I Never Liked That Stupid Game Anyway

There are a few major life changes that are going on in the Stoleyourprozac universe lately and as always, my body is noting them. All of them. In unique and specific ways. (Here is where I turn into an old lady and list my ailments.) My face is reminiscent of a teenager, my hair is frizzing out daily, and as always is the case when I have to deal with things that are emotional, my digestive track is all, "let's play red-light/green-light, but not actually tell you when we are changing the light." Fuuuuck.

Red Light: Most of my stress is from getting ready to move to my own apartment. I am doing it all pretty much alone and although it is going very smoothly so far, the toll of coming across unused wedding invitations, old photos, and the like is, uh.... DUDE, IT SUCKS SO HARD. And it hurts and I don't really have any tears for it, but man oh man can my stomach knot up and just sit there like a grumpy toad. Arms crossed, refusing to move, and majorly scowling. That was much of yesterday.

Green Light: Then suddenly, umm... a shift occurs (oh god, is this post seriously about whether or not I can take a crap due to stress? Just... wow.) and serious gurgling and movement starts. And I then shit myself wild for the next 14 hours straight.

It's been great fun around here.

But my new apartment is fucking cute as hell and has all these built-ins and lots of sunlight. I know that once I am settled in and out of this emotional (and gastric) purgatory, I will be back on top.

On top of what, we are not so clear about, but let's not question the slightly dehydrated, overwrought, redhead today. Let's just feed her Malox and weak tea, and give her sweet compliments about her appearance that may or may not be true.

Yep, I totally look like this today.

There Are Real Post Written, But It Isn't Time For Them Yet

So instead of my emotion based rantings, I give you some youtube videos. Enjoy, chickadees.

Time Is On My Side (I Wish It Would Get Off)

This was the subject line to an email to a friend, but only having one person read it was not enough to satiate my desire for attention regarding tiny witticisms. That pretty much explains why I have a blog at all, now that I think about it. Also, I have a lot of time to dawdle away lately.

BUT, I have some hopeful news on the job hunt front, and although I realize saying anything about it on such a public forum might potentially jinx it, I just have to gush a little. It is one of those perfect storms. (Which is meant to be a positive metaphor, since I love the rain. Keep up, people.) I really want the job and I have someone with a notable amount of clout advocating for me. It feels awfully nice to have some hope about employment for a few days, even if it doesn't pan out in the end.

I am currently listening to a band called Royksopp, and even though I am about a decade late on the pick-up (their album Melody A.M., which is the one I am listening to, was released in 2001), the light use of auto-tune is not driving me batty. No small feat.

Have we established that this is going to be another directionless entry? I think so, but I just wanted to clear that up incase you were wondering.

My band's first real show is tomorrow and I am sort of vibrating with slightly elevated adrenaline levels. I am walking around doing my normal to-do items, but with a fuzzy feeling in my joints, pulsing very lightly. WHEEE, cheap highs are cool by me. It is going to be a great show, I can feel it, but being in front of all these people I know and respect makes me nervous. I really want people to like what we are doing and I hate the idea of falling flat or friends nodding and saying "yeah, that was really great" just to placate me (and my bandmates) if we are weaksauce. I think it helps me to imagine the worst case scenario. I can't say exactly how this is beneficial at all, but the nervous nellie in me won't shut-up, so I guess I have to make her useful somehow. Even if it is bit of chimera. So, if you haven't looked us up, here we are online: The Visceral

The other day, I stopped by a place I used to haunt all the time. I have made a few appearances lately and although I was rather nervous about peoples reactions to me showing up, things were completely fine, and my worries were for naught. In fact, the sweetest thing happened. A few people there have picked up on the fact that AM and I have been going through some very hard times and that the nature of our relationship is changing and being redefined. I didn't know if people would take sides, shun me, get way too fucking nosey, etc. Consistently people have been graceful and kind (okay there are a few I sorta want to spit on, but I think I wanted to spit on them anyway), letting us figure it out. So, there I was at the bar ordering a beer, standing next to someone I have always liked, but was never particularly close to. He is a middle-age black man, always impeccably dressed and possessing very kind eyes that he hides behind sunglasses. We always say hello and exchange pleasantries/updates and a quick hug. I assumed that day would be no different. We greeted one another and then mid-sentence he stopped, looked at me and said, "Girl, come here. We don't need words, do we?" And then he gave me a hug like never before. It wasn't lecherous, lest you get the wrong idea. It just was supportive, protective and caring. An "actions speak louder than words" moment. I got a little verkelmpt and leaned in. He just held me for a moment and then we smiled at each other and said "yeah."

