uckfay verythingeay

Fuck it. Fuck work. fuck the dog giving me guilt trips, fuck everything that gives me guilt trips. Fuck my constantly overdrawn checking account. Fuck the overdraft fees and the check advance places that eat up my paychecks further preventing me from ever getting ahead or even caught up. Fuck people saying they'll call or show up when they don't have any intention to begin with. Fuck bullshit excuses. Fuck alleged friends who I've known for almost 7 years that have never made the trip to my home. Fuck ex's. Fuck lies. Fuck impulse spending. Fuck needing things you can't afford. Fuck dying CV joints on my car, whatever they are. Fuck worry. Fuck running out of yarn within a few inches of finishing my very first sweater and finding that the yarn store is out, too. Fuck obnoxious coworkers. Fuck incompetence. Fuck malevolent manipulation. Fuck psych patients that make their caregivers play by their fucked up rules out of fear for their safety. Fuck the new supervisor that has a problem with "all those young techs." Fuck my financial inability to go on vacation this summer. Fuck loneliness. Fuck wanting someone when I don't need anyone. Fuck stress. Fuck my inner critic. Fuck sadness. Fuck pain. Fuck wanting to go home and not being able to. Fuck being fat. Fuck feeling helpless. Fuck knowing you're not helpless and beating yourself up because of self responsibility. Fuck not moving to Missouri. Fuck never seeing people you love again. Fuck death (sometimes). Fuck loss. Fuck lack of freedom. Fuck lack of love, attention, touch. Fuck.

40 lbs. of chicken

That's approximately 18.2 kilos, in case you were wondering. You were wondering, admit it. We'll both feel better. I just put 40 lbs. a.k.a. 18.2 kilos of chicken into freezer bags, 20 of them to be exact, and then into the freezer. 40 lbs of chicken is a ridiculous amount, it just is.

I am exhausted, I had an icky day. I'm still not over this whatever I have, so my throat hurts and I have the sinus headache from hell. I know, no one cares, but it affects my day so I'm throwing it in. It's making me feel considerably more tired, which is stupid after I got 11 hours of sleep last night. I infiltrated (or he did, I'm not sure, it was half an hour into the treatment) one of my very favorite night patients who also happens to be frightened as hell about dialysis already and who speaks very little english. Greaaaat. So he was horrified, he thinks I'm a fuck up, annnnd I couldn't even explain it to him. Fan-fucking-tastic. Really. Argh, it was awful. I haven't infiltrated anyone in I don't know how long, and why couldn't it have been a patient I don't like?! Or at least one where I don't care what they think of me! So then, after said infiltration, I managed to spill bleach on my favorite scrubs. Mmhmm, dark purple and bleach are not friends. At times I loathe my job, and infiltrations and bleach mishaps are some of those times.

The Land of Possibilities

It's Barnes and Noble, in case you were wondering. Jason and I have done the same thing when we go out for years now, at least most of the time. We meet up at the wretched Aroma's, hang out until I get tired of it and nag him into going elsewhere. We go out to eat, and then wind up at Barnes. Or Barney's, as I call it. The place is a refuge for unhappiness. Technically it could be any other bookstore, but for us it's nearly always Barney's. Think of it, within those walls are books on damn near every subject imaginable, at least in civilized company. Most anything that plagues the hearts, minds, or bodies of humanity is addressed there. The books offer hope, companionship, solace. I can find answers, if only for a little while, hope and strategy to make whatever it is that's bothering me okay again, cures for whatever ails me. My concerns do not have to be big ones, even boredom can be defeated at Barney's. I can always find some fabulous new something to capture my attention, to tell myself I will become expert at. It's fun; retail therapy of the best possible sort.

Worry Dolls

Have you ever heard of Worry Dolls? They were trendy among my friends and I when we were kids. West Sonoma County, what can I say? Kids, as in, no real worries yet. They were little tiny cloth and yarn dolls, maybe an inch or so long, handmade in Guatemala. They come in a little bag. You're supposed to tell them your worries at night before bed and while you sleep they go out into the world and handle your problems. Cool idea, no? Damn, where are my dolls now? There was someting meditative about handling them, twisting and turning them between my fingers and transferring my worries somewhere other than my heart. Said Guatemalans know what they're doing, huh? I've realized that my knitting is very like those worry dolls. I twist and turn the yarn into fabric, concentrating worry, sadness, or flat-out fear into the stitches. Unfortunately, no one's going out while I sleep to handle my business, but that's okay. Can't win 'em all.

So I've had a nice weekend so far. I'm adoring my house, clean and set up differently. It feels better somehow, and it felt good to start with. I've stayed home all weekend, other than running reasonably fun errands. I was supposed to meet Gotti at 11 but it isn't going to happen. He's one of my best friends and he's never even been to my house, he never makes the trip up here, so I'm not going to kill myself to get down there tonight. It's nice to stay home and relax for someting different....

I've decided that I'm in love with Eric Clapton for Layla (the accoustic version) and Cat Stevens for If You Want To Sing Out (think Harold and Maude). Ohhh, and Annie Lenox for Pavement Cracks. Beautiful.

