc roof and lots of naturalized elements sitting on 10 acres of country in the foothills. We are surrounded by hills, green meadows, and graceful oak trees, and there's a seasonal brook bubbling outside full from the rains. There is a dog named Sasha that I just want to kiss, and a deep fabulous tub that I filled to the brim and soaked in lavender bliss last night. This morning I woke up to a lux little breaky with Ally, who broke out the bagels, cream cheese and good coffee. We walked up the hill for the paper with Sasha (dragged by Sasha), and we worked out good and long in the workout room. I'm feeling like I just spent a much needed weekend away from the fam, the PF, the damaged pets, and my dreary unemployed life. Minus the pedicure and the facial and deep tissue massage.
I almost didn't make it. Poor ally was calling yesterday over and over to find out if I was still coming out here to make spaghetti and watch a movie out in the middle of the woods. I was stuck at the vet.
My frog Beep came down with a big fat weird bump on her thigh. I dragged her to the Herpetology specialist at 4 PM. I also took Sparky because he's never been to the vet before and I thought since it was only an additional 30 bucks, it was worth it to get them both seen. Well, they both have massive infections. From what, I don't know. But the words 'red leg' were bantered, and the vet took my little green boos in the back where she sucked 3 ccs of pus from Beep and injected them with 3 different antibiotics and a dewormer. We thought a nematode had encysted on the leg, but it was a horrible abscess!! I've been a bad frog momma. But at least I got them to the vet while they were still perky and hardy enough to handle the pokes prods and injections. Sparky didn't like it, and told her so, but he still got his mouth checked for worms. He's anemic. I feel like crap. Dog and frogs down for the count, I'm just waiting for a cat to come down with something freakishly horrifying and wipe out my entire savings. Frogs: 200+ buckaroos, dog 376+ buckaroos, and I'm running on a threadbare savings account that just got an overdraft charge. Ugh. Sigh. I got back to my house at 6 PM, just in time to sterilize my frog habitat and call Ally to say "yeah, I'm still coming, don't eat without me." But stress? I never get a break.
Until last night. I slept a full 8 hours and was very cozy and comfy and am very refreshed.
It's good to have friends. Especially friends with uncle's who have built retreats out in the Gold Country.
We are showered and refreshed. And now we shall go shopping somewhere cheap.
Monday, March 21, 2005
I haven't slept properly in days and I keep getting dehydrated and cranky. Why is this, you ask? Because I keep one eye open to make sure my dog doesn't rip his surgically reduced tail up. He was attacked by a raccoon last Wednesday, and the damn thing ate half his tail and broke two extra bones that had to be removed. So my poor dog's beautiful black and silver doggy flag is raised to half mast. He's just a baton twirler now. His stump depresses me even more, so I will stop talking about it. I keep thinking how it's damn lucky I'm not working right now, because otherwise my dog would have chewed his tail even further.
In any case, this weekend, my dog managed to rip out his tail stitches WITH his E-collar intact on his neck. My life this weekend has basically consisted of not bathing (much), watching for tail wags out of control, and trying to keep my dog sedate and myself awake. Still. He wags and breaks open his boo-boo, or somehow managed to tear off the actual dressings, making bloody messes.
So, we countered with Krazy Glue applications to keep the skin together. This has been a constant effort all weekend long, after each bleeding episode stops, we daub a bit more of this stuff on to keep the original suture line closed. It's working, but boy, can he bust it open with one good thwack on a wall or a piece of furniture.
Seamas managed to whap his tail against a wall in the bathroom at one point when I was trying to wash his head (blood from the surgery or something was stuck in his ear and was making me sick from its old blood smell), and within a few wags, the entire bathroom was covered in slick blood and death gurgle-like spray patterns. Please do not call CSI in with their Luminol arsenol, because they'd think I was some sort of murderous witch. Until they sampled the blood and matched it to my very much alive and messy happy wagging dog, but by then, I'd probably be in San Quentin with my cursed luck. Ugh. Let me just say that every time I cleaned up one spatter, there was a new one drying fast somewhere else. Mirror, walls, door, tub, floor, cabinets, toilet, towel racks, window...and then because the first dressing didn't hold, hallways and atrium. Spattered. High velocity tail spray due to happy waggage and shakage. There is nothing you can do except yell at your dog and want to cry because he's bleeding everywhere. I can't imagine how people with bleeding two-year-olds deal with shit like this. They don't make e-collars and leashes for children. Anyway.