I have been trying to remember to take my vitamins regularly and always get a kick out of how it turns my pee from pale yellow (I am hydrated, bitches) to sort of NEON pale yellow. I feel like a mutant superhero, or some shit. I AM RADIO-ACTIVE, MUTHAFUCKAS.

I think I have consumed no less than five cups of tea today. Caffeinated tea. Nerves and caffeine is making me want to have an impromptu dance party!! Won't you join me?

I Have No Idea Why I Want To Have a Post Title With Spud Mackenzie In It, But I Do. So There.

It is nearing on 3am and I can't sleep. I have managed, as I so often do when given lenient schedules, to flip-flop my sleeping hours to only occur during the early to mid morning. I start to actually get tired around 4am and finally asleep by 5. Then I wake up every hour or so until 9, check my email, maybe make some tea. I often crawl back into bed by 11:30, totally exhausted and pass out for an hour or two. Fucking ridiculous. But the wacky, light sleep does lead me to thinking about Spuds MacKenzie in the the wee hours, which is kind of fun, right? I GOT FREE ASSOCIATION ON LOCKDOWN, bitches.

So. Do I actually have anything to say? Yes. Am I feeling articulate enough to elaborate? Nope.

Things I was going to cover:

1. How much I have changed since I started this blog. How the blog itself has morphed and changed to reflect this.

2. How I wonder about someone reading old stuff, today for the first time and how they might then get a slightly off perception of me.

3. A universal theory of physics. That I developed on my own.

It was going to be pretty badass with its heavy emotional and intellectual content. But now I am just going for pretty. And badass. And meaty. And then WHOA.

Oh my god, I just want to go to sleep.

Pep Talk To Myself

I am getting really good at being strong. Not physically strong, of course. In fact, I think my arms were sore for two days after carrying four heavy grocery bags barely two blocks recently. I mean, I am mentally and emotionally capable of dealing with loads of shit in ways I never was before. And let me tell you, there is shit everywhere these days. Okay, well I need different imagery, but you get the idea. I have had so many sleepless nights in the last 6 months... nights fraught with worry and anger. Days filled with moving forward as much as life allows, which often is not particularly far and frequently I get pulled back behind where I was even further. Losing my job was a huge blow. I am glad to be rid of it, but the timing was just about the worst ever. Pretty much the moment I had some money in my savings account dedicated to a very important use in my near future I had to let go of that plan. It is now my emergency survival fund as opposed to the deposit and first months rent in a new place.

This reality keeps me stuck like a lightning bug in a jar. I have some grass and a twig, but there is no escape until the fates release me. I can flicker all night long, but to no avail if no one sees me or if they think it isn't such a bad deal being contained like this. I know, I am being esoteric with my metaphors here.

I am one of those people that avoids getting angry as much as possible. I don't like to raise my voice, I don't like being cruel or cutting to another person. However, I know I have a depth of rage in me about some of the things that have happened in my life. The things no one asks for, never wishes on another, but they happen anyway. Rape, manic-depression, job loss, watching someone choose substances over their relationship with you for just too long... What I am learning about myself is that I am finally capable of taking the hurt and anger and using it for something greater than it really is. (Giving myself a little slack when I provide someone with a piece of my mind doesn't hurt either.) I never pretend that I have it all figured out or that I am some pro at dealing with the fucked up parts, but I am able to see the progress I have made and how much better off I am these days.

Ya know, just harnessing the power and energy of life's shit-storms on the regular.

I really gotta get better metaphors around here.