God Bless Days Off

Woohoo! I've been terribly functional today. I made my fabulous little house immaculate and moved all the furniture in the living room around. It's smashing. Change is good. When I was a kid I'd periodically clean and move my room around, it always felt good. It feels even better as an adult, I've decided. As adults we have so incredibly much more crap to deal with and home should be a haven. This is the first house I've had since I've been on my own that feels like that, that I actually love. It's ducky. And the way I've moved things, I now have the length of the house to play ball with Winston. *sighs contentedly*

After cleaning and reorganizing the house I ran to the yarn store and picked up some needles for Arryanne, then down to Rosa for apricots and the necessary accoutrements for the jam I've just finished making. Mmmmm, jam-a-licious. This evening if I could only find something for dinner first, I plan on watching movies and trying to finish the first sleeve on the sweater I've been working on since before Jesus was born. I have since learned that you're supposed to do both sleeves at once, but it's a little late for that now, and I'm not sure of the logistics of that anyway.

There's this patient named Jorge that I absolutely love. He's my sweetheart, I'm secretly in love with him I think. Anywho, he got a kidney and a pancreas last night. I'm sooo glad for him. Work (and life) is good when transplants like this happen. Yayyy organ donors!


Music: No Woman No Cry, Sublime

Mood: happy-sad

I think I have strep throat. I saw a bitchy doctor this morning, and then called in sick for the first time in over a year. I think it was approximately 16,000 degrees here today, no fun at all.

So yesterday I went on a date, even though I was sick. It was a blind date, my first one I think, and I was worried it'd be dreadful. Happily, it was not. We had a lovely time talking, but alas, no spark. For me, anyway... It was fun going out with a new person though, especially one as interesting as this. She is a forensic toxicologist, how fabulous, no? She's worked for the coroner's offices of Oakland, San Francisco, and San Diego. Sooo slick. Cool stories, even if nothing else.

Later that evening I saw Jason for a second, then went to the movie Craig and I had been planning to see half the week. It was called "High Tension," and the trailer was smashing. It looked scary as hell, and we're very into that. So off we went, and although the chick that was sorta the main character was absolutely divine, the movie ended sooo badly. And not bad as in tragic and sad, bad as in "someone's getting fired over this one!" Eeeeeegads. That said, it was still the highlight of my day.

So lately I've been feeling sooooo exhausted all the time. I dunno where it's coming from, but it explains my lack of blogging. It's funny, while working, driving, hanging out with friends, driving some more, I have these brilliant ideas for blogs, but once I get home I'm either too tired to remember or too tired to put forth the effort. And so all you find is the periodic, uninspired entry.

Last weekend I think I received indirect word that my ex was going into Navy boot camp on the following monday. I decided in a moment of weakness to allow contact to be made, I had requested no further communication months before. It had been nice. Anyway, I broke my own rule and allowed her to call. We spoke and I told her I didn't believe that she was actually going in. She has a history of storytelling, shall we say? Eventually she sent me an alleged copy of her papers in a photoshop file, but I haven't got photoshop to open it. I continued to wonder. Days went by, and no word, no blog, nothing. I wondered if perhaps she had actually been telling the truth for once, and if so, how long she could possibly make it in the Navy. By the third day, though, there was a new blog. It was about nothing in particular, made no reference to anything Navy, no explanations as to why she was still home. *rolls eyes* Some things never change.


So I've just seen my new favorite movie. Or it's on the top 5 list, anyway. It's called Tipping the Velvet, it's a lesbian movie, and it's absolutely exquisite. I'm so going to have to buy it. Yup. It was beautiful.

I have nothing to say

I really don't. I feel like a loser. I used to start blogs with nothing to say and come out with brilliant stuff in the end. No more. I think I'm going through a dysfunctional spell. Writing, I mean, the rest is normal.

So my former friend that was going to rat me out to God and everyone else feels guilty. So does one of the two others. They're kissing my ass. What's done is done, I do not consider them my friends anymore, but Marisol is too powerful on the nightshift not to placate. *sigh* Fuck 'em.

I think I've decided that cancer would be better than feeling like a leper. No one ever dies from the kind I have/had. Well, not exactly no one, but damn near. Craig told me it'd look bad for like 2 weeks. I thought about veering off the road, but decided it was perhaps a little excessive. When I got home and took off the bandage it looked way better than before, so I think it'll be okay. I hope. Arrgh. Stupid biopsy.

I decidedthat I could tolerate Oakland as long as I was near or in Piedmont because I was going to apply to Mills College. I was all excited after I discovered I could afford to live there and rent a room for a reasonable rate in a fabulous house. So I emailed the school for mroe information only to find that they don't accept transfer students into the nursing program. Nice. That's okay, people like me don't belong in Oakland.

Blah. I still have nothing to say. G'night...