So, to staunch that mess, we took desperate measures. My dad and I had to hold my damn dog on my lap, fill his poor tail up with lidocaine, and then stitch him closed. We also did something kind of drastic, we sewed a dressing onto his tail tip with some lateral sutures so that any future waggage that knocked off a good clot would be less of a mess and wouldn't wag right off. Gauze was then folded over and sewn to itself to reinforce the padding. Handily. Wag all you want dog, you're not bleeding all over me anymore. It's nice living with a general surgeon again. You forget all kinds of first aid crap until you live with your medically inclined parentals and their house full of gauze and numbing meds.
Of course, this was when we discovered for certain that yup, this pup can pull off dressings with an e collar surrounding his face. And the damn thing is a size 25 cm.
This meant knocking him out with rimadyl and benedryl so I could get at least 3 hours of sleep last night as I'm not able to watch him and yell at him for being a dog when I'm snoring, and finally running to the vet this morning for more potent KO drugs and a gigantuous e collar.
I had complained about not sleeping, misery, blood flow, wishing there were magic knock out pills for dogs that I could give orally, and was actually rewarded with something called Ace. Ace has a longer name, but I have no idea what that is right now. I promptly gave it to my dog and took a long nap.
I just woke up from said nap to discover that my dog has not moved anything physically, and has been staring questioningly at me for hours with saggy eyes, sending me psychic dog messages like "you are the meanest mommy in the whole wide world because you won't let me wag my tail or run or play." Nope. I totally thwacked him out on drugs to get some shut-eye. I feel refreshed, but evil.
I think the next dose of this wickedly potent stuff will be half a pill.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
It's a sad, sad day when you have to use AOL to open up your stupid blog posting software because it won't open up quickly in other browsers.
It's St. Paddy's Day and everyone should taste a drop o'good Irish Whiskey and wear a bit o'the green.
Life in Unemployment Land:
I go to the dog park a lot, and I watch vampire movies with my dad, who is still recovering from a nephrectomy. That's a brill vampire movie, by the way. It's called Habit, and it's low budge indie vampire NYC action from 1997, and the director, Fessenden, stars as this alkie toothless mulleted dude that all the girlies are after for some reason. It's full of annoying New Yorker folks that you want to see drained of blood, and it's a good sexy (creepy sexy) story. With vampires and blood. Yay.
I also spent Monday at the hospital learning how to care for my sister. Her leg infection has just gotten worse and worse, and she has had 3 more biopsies. She also had a PICC line placed in her arm, it runs through her brachial veins up and then down to the superior vena cava. This is for extra toxic antibiotic action that she wouldn't be able to tolerate orally. The good news is she got to stop taking one of her other antibiotics. The bad news is, she's on IV in her office or her home for about an hour, and then we have to flush her out with saline to keep the line from clogging. It's a pain in the ass, and she's miserable, so send her good healing thoughts. I'd also suggest calling your local health department to see if your local salon, where you go for "spa pedicures", the kind in the massage chair, has been checked within the last month or so for proper disinfection. My sis caught some horrible mycobacterium that they are having a lot of problems culturing in the lab, and it's eaten gigantic holes in her leg. It's left big red scars on her other leg, but the one leg is just a wreck. It needs major skin grafts and reconstruction and the hole has grown to about 1 inch deep and 2 inches across, red and bloody and oozing. And now, with the PICC line in, she can't even bathe like a normal person. She used to just stand with one leg up out of the shower water, but now she can't have any water on her skin and has to sponge it. Poor girl. She's just miserable. I wouldn't wish this on my most hated enemy, much less my own precious sister.
My boss was really nice, waved on his way in and out of the office. He's the one who told me to take my time and to come in and remove my things as I saw fit during this week. He also made it very clear that it was an amicable fire, as in, "not your fault". So, they are covering my medical etc. for the year. Which is truly wonderful. I've got nothing bad to say.