1. I Make Lists 2. For They Are Good 3. Even If Uneeded

A. Phrases I have said repeatedly over days or weeks for often totally unclear reasons:

1. Katarina Witt (which I pronounced "Vitt" as it should be). This is my first memory of a persistent word or phrase that I would say over and over in my mind that occurred with no triggering reason. I was in 6th grade and I remember sitting at my desk in my remarkably boyish looking outfit (consisting of an oversized striped t-shirt, oversized plaid shorts and vans. This was also the year I wore turtlenecks under a fitted blazer to school. I guess I couldn't decide if I was a skater wannabe or a professor in training.) and being called on during class. Turns out Katarina Witt was not the answer to the simple math question I was requested to solve and it took multiple verbal summersaults to get out the correct answer.

2. Deutschland uber alles. Mostly the "uber alles" part. This happened the other day as I was wiping down the kitchen, changing the music playing on my computer and adjusting my resume's objective section for a possible job. I was not singing the German national anthem or anything, just letting the words ping around my brain, echoing each time they hit a preferred neuron, I guess. Germany above all.

3. Subcutaneous. College. I am glad that one was short-lived, as that word gives me the heebie-jeebies.

4. Coin. This stems from when I was young my older sister pointed out any word could sound weird and not actually like a word you would be inclined to use in conversation if you say it over and over enough. Her proof of this was for her to say the word coin 10-15 times in a row and leave me with this groundbreaking discovery (hey, I was 6), and boy-howdy did it fascinate me. I said it over and over out loud and then, when told to shut-up at the dinner table (I certainly don't blame them) I just set it on internal repeat. That word still sounds odd to me to this day.

I am not too OCD-ish otherwise. Just let me organize my MnM's/Jelly Belly's by color, wash my hands 5-6 times per day (okay sometimes more, BUT THAT'S JUST GOOD HYGIENE), and find a measure of solace in completing menial tasks in a particular order.

B. Firsts (inspired by a much more eloquent post about firsts by Petunia Faced Girl)

1. First time I got the wind knocked out of me: Also my first day of kindergarten. I was running around a corner just as Michael Whoshisface was rounding the same corner in the other direction. I was notably smaller than he and down I went hitting the checkered linoleum floor on my back. I promptly thought I was dying. Drama ensued. I never forgave Michael for that as well as for having the same birth date as me. HE STOLE EVERYTHING FUN FROM ME was my stance for a good year. Punkass.

2. First kiss: My first real lip-lock was with my then Junior High boyfriend. We had been sweatily holding hands as we walked home for a couple of weeks and hugging before we parted ways. Each day the hug lingered, we touch foreheads, but neither of us would go for it. My girlfriends had all been kissed (one had her boyfriend make out with her bellybutton. I still do not like that image.) and were pestering "when is it gonna happen, already!" One lovely blue sky day we stopped where we always stopped, on the sidewalk right outside of the park we always walked through. When we said our goodbyes, I was never aware of the world around us. Puppy-love did a number on me, that's for damn sure. It was just always him. And me. We engaged in our silly little mating dance of laughter, closeness, bad british accents, quietness, and longing. I haven't the slightest clue who leaned in first or even how the kiss finally came about. I just know it did and I was never the same. The best part was that as we separated from this new and awesome lip to lip thing, someone across the street hollered "WHOOOO!" We were shook out of our revery and giggled like the school kids we were. The accolades may have been unrelated, but I like to think that some homebound weirdo was rooting for us each afternoon and got a kick out of us finally going for it (stopping short of the possible pedophile thing, of course). It was simple and sweet and once I was around the corner and out of my first's vision range I clicked my heels and then ran with a shit-eating grin plastered on my face the five blocks left home.

(Source)

First desired professions: I wanted to be Mrs. Bon Marche (why I had to marry "Mr. Good Market" and couldn't just be the CEO on my own was rather telling of the times, no? In my later years I made up for this by being a totally kickass feminist) and get to run the store, speak french, and wear awesome clothes all the time. Also I wanted to be a detective as well as a broadway star singing show-tunes every night. Not necessarily in that order, but these first vocational leanings occurred roughly around the same time. (Alright, then it isn't really a "first" then is it, rather a series of firsts, but we are flexible here at Ward of the State of Mind. Except when it comes to Jelly Belly organization.) Now if I could just find a profession that wraps all these up into one I might actually know what they fuck I am supposed to be doing professionally in my life today.

