Surely anyone who even occasionally reads this blog will understand why I refer to yesterday’s “helliday” as Valenswine’s Day. Because the only thing that could possibly make me ok with all that vulgar red and pink hearts and candy and Hallmark robbery. Two pigs smooching. Valenswine’s Day.
Oh, and this, which Diane sent me, did cheer me up a bit.
I had a few sedate do little days that I much needed. Monday I got another surge of “need to change the scenery” in hopes it might spark my creative block so I did more rearranging in the living room. Of course, that didn’t work out as I wanted since half the floor is caving in and I can’t put the couch on that side unless we want to fall through…GRRR. But it does look better. I am slowly whittling down all the depressive induced “hoarding” which I consider clutter more than anything. Not like I am saving shit from 1979 just because. I need storage containers, plastic drawers (all my cabinets and drawers have fallen apart, thank you slum lord.)
But, progress is progress.
R requested me at the shop yesterday at the ungodly hour of 9 a.m. I was horrified and of course, barely slept more than hour long increments. Then I couldn’t take my meds less *that* be one of the times it made me sleepy and knocked me out. I am trying to help him get his ducks in a row as he has a shot at a job making $60 plus grand a year and is going to close the shop if he gets it.
This is both a blessing and a curse. Blessing because frankly, once he’s off to being financially superior and upper class again, he will just leave me be and oh that would be wonderful for my anxiety. What am I gonna lose? Smokes and Mangoritas?
What truly pisses me off is that this particular place under its name has been in business 60 years, owned by R less than ten, and he can barely keep the doors open. Because people have no problem shelling out hundreds of dollars for their stupid flat panel TVs and plasmas but ask them to spend two hundred to fix one…”I’ll go buy a new one at Wal-mart.”
Only in this fucktard town could anyone think spending $800 for a brand new TV versus a $150 repair to an existing TV is “cheaper.”
And because society is vapid and shallow and has an “it’s disposable” mentality…this wonderful business with an extremely skilled technician is likely going to bite the dust. That is truly sad as it ends an era. Sixty years of business.
I could blame R for being shallow and wanting more money and less work. But I don’t. This new gig is a big opportunity for him, sort of in his field but also outside so he has to apply, reinterview, learn, take classes, etc…But considering how he was freaking out last night on the phone about how poorly the business is doing…I hope he gets the new gig. Because panic and anxiety are my baseline in life and it’s hell, I wish that on no one. Especially not someone accustomed to it and ill equipped to handle it outside alcohol consumption.
Just saddens me every time a local business is beaten to death by these stupid chain stores. And that’s the truth because god knows, I’m not on a payroll or losing income or benefits. I just really believed in what the business offered customers who’d otherwise have to drive miles away and pay three times more. This town makes me want to Z Whack every resident just on principle and call them disposable.
Anyway…Almost six hours in the dish nearly did me in yesterday. I did get to speak to a very man from Peavey about a service manual and he had this laid back southern cadence to his voice that I found quite lovely. Normally I don’t notice this sort of thing because I fucking hate phones and talking on them, especially to strangers, is hellish.
R waited til a half hour before I had to fetch my kid to dispatch me for errands. By that point I was 15 hours without xanax or any other meds and….panic had set in. like psycho “i am gonna wreck the car if I don’t find a way to slow down my brain” panic. But I pushed myself to get it all done and for my troubles, the nice cashier guy at the smoke shop told me how beautiful my hair looked out in the sun when I was getting out of the car. THANK YOU. Crimson Obsession IS a beautiful color.
I was flipping out further waiting for my slow poke kid, always the last straggler out of school, and went thru with my promise to take her to the book fair. She got a Shopkins journal. I treated myself to a Grumpy Cat book. Because it makes me laugh. By the time we left the school (and the ladies selling commended me for insisting my kid get a book instead of erasers and such as it is a BOOK fair and reading is more important than novelties) I was panting, clutching my chest and basically melting down. I told my kid we would go home, do homework, get her snack and then I needed a half hour minimum of quiet.
Instead what I got was devil girls at the door, then the keys from two trailers down joined in and they were bouncing a basketball, using my trash cans as baskets. Throwing it against the side of the trailer. Yap yap yap, noise noise noise. I was ready to snap. But I didn’t, I just kept telling myself, they are kids, for once it’s warm out, let them be.
On the plus side, I took my meds when we got home and they made me sleepy and nauseous so at least all the kid chaos kept me from dozing off and eating food (again) helped with the meds. Guess take “with” food doesn’t mean three hours after you eat it? Ass trash meds.
Then came my after 9 p.m. panic call from R, totally flipping out cos he needs to return that application for the new gig and the software they gave him to study has a license code but they didn’t give it to him. (And btw, he only got a different laptop because my beloved Jose konked out and all it was is the fan needed cleaned. After watching him remove 80 screws and seeing basically the entrails of a laptop…take it, you earned it.) I was just starting to doze when he called so I was prepared to be irked. Instead, I was calm, supportive, and basically everything no one else in my three dimensional life is for me.
I end up in that battle with myself. “You’re being a welcome mat.”
“But just because they’re insensitive ass clowns doesn’t mean I have to sink to their low emotional IQ.”
Damn having my own identity and a conscience. Damn empathy, too.
While I’d been looking forward to today for recovering from yesterday’s circuit overload…he asked for my help today and I agreed. Whatever. Let’s get him hired at the new place and be done with it all. The man cannot live at poverty level the way many of us do. (Ha, no wonder he’s a Trump crumpet.) It’s stressful but I’d take all the stress of being my own boss, doing what I love, over becoming some cog in a corporate manufacturing wheel. Of course, I was born broke so I’ve never seen the other side. He obviously needs to go back there.
So in 90 minutes I have to appear and pretend I want to be there when in fact…I wanted to take my meds and sleep some more because after his call, my panic receptors kept me awake for two hours and I kept waking up to check the time all night…But it’s ok, he’s going to bring me Mangoritas tonight. See, that is why I scowl at people who say I “work” for him. Um…since when does $4 worth of alcohol constitute employment and a paycheck? I am little more than a glorified trunk monkey (check out the trunk monkey videos on youtube!!!) who can type and find good deals on line. Mostly I am background scenery to listen to him mumble while he thinks aloud.
So truth be told…shop closing will not hurt me much. But since everyone and their dog and hamster have a flat screen TV which usually fail a day after the warranty is out…and they will have to go get screwed without lube elsewhere for repairs…That does make me sad. It truly is a loss for the entire area.
My frazzled nerves will be relieved, as chagrined as I am to admit it. I just can’t do the breakneck pace the man expects even as a friend. And without busted stuff and parts to discuss…I doubt I will see much of him once he gets the job. Change is scary but…
I rolled the dice on the red hair and I love it.
Now…start plastering on the “I’m functional” face. It takes forever, really. And faking it is draining.
But then I’m not telling you guys anything. You live it and breathe it, too.
Suckage for all.