Especially since Seamas, my dog, had a run in with a mean mean raccoon last night. He is currently at the local vet having his tail partially amputated. Yup. It's so much shorter than it used to be! I just want to cry. The raccoon took off about 4 inches of his poor beautiful tail. And the worst part??? I didn't fucking notice. I just kept telling him to "leave it" when he licked his tail in front of me. For about 45 minutes while I watched some dumb tv show. Oh man. Heartbreaking. But the dog wasn't wimpering or whining! My Seamas is a brave, brave boy. But yeah, I flipped out when I saw him get up and walk away and noticed his tail was seriously shorter than it was an hour earlier. Here's what you do if your dog gets eaten by a raccoon: find your vaccination records. But if you're like me, and you just moved, you might as well get him vaccinated again pronto. I've heard the rabies vaccination causes cancer, but fuck it. I'd rather have my dog get cancer in 5 years than have rabies now. If it's the tail, drag dog into bathroom, trim fur, give kisses, hold and swirl tail end gently in betadine and water solution for about 5 minutes, about 1 betadine to 4 waters ratio (otherwise, grab a big syringe, insert it into the puncture or tears, and squirt over and over again until you can't stand it anymore.) Then, if you are lucky, and your dad has some on hand, pour out the betadine solution and replace it with about 2 inches of injectible lanacaine into your soak tub, and dip the dog's tail into it for another 2-4 minutes to numb it up. Then slather it with neosporin, and wrap with some vet wrap and gauze. Then, because you are a good dog owner and you keep it on hand, give your dog a keflex and a rimadyl, call the vet and warn them in a panicked scared voice that you're coming in the next morning when they unlock their doors, and then neglect to be able to find an elizabethan collar. Since you can't find an e-collar, drag dog to bed with you and stay up all night worrying that he's going to die of rabies or bleed to death in your bed. Wake up, take shower, drag dog to vet by promising dog park action. Tell vet what you did to patch him up the night before, cry a little, and hope it's going to be under a grand since you're layed off.
Luckily, my dog vet bill is within my budget right now. Because I've got about 300 bucks saved and I've got my last check and the 1 month check coming. But lordy. This is NOT what I need right now. I mean, hello. Doggy, no more raccoons for you because mommy has no job.
Then again, I got approached in an elevator by a lobbiest from a local non profit yesterday who is is looking for a program manager for health and air quality stuff. Right up my freaking alley. So, you never know. Maybe I'll be employed again soon!
If not, I'm just going to keep enjoying being layed off and try to stay stress free or stress lessened. In fact, I have an appt at the chiropractor today.
Congrats to Collie M, who delivered a GORGEOUS baby boy on Tuesday. Baby Boy is not named yet, but I'm pushing for Ronan. Because that's my fave of her choices. 7 lbs 9 oz by c section, and 19.5" of just gorgeous. Sigh.
~Amelie, friend to animals great and small. Except those cute little vicious fuckers the raccoons.
Friday, March 11, 2005
I got layed off today.
But the bonus: my shingles cleared up within an hour of my verbal notice.
The severance won't be harsh at all, and if I file in April, I'll get the max allowed by UI.
So, I think I'm going to spend more time volunteering with the Wildlife Care Association. I'll also take a lot of walks down by the river, wander over to The Sunflower Drive-In on more occasions than rainy Saturdays for my veggie taco fix, and maybe I'll even volunteer down at the Capitol. If I can find a good assemblymember to "work" for, the odds of my being hired on full time when the time comes are a lot stronger.
I used to say "I can't take a job there, it doesn't pay enough." But now? Well. I guess I will have to tighten my belt a bit and bite the bullet and start really looking for something with more flexibility/options. I'm going to explore everything.
This is a good thing. The last time I got layed off from a job, I really resented it, because I built such a beautiful program for people with HIV/AIDS in our community, and it was just shut down without regard to them or their ongoing needs. And I found the job that precursed this one, and was promoted within a year, so it's not like they didn't like me. But this past month has been EXTRAORDINARILY hard.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
I just downed my last dose of anti-shingle medicine. My shingles have taken on a peculiar texture, more like rough wallpaper than shingles, more like sunburn than swollen poxish areas. Suffering with an old lady disease is particularly fun when it's warm and balmy out and you can't sit in the sun without frying part of your face off. Even with SPF 45.
PF got burnt yesterday fishing at Mather Lake. He won't let me put aloe on him because that's what wusses do. That's okay by me, I figure when he dies of skin cancer, I'll inherit everything he owns. I'm golddiggerish like that.
I have tentative plans to see Liv Moe's art show in Benicia this Saturday. I haven't been to a Sacto 2nd Saturday in ages, but I've also never seen her work and I adore her. So I'm driving to the city this weekend, hopefully finding my way through Benicia.