I'm going driving

I want to go to the dog park. I'd like to do my sit, knit, and exercise the dog routine, but unfortunately I look suspiciously as though I have leprosy and I don't want to feel like a freak before I have to. Dahahaha! I went to the dermatologist this morning for a spot that I've had on my nose for months. The doctor said it was probably cancer (but the best possible kind...*giggle*) and that we had to biopsy it to decide if I require further surgery. They did, and then cauterized (sp?) the place where they cut. Now said wound looks like a little spot of leprosy o' the nose. I don't think I've ever actually seen leprosy, but I'm certain this is how it should look. Anyway, I have little band-aids to cover it up, but that looks stupid too. So what to do? I want a slurpee and cigarettes. *snarfle* I think I'll drive to the ocean by way o' River Rd. I haven't been out there in a gagillion years it seems. Ta ta!

What do cows do for fun?

Go to the moo-vies.

Witty, isn't it? Okay, not at all, but it was printed on my popsicle stick, so I thought it was blogworthy. Come summer, I looove popsicles, or poscos as a kid I babysat (when I myself was a kid) used to say. I like most kinds, but some of my favorites are the requisite single pop Popsicle brand ones. I'm eating a cherry one now, the question is "what did the cook name his son?" I'll tell you the answer soon.

I'm ready to murder and/or give away Winston. When I forget to lock the garbage away when I leave, I come home to find it strewn all over the house. Today I left a pan of brownies on the counter , wrapped in foil, only to find he had eaten all of them while I worked and torn the foil into small pieces. Fabulous. You always hear that chocolate will kill dogs. Evidently not this one. He has, however, hurled once on the kitchen floor and once right next to my feet, all since I've been home. That's just a perfect end to a perfect day, let me tell you. And the cat hurled under the coffee table, too, actually. This for a girl that cannot deal with animal barf. Sometimes I feel like getting in my car and driving away from everything. Tonight is one of those times. The answer is Stu. A cook names his son Stu. *sigh* Anyway, I feel like Vivi in the Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood when her kids are barfing everywhere (among other things) and she flips out and takes off. Where do I sign up for that?I wouldn't even mind the flipping out part so long as I could take off. Just to be out on the open road headed anywhere but here. Ahh well...

So the abbreviated version of my work dilemma is that my former best friend on the night shift needs a new whipping girl and I'm up. I am off her good list and onto her bad. She with the rest of my "friends" on nights (excepting Craig, of course)have decided to gang up on me, find fault in everything I do, ignore the work I do for them and talk shit about me to everyone but umm, me. Fascinating. And so my new mantra at work is "fuck 'em." I am a good tech, I handle my business and help them as well. My patients are well cared for and happy. If they have problems with how I behave and they don't even respect me enough to talk to me about it, fuck 'em. That said, I still need a paycheck, and the ringleader has taken out more than one employee over the years when they were on her really bad side. Sooooo, for a brief moment I kissed they wretched asses. I apologized (for nothing), and told them things would be different. And you know what? They are. Although I'm no different with my patients for the most part, I am all business with the staff (except Craig and little Jorge). I have nothing to say except what is necessary, and I am as Craig would say being a "nice bitch." Nothing that could ever be pinned down, but I am...aloof, shall we say? And you know what? It's fabulous. I think they're feeling guilty, Craig agrees, and it's only just beginning. It's fun, actually. I can concentrate more on everything else and ignore them in the meantime. Double the pleasure, double the fun. They wanted more professionalism, they got it. They didn't specify the motivation, though. *wink*

Woohooo! My other half, Craig, is most likely going to stay on another few months! Yayyy! I'll be toast without him, so of course I'm pleased.


I wrote this last night for another site...but it's really just a blog in forum clothing. Sooo...

Sometimes I hate my life. I want to move away from everything I know and start fresh. Some would call that running away from my problems, but I don't think so. I think the big problems would either follow me or wait for me, and I could start fresh and change the smaller ones. There's nothing wrong with a new zip code every once in a while.

My work (kidney dialysis) is at times worthwhile and often not. Roughly 1/3 of the people I work with are wack jobs. Gratefully, none of them work nights, but I have to deal with them in the earlier part of the day. I am so incredibly tired of incompetence and laziness being acceptable. Not to mention neurosis on all levels. It's horrifying, I swear. I want to go somewhere all new, and not make friends with almost anyone I work with. Some people are destined to become your friend, but most I could do without in a professional setting, you know? Right now I am dealing with a new manager who has made it clear she loathes "young techs and tech aides." I am a tech, in case you were wondering, and I am 25. In medicine 25 is relatively young, and considering how she treats me I am obliged to think I am in that category. She's just a b*tch, she really is. It's hard not to get offended, she has no idea of my or some of my "young" colleague's capabilities. Furthermore, I have been in medicine since I was 19, I've dealt with years of crap for being a kid, it's a sore spot with me I'm afraid. I believe she is such a nasty wh*re because she is feeling old, trapped, and bitter. And that's okay with me. As Norman Bates said in Psycho, we create our traps.

Which is why I want to move. And come next spring, I'll be ready to transfer from my two year school to a four year, yay! I'm trying to figure out how and where though. I could get into most schools, but I want to live somewhere both fabulous and relatively inexpensive. Does that exist? I live in Northern California right now, its oohhh so expensive, almost anything would seem cheap to me. Any ideas?

But then I find something I like about this area again and suddenly I feel like clinging to it. What to do?

I have a bad case of the blahhhs...