soapboxdiner

Where I show my neurotic side

Isn't it funny, the phenomenon that follows regular reading of others' diaries? I seat myself at this desk and I read one. It's funny. I want to write something funny. Then I click on the next link, and it's nostalgic. I sigh and long to write something nostalgic and say to myself, "This will make everyone oooh and ahhh and feel that happy wistful sad rejuvenated thing I'm feeling now that I've read X's trip down memory lane." Then I read something outrageous or angry or depressed or political and that's what I want to write, too.

Does anyone else do this, or is it just me? -- Weird.

Today was a non-day. I swear, if they don't train and allow me to do something - anything - new soon, my brain will wither and atrophy into nothingness. I fear the void, people. I do. But luckily, three of our department's staff have applied for the five CRS openings the company announced recently. If all goes well, at least one person (whom I will miss dearly - well, except for that one) will leave and present an opportunity for me to move up outa the hell that is being a searcher.

I feel bad now, constantly talking about the suck-ass job I have. I don't feel bad about writing it, I feel bad because some great babes out there read what I write and empathize. They want to help me, which is so incredibly kind and out-of-the-way for them, in a way their kindness is weird for me. Hard. Like I let them down if the kind assistance they offer proves fruitless. The I've infected them, too. I don't like that feeling, but how do you tell a person who reads all the crap about your unhappiness that you type and who wants to help you, "Sorry, lady. I'm just venting. I don't particularly want to be helped when I bitch. I just feel like bitching." ??

I just don't want to feel like I'm taking advantage of anyone. I want to do it on my own, and be able to say, "I did it all on my own!"

Eh. It's probably just me being freakishly self-contained and pseudo-whiny-bitchy-independent. Whatever.

There was this time, when I was in a therapy session with the woman who said she'd reference me but then couldn't be bothered to return a phone call, a lady I worked as a copy editor for when she published her latest book who was my friend and my psychologist. We had this session when I was doing this break-through thing about borders and shit, when I was bawling and snotty of nose and incoherent in speech. She grabbed a box of tissue and held it out for me to take one and I said, "No! I don't want your damned tissue. If you help me, then you'll want something from me. There are always all these damned strings attached!"

Of course, the only she wanted from me, it seems, was her hourly fee. Reduced, but what the hell, right? A fee is a fee.

Heh. That's kinda funny.

Anyway, yeah. It's hard for me to accept the gracious help people offer me, stemming from the venting I do here. Not that I don't appreciate help, cuz I do...

Oh hell. This is going nowhere. I think I'll end the self-analysis here and go step out onto the porch and holler for my child to come home so we can go get some sustenance.

Yeah. That's probably a great idea.

5:51 pm - 01.30.03
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