It's really gorgeous out. I think I really am sunburned on the left side of my face. I should go walk around the capitol and take my opposite route so that I can fry my right side and make myself more balanced.
I've also decided I don't like iced mochas very much.
In other news, someone has been breaking in to our building and stealing stuff. I got to take a field trip up to the 4th floor to check out their surveillance tapes, and flirted with a cop for a little while. In my own way. In my way of flirting, the poor guy never knows I'm actually flirting and just thinks I'm off my meds, and I usually leave thinking "wtf did I just do there?" When I'm not flirting, they think I'm a dirty, dirty girl. And I'm not even. For example, I tried to explain to some state official (who was visiting our office once) that our old paradise fish liked the the regular UPS guy , and I think he decided I was projecting or something (like in reality I'm the one who likes the UPS guy, which is not the case. It was the fish.) when I said "she gets SOOOO excited, she turns orange and starts really wiggling around trying to get him to notice her. It's true! She just LOVES the UPS guy. Must be Big Brown or something, or maybe she just really likes his uniform." He turned red and said "Yeah. I BET she wiggles." Then I turned red and ran away.
Monday, March 07, 2005
3 old friends popped back into my life recently, one by web, one by phone, and one in person. That's neat.
This weekend my brother, sister and I did a collaborative art project together for my sister's living room wall. It's blank, we determined to fill it. We bought three 18" X 36" canvasses, filled them with flowers and colors, and created a very moderne triptych in acrylics. I wanted to add other media crud to it, but we were so tired. I free drew the patterns in pencil and we mixed paints up and crap talked about our familia and other crud. 6 hours later, it was pretty much finished. For "home made art", as my sister is prone to saying, it looks pretty great. I need to take photos when it's completely dry and up on the wall.
My old housemate found me a new dog. I didn't need a new dog, the old one was working just fine, but she took in a stranded schnauzer and how can I say no? He looks like a mini, pale, Seamas with no tail (and he needs his nuts off soon.) My parents are desperately in love with him, as he's absolutely the most precious thing (next to my Seamas), so maybe they will get stuck with him. As for me, he slept in my arms all night like the softest teddy bear. There are flyers all over South Sac, but he's been on the street for weeks, so he's probably not going back to any old owners. Poor sweet fella. We were calling him Col. Clink, but now he's answering to Schatzi. I think he's trained in another language because he basically ignores us when we tell him to do things.
I'm back at work. I'm dreading writing anything lately because it will be shredded at the first sign of a tentative draft. I've been told to be more "pithy". What the fuck? I also got a copy of Strunk and White recently. FUck that. I completed English 1A, 1B, Poetry, and advanced composition in undergrad. I don't need no stinking boss to tell me he don't like my style, but call my semantics and grammar to question!?. He'd be the first one to have problems with it. I think it's something else. I think he's hateful towards me lately. Can't quite say why.
I still think that's why I have The Shingles, the jerk.
Well, my unpleasantly itchy rash is shingles. Shingles! Herpes Zoster. In one patch about 1"X3" long. Doc says if it spreads, it will spread out across my back in a long band that runs, and get this, runs RIGHT UNDER MY BRA. Right now it's on the lower part of my left shoulder blade and I'm praying it doesn't decide to spread.
This is something that mainly older folks, and people with lowered immune systems, get. I have neither issue. Neither, I say. But it also can be caused by stress: general, daily stressors. Which I have in spades. Lovely. My nana had it from July to Xmas, and it's the only thing she remembers from last year. Besides xmas dinner. She was in so much pain, she didn't get out of bed until Thanksgiving. And she got it in her ears, which is a very unpleasantly painful thing. I'm just thankful I don't have it that bad.
Shingles is a reactivation of the chicken pox virus, herpes zoster, and picks one spectacular nerve to lodge in, and can be activated by stress. Guess who's stressed beyond beyond lately? That's right. This grrl. Shingles was called St. Anthony's Fire in Italy. Neato. I have a saintly disease. I found out that chicken pox gets it's name from the fact it looks like chick peas welting up all over. Shingles gets it's name from the fact that, well, it looks like red bands of shingles scattered all over you, until it breaks open and seeps juice and crusts over. Yum. And it fucking itches and burns like the worst hives you ever fucking had in your fucking life.
One nerve. One nerve is all it takes. I keep thanking my lucky stars it's just some superficial back skin nerve, and not a cranial or facial nerve, like this poor, poor bastard And I'm glad it didn't lodge in a nerve located "down there." (no pictures available).