Ugh, I am tired of this post. And hungry. And my drink glass is empty. I NOW PROCLAIM THIS POST COMPLETE.

Things Made of Stuff. Wrought From Other Stuff/Things.

Today is national articulation day, if you can't already tell. Also, here is a bunch of random shit that I thought about as I wrote it. TA-DAH.

1. I am yet again battling a swollen gland/throat affliction and am all, um, 2010 has been 2/3rds sickness already. Great. Which is sort of unfair to 2010 as there have only been 3 days so far, but I thought I had an agreement (with who, I am not sure) about strange viruses decreasing in frequency and severity in this coming year. I should probably be happy that my joints are not attacking themselves and AM is not having to help me get dressed and I am not breaking down into tears every time I try to walk up and down the stairs because it hurts and WON'T THE DOCTOR PLEASE EXPLAIN THIS, I AM PRETTY SURE THAT IS YOUR JOB, as was the case last year near this time. That was hell. Okay, perspective.

2. The first words out of my mouth this morning were "what on God's green earth?" My alarm sounded at 5:30 in the morning and as I reached to turn it off that is what I blurted out. (What could have possibly possessed me to set my alarm for 5:30a.m. on a Sunday? I have absolutely no idea.) It is rather quaint sounding of me to use that phrase as normally I would have opted for slightly more vulgar terms. Definitely would have thrown a "fuck" in there, bare minimum. I think all the Prairie Home Companion that has been playing in my home is having a vaguely Lutheran-y restraint/aw-shucks effect on my language.

3. I keep having brief pockets of brain twitchy, emo-ness where I just mentally flop about like a fish out of water who is rapidly giving up the fight to find the river again. There is no pattern to it, so I haven't figured out how to predict its appearance. Suddenly I am disconnected and floating above everything with questions, questions, questions. Just bonk me on the head already life, and let's move on to frying me up with lemons and capers or some tasty campfire/cook-with-beer recipe. (Hmm, I took that metaphor too far and now it makes no sense, but I am hungry for fish now. Which if I follow this to its logical conclusion sort of means I want to eat my own brain/emotive state. BRAINS!!!! Self Cannibalizing Zombie on the loose!! Which I suppose I don't have to warn you about, because I am only eating myself. Scary warning rescinded.)

4. (That was a fun rabbit hole, no? I think so.)

5. On New Years Eve I went on a date with myself (gotta woo that brain before you nosh on it. [I just can't let it go, can I?]) with a book about George S. Patton and a couple beers at The Fox & Goose Pubic House. 20-30 minutes before midnight, I was invited repeatedly to various tables after many pitchers of beer were consumed by those table's patrons and many strange looks were thrown my way. You could just see the "WTF" thought bubbles above their heads as the evening wore on. After politely declining numerous invites, I said "oh hell, why not?" to the table that seemed to be having the most enjoyable time talking intensely, smiling, laughing and guzzling beer. In the brief time I was hanging out with them I was able to get three awesome book recommendations, people committed to coming out to MY BAND'S FIRST SHOW, a midnight (and chaste) kiss from a stranger, and heady conversation about supporting local arts and music and the ultimate purpose of art. It was fifteen kinds of fun and silly as well as remarkably information dense and passionate.

6. The only resolutions I have made are to use the the word "tits" as a confirmation of coolness phrase (e.g. If a friend tells me about a great meal he had, I can happily reply "tits!" so as to convey I am glad for him and think it is rad that he enjoyed said meal so much) and to find a reason to use the word "fisticuffs" more often. I am all about vocabulary enhancement for the new year.

7. Why is there no sex allowed in the champagne room? If ever there was a room for sex, I would think the champagne room would be it, or at least next door to it, so you could wobble your happy little butt over and get it on. Someone should look into this. But not me.

