February 3, 2010

I neglected to mention on here that, after ten months of being a lowly file clerk, I applied to a different department and got a promotion! I have the same supervisor, but completely different job responsibilities. I’m more involved with the actual workings of a bankruptcy case, as well as the attorneys we have on staff. I was actually nervous when I applied for the calendar clerk position, for I wasn’t sure what to expect. It all seemed rather clandestine, especially the “going to court” portion (which I still haven’t done). I really enjoy it, now that I know what I’m doing. Filling out the plan summaries is a lot like a puzzle; when you take the information you have and that which the debtor’s attorney gives you, can you make them fit? Sometimes they don’t match at all. There are days where I wonder if attorneys can accomplish simple mathematics, even with a calculator!

Even more good news from the job front: I was picked to go to a symposium for work in May. It’s in Chicago! a place I’ve wanted to visit and have not been (a 45-minute stopover in O’Hare doesn’t count, in my mind). The trip runs for several days, and right before Memorial Day. According to people who have been to these symposia before, the first and last days are free for exploring the city, and on the days that there are seminars, they usually end by five PM so one’s nights are free, as well. Some of my really awesome co-workers are also going. The best of all is that the trip costs me nothing – I even get a per diem for all my meals.

To say that I’m excited would be understatement of the century!!

January 23, 2010

And how quickly this was abandoned, before it even had a chance to begin.

Keeping a journal used to be such an intrinsic part of my life. What happened? I used to write much more when I was depressed, it’s true. I have good things to write about now, and part of me always wishes that I would make time for it again.

In truth, I stay on the internet a lot less than ever. Between books, both physical and digital (I joined the techy book-geeks and bought a Kindle, mostly to read items that are out of copyright) and Wes in my life full-time, I suppose I don’t feel the need to update everyone with what I do and about what I think. I should, though; I should feel the need and care to update people I consider friends. You, perhaps, no longer see me as one, as I just can’t keep up anymore.

At any rate, I should really begin to journal once more, if only for myself. When I was younger, I used to hope that I could keep all of my entries together and have something to give my children when they were old enough.

Shouldn’t that still be my goal?

The state of . . . November 30, 2009

Jumped in with feet-first here, in a way. I’ve neglected to really update, like any normal person would who has returned from a long absence.

Life, in general, has been okay. I vacillate between feeling relatively high and wanting to saw my wrists with a knife. The medication makes me feel bratty, confused, fat – this last is not just a feeling, it is a reality. The lower third of my abdomen is like an old man’s paunch; I wear long shirts to hide this protuberance that is very prominent in jeans. My metabolism is permanently asleep. I forget things on the counter at home; notes don’t always assist me to remember. My insomnia is gone, but I still awake in the morning feeling like I was run over by a truck. I become uncomfortably warm, almost to the point of blacking out, so that I must sit in front of a fan to cool down. There are mornings where I am constantly cold.

And yet. And yet.

The doctor says I am doing better, so I forge ahead; my numbers have improved. I see him again next Monday and perhaps my dosage will decrease.

Going to Moffitt always kills me; most of my fellow patients are worse off than me. For you see, it’s a cancer center, and thankfully, that is something I do not have; this doctor came very highly recommended and he just so happens to specialize in thyroid diseases as well as oncology.

Last time I sat in the blood draw lab, idly rubbing my adhesive hospital bracelet around, pretending not to hear the woman behind me who wanted to give up. Her children were with her, stricken at her vehemence. “I don’t want the fucking chemo,” she barked. “What is the goddamned point? I’m going to die anyway, so why go through all of that shit?” I stared more intently at the television in front of me, willing myself not to cry, not to whip around in my seat and say, “It’s none of my business, ma’am, I know, but it’s obvious you still have things to live for; you have to TRY.” Her daughters echoed my silent sentiments; she stalked off to have her blood drawn, and I heard their whispered conference – who could talk some sense into her? She was still very young yet.

Thanksgiving . . . November 28, 2009

is always glorious. We had our traditional turkey, but prepared slightly differently: brined the night before, and then injected with orange juice. Two kinds of sausage stuffing, sweet and hot. My brother made our cranberry sauce this year, with a hint of orange. Scalloped potatoes instead of mashed this year. Our old tradition of antipasto, which hasn’t graced our table since my grandmother was alive. For dessert, pumpkin cheesecake, dense and creamy, with a gingersnap-cookie crust, and homemade pumpkin ice cream for topping.

We played some games and then I toddled to bed at 11:30; I can’t stay up all night like I used to for the sales. I woke up at 3AM, and my mom and I went to our first store. We ended up going to five before I finally crashed at 8:30AM and woke up at two in the afternoon.

It was exhausting, but worth it. I completed about one fourth of my Christmas shopping thus far, in one day!

Happy thanksgiving to all! November 26, 2009

I’m thankful for my friends and family, a roof over my head, and a pantry and refrigerator that is always full.

Enjoy your day.

November 21, 2009

It’s nice to have Wes here full-time. After dismantling computers yesterday for our office move, I drove my dusty self home an hour early, thanks to the kindness of our general manager. Along the way, I tried to contact Wes to see if he wanted me to meet him in Sarasota, where he’s currently working. I finally got in touch with him and since he was working later, I flung off my Pigpen disguise and upgraded my clothes to something much more suited to a dinner out.

We had a lovely dinner at Stingray’s Grill, which included free dessert due to our server’s error of misordering our entrees – key lime pie, delicious and creamy.

We haven’t had a “date night” in a while, so it was worth the drive, even though my darling mother thought it was a waste of time and gas to drive a little over an hour.

November 17, 2009

I always like to think that I’m good in a crisis, but time and again that has proven incorrect.

Granted, Diane (one of the supervisors) was on the other side of the office when she inexplicably collapsed, but I still felt helpless.

The cry was sounded midmorning while Diane was in the conference room getting a massage (which is available to anyone willing to sign up and fork over fifteen clams for the privilege of a licensed massage therapist’s time. I get mine for free so have never partaken of Angela’s services). I was listening to my radio and thought I had imagined someone shouting, “Call 911!” Removing my headphones, I heard people scurrying and some crying. My department stood up and tried to peek over partitions, asking among ourselves if anyone knew what had occurred. I thought of a completely different person, on that same side of the office, who’s been in hospital this year for her asthma. When I heard it was Diane, I was floored – she’s always seemed pretty healthy to me.

My supervisor told us what was going on and recommended we keep the area clear as she ran to help guide the ambulance to our front door – a task I was happy to oblige, especially when I heard the crackle of walkie-talkies as the EMTs ran through.

A siren is all it takes to turn me sixteen years old again. April 13, 1999. Easter Sunday. Even though the EMTs came silently this time, my mind remembers flashing lights and wailing vehicles. Grandma lying prone on the