So basically, it is a future of itchy-where-you-can't-reach hell for the next few months. And I do mean months. And months.
And I can't apparently take anything, because I have a condition that means I can't take certain types of drugs.
So basically, I'm stuck with this. If it were a new case of chicken pox (if I weren't already a survivor), and if I were prego, it could kill or warp a fetus. Luckily, it's just shingles, and if I were prego, the fetus would be protected by my previous case of zoster fun and antibodies. But it's pretty rare to get this when you're prego. But like I always say, "if it's gonna happen, it's gonna happen to me."
And I'm not contagious and it's not somewhere obvious. So you can be nice and hug me and take me to lunch and coo over my vicious itchies.
I dunno. How many people in my age group, 25-35, have had shingles? Not fucking many of them, I'm sure.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
I have a weird rash on my back. It's just a band of puffy red, but it's suddenly separated into about 5 semi-distinct shingle looking things.
In my condition, this is not a good thing at all.
In other news, it rained all night and woke up mold spores, so I'm a big puffy red face on top of the puffy red back.
I'm blight. If someone was determining whether they would build on top of me because I'm an eyesore, I'd be the green lot that would get filled in by ugly skinny townhomes.
I think I just got depressed, and you read it happen.
It doesn't help that my job is completely taxing and unbearable lately. PF gave me a good "buck up little cowboy" talk late last night, but at 8 AM, I'm now dreading going in.
This has to do with a boss who never responds positively to my work lately, and coworkers who are overworked and ask me to help them. My coworkers I desperately want to help, but my boss is really taxing me lately. I don't even think he knows he's doing it. The last thing I did? I wrote something based on work that my boss had written previously. While I changed the language around, it was not "incorrect". He edited it, and said "problems with substance and grammar." Which threw me, because, well, I maintain excellent use of the english language, MS Word didn't catch anything weird, and I'd based it on his own work, so I wasn't sure what he meant by "substance". I opened his version, and it had 3 misspelled words and extra spaces everywhere. He did change things, but not substantially.
I almost want to send it in like that.
I'm not a great writer, but I'm very fast at spinning out drafts and copy, and every little criticism lately is really getting to me.
I think I hate my job.
I think you just saw me type in code that I need antidepressants all of the sudden.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
My dad just sent me this link to a zdnet article. I guess Iwebtunes, a program that allows you to have music on your blog, also downloads spyware automatically onto your computer. This article is about 6 days old, but it's probably somethign most folks aren't aware of. Thanks, Da.
I decided I like Balance Gold Caramel Nut Blast better than most chocolate candy bars I've tried. It's got some power bar-esque central protein gunk that makes me think of actual food, and the rest is pleasant chocolate and caramel and nuts, without too many calories to make it unpleasant. Plus it helps me get all my protein and iron, which I'm bad about getting because I don't eat a lot of meat.
I dragged PF off to Indian food last night. While it's good, I do not recommend Star Of India because of the outrageous prices. For veggie korma and chicken jalfrezie, with an order of aloo nan, a sprite, a mango lassi, and a veggie samosa appetizer, our meal came to over 35 bucks. I gave her a nice tip too, because she was a nice lady, but for the amount of food you get, it's just not worth it. Plus the only other couple in the restaurant that late was this disgustingly coarse hippy guy who laughed obnoxiously, belched loudly, and made loud disparaging comments about "mexicans" at his workplace. I wanted to throw the lassi at him, but it was too good and too expensive to waste. So, good food? Yes. Too much money? way yes. I'll be driving all the way across town to much cheaper/slightly less quality Taste of India instead from now on when I get the cravings.
And my opinion on Michael Jackson has not changed even though there is no DNA evidence in his bedroom: that is a weird, weird, weird, weird man. I mean, really. Scarily weird. I want to know more about his ex wife, the Rowe. If she's suddenly willing to risk her security in order to challenge him for the kids she carried in her pouch, something is really up with him. She's also a freaky weirdo.
On a side note. After MJ was burned in the commercial for Pepsi, he used hyperbaric O2 tanks to regenerate his skin faster. Around that time, my grandma vilma, who was a double amputee from diabetes, was being treated in similar tanks for her skin degeneration. She used to say "I'm just like Michael Jackson!". Oh, Noni, you were were weird, but not THAT weird.