Today Was Eventful In Its Own Special "Only In My Head" Way

I was eating an apple turnover today and after I took a bite I set it on the corner of the table (I do not know why) while I reached for my tall glass of cow-juice (nice imagery, huh?). As I tilted the glass to my lips I saw the apple compote spill out of the opening I had made with my last bite. Everything turned all slow motion-like and I said "Nooooooooooo!!" as I reached out to save the fruity goodness. I then realized that things had not in fact turned slo-mo-like, but rather I perceived it this way because the fruit guts of the turnover were quite gooey and thus moved at a very plodding pace. I was tricked to believe time had slowed down by an apple pastry.

Have I mentioned I am sick and had just woke up from a nap when this all occurred? Yeah, that still doesn't give me a good out, but perhaps a little lenience can be allowed.

During my nap I dreamt about a friend that I have not seen in the flesh for a good 10 years give or take, coming to visit me at my parent's house in Washington. He showed up with approximately four garment bags stuffed full and proceeded to change his clothes three times over the course of 20 minutes (in dream time, which has absolutely no bearing on reality time. Also, YAY DREAMS). He asked for advise on what to wear on a date with my sister (not my real-life one, but the extra one I have in my dreams. Again, whoa dreams). I pulled out some button down shirts and nixed them. I found a baseball shirt with a rather intricate diagram/flowchart on how to determine if what you want to do is okay by social standards. The only part I remember clearly stated the following in blue and red script: "Is the person you are asking if your actions are okay, smart?" "Yes" pointed to this bubble: "Follow their advice, they are most likely guiding you in the right direction" "No" pointed to: "They're stupid? Fuck 'em. Do whatever the fuck you want."

I cannot say this enough or with adequate emphasis, I NEED THIS SHIRT.

(above shirt is not as close to as rad as I need it to be, but you get the idea. Also google image search can only do so much.)

Before this epic nap adventure took place, I was on the couch bemoaning my sore throat and swollen glands to my cats (as no one else was around) and ended up wrapping my scarf around my head a few times in an effort to warm up my ears and thus up my overall body temperature. I had this sort of hip turban look going on, I am certain. The cats were less than impressed, but dude, they are cats. Nothing other than hunks of tuna, catnip and string actually gets them aroused in any fashion anyway. I took no offense and drifted off into my own personal turban wearing land of nod.

This was all well and good until some sleep shifting occurred and I woke up with start. (In my dream someone was running towards me with a jousting stick, or whatever the hell those scary, large pointed medieval accessories are referred to as.) I sort of lurched forward, only to find that one of the end of my scarf was tangled beneath me. This would have been fine had the rest not been coiled around my neck in a rather constricting manner. There was a battle between me and an inanimate object, from which I reigned victorious, but narrowly so. Fucking scarf, with its innocuous soft warmth and fucking ninja-like thin/longness being all dangerous and shit when you least expect it.

To cope with all the excitement of today, I am going to have a economy size glass of wine and scribble flowchart ideas on scraps of paper. Maybe I will make a flowchart about whether or not you need to make a flowchart to illustrate a point or facilitate a process. That is META, MUTHAFUCKAS!!! And probably has been done a million times over by others and with better graphics than the ones I would come up with.

Oh, and Happy Holidays, or something. Mine can be summed up in the following sentences:

1. I love my niece and nephew.

2. The other family members are pretty cool as well, for just the right intervals of time (not too long, not too short).

3. I am pretty fucking ready for 2010.

4. I got hit on by a Boise State football player on a plane ride and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. He was only 22! (Though cute as hell. Had the tall/dark/handsome thing going for him. Oh, and a southern accent as well as southern gentlemanliness to top it off. He must be used to getting all sorts of positive feedback on planes. I think my "sitting next to you friendliness" paired with my rather short goodbye threw off his sense of game. His parting look after I said "pleasure talking" and walked off was priceless.)

5. I do not like when people I know get hit by cars. It is stressful. (Said person should be alright. He's 89, but built like an ox, as AM puts it.)

6. I ate of lot of cookies.

7. One day was dedicated to solely eating fried pork skin and donuts. Yeah.

8. I got to see snow. Not bad.

I Hate Dory (Dory Was Right)

I am at a point in my life I never anticipated being at. A crossroads, time of change and uncertainty that is has left me without orientation. My compass rose is malfunctioning and true north could be any which way as far as I am concerned. In the past, my mood and mental health would dictate that during a time like this that I curl up in the fetal position and stay there for as long as possible. Rarely washing my hair, often eating too much or hardly eating at all, and crying buckets in ragged tones. Ya know, clinical depression, or whatever the doctors were calling it at the time.

However, this time through the confusion and sadness, something is different. Something palpable and good.

I have so many unknowns flitting around in my head . Where am I going to find a job? When? Will I be able to afford a new place to live? Will my mood suddenly collapse? Am I going to loose friends? The questions are nearly constant. A buzzing, humming noise in my mind. It is always there, but is most noticeable when everything else is quiet. Needless to say, I listen to a lot of Pandora lately. The unending circle of questions results in something new however. I have answers that I keep saying to myself: It will work out, it always does. I’ll be fine. I am strong enough for this. I will keep going.

I cannot count how many times I have said these words out loud to the reflection in the mirror or the even more multiplied times I have repeated them as my mantra, silently before bed. Laying in the relative dark, city lights seeping in the crack of the windows just as the questions seep into the cracks of my mind.

My way of coping with loss is different than ever before as well. In times past of emotional turmoil I have resorted to tears, self-abuse, copious amounts of alcohol and a near constant verbal assault on myself. I’m no good, I don’t deserve happiness, I am a failure. People's support and willingness to love and help and listen was seen, but not understood. It was just another way I was a burden. I hated to rely on anyone, I hated to ask for help, say I wasn’t okay.

Alright, so some things haven’t changed too drastically. Asking for help, love, support takes epic amounts of energy, nerve wear and hours, days of contemplation. There is a certain amount of perceived control that is lost in the action of saying, “I am not enough on my own, and I need help”. You must understand, coming from the family I do, giving up control is sort of like giving up a limb or two for absolutely no reason. Who would do that?

"Hey Anna, why did you shear off your right arm and leg?"

"Oh, just to see what it’s like."

NO. That simply does not make sense, thus it is not done.

But I have asked for help. And I got it.

Before I did any of this though, I decided I was going to keep moving. I was not going to let the sadness and scariness of what may be, stop me in my tracks.

Everyday I set goals for myself in order to keep going. Some days it involves applying for at least three new jobs, and writing the corresponding cover letters. Other days it is cleaning house, cooking dinner, practicing music. There are days where I start with one simple goal and once it is accomplished, I set another one. Incremental steps that get me out of bed, and often times showered and relatively productive. In the mornings sometime I have to set goals like “I am going to count to 5 and then get out of bed." Some days I have to count to 1000 in various increments of time before I actually get out of bed, but I don’t beat myself up about it too much. I just get up and set the next goal. In 10 seconds I am going to put pants on, etc.

Which leads me to realizing that Dory, from “Finding Nemo” was right all along. When you are lost, just keep swimming. When you are scared, just keep swimming. When you don’t know what comes next, just keep swimming. Just. Keep. Going. Pretty soon you find yourself dressed, fed, contacting loved ones, laughing, singing, writing, and perhaps dipping into the occasional dark alley of the mind, but walking back out in time. I hate that I can take all my life concerns, boil them down and realize the basic answer is to quote a fucking cheesy Pixar movie. Although, let's be real, it was a pretty good movie…

Silly For Silly's Sake (And My Mental Health)

(click on the picture to read the text better)

Superpoop is one of the greatest online comics ever. DO NOT ARGUE ME ON THIS POINT. Chances are I will contradict myself soon enough anyway.

This is how I am tempted to approach all of life's challenges. I shall just hammer them to pieces until they yield to my will. Or they become a pile of broken plastic. Whatever. Also note I have pliers and a screwdriver. Do not fuck with me anymore universe, for I am prepared to assemble Ikea furniture. What? I need an allen wrench? I HATE EVERYTHING.
Click to embiggen. I forgot to keep the link to the source for this poster. I suck at blogging, okay. What's new?
The day I realized I was probably getting canned from work I did exactly this. I stayed in the dark for a few hours, burrowed under the covers with just my nose and eyes showing, not moving at all and wondering what else could go haywire. I gave myself one evening for this kind of moping. Now I am driven and energetic and mope on the go! Sitting on the couch sending emails! While going for a walk for no reason! Shopping for groceries! All prime mobile-moping opportunities. It is way different then staying in bed.
I never liked the owl trend. The "ORLY?" owls as well as pretty much all of the kitschy, 60's retro owls that were plastered on all hipster items just didn't do it for me. These owls, though? These owls rock my face off.
I don't really have to ask because I already know what the answer will be to the question "Who wants to take a sled-ride in their jammies on a rainbow that originates from the crotch of some floating sky-man?" I know, EVERYONE. Line starts behind me!

And thus concludes the latest installment of: Anna collects random ass pictures/the internet has no lack of WTF.

Sometimes When You Start Writing What Comes Out Is Not What You Expected

I meant this to be a subtle mulling over of greater desires in life, but I got real specific, real soon. I give you, Whoa Is Me. (Yes, Whoa, spelled that way, not woe. It's funny, so just go with it.)

Everyone is looking, searching for something. A lost button on a shirt, a soulmate, a cheap but functioning car. I am searching for a job again. I am also thus searching for what my professional calling is. I really, REALLY want to be done in the field I have been working for... oh god, eight years. The thing is, I am quite good at what I do most of the time. I work long hours, come up with super creative ways to address behavior concerns of kiddos with developmental disabilities, can train a new tutor like it was nothing, and build relationships with intention and empathy. The area I fail in time and time again is the nit-picking bits. The items I feel take energy and purpose away from the ultimate goal (independence and self-assurance for my clients) annoy me, frustrate me and ultimately, trip me up. The constant additional paperwork that the supervisors who forgot what it is like to be in the field all the time assign, the accounting for every last minute of all work completed in triplicate (at the minimum), and the expectation that you will learn all of the intricacies of policy and operation with no flaws whatsoever. And it's funny, because ultimately I actually love details. I love making sure everything is covered and taken care of. Generally speaking, I thrive on these elements, but when you are told to spend 75% of your time making direct visits (face to face with consumers), but are still expected to have all the tedious paper and electronic work completed without full compensation, one gets a little... grumpy. Now, it should be noted that my previous employer (yes, I was let go) was pretty much the best company I have worked for, but there are pervasive elements in the field of ABA that no matter how wonderful your company may be cannot be avoided. Nature of the beast, or something like that.

I will miss my kiddos. They were amazing, and well on the way of their loosely linked path to independence and personal success. Wildly variant, I learned the most from them over the years. I have loved them deeply, all the while playing the professionals role. Did they know? Brief glimpses told me yes, but the majority of the time I spent with them I was enforcer, trainer, teacher with a mission, etc. I have had a kid within five minutes of my arrival grab my work bag (3/4s of his body weight), drag it to the front door, and start waving goodbye. Yeah, love you too, you stinkbutt. But I would always stay and by the end of the session be giving tickles, making silly faces, learning how to put on shoes, playing appropriately with the Ironman action figure, or practicing saying "mama".

So it turns out I focused too much on ideas, hopes, and innovation and forgot to track my time perfectly. And guess in which area you are not allowed second chances? You got it right. And it was my fault so I have no one to point fingers at besides this miffed redhead. I hate to know my passion also sabotages my success. I asked point blank if my confession of personal strife (details withheld from readers because I said so) had effected their perception of me as well as the quality of my work so much that it was over for me. The answer was no. They didn't want to lose me and would have liked to have worked to develop me professionally, but when a company has a no tolerance policy...

And here I am, unemployed again and SO ready to do something... different. It is time. I have applied for a few positions already and will apply for even more tomorrow and the next day until I get what I am looking for. Okay, until I get a reasonable offer if we are gonna get real about it, but I do hope it is brand new to me and at least for a little while, fulfilling in a novel way. I need a tabula rasa to scribble my abilities on and see my marks, not anyone else's.

A girl can hope.

I Got Nada.

'cept for some pictures that reference The Beatles. Look, it has been a long few weeks and promises to be a long many more. Breaks need to be given. Also, this shit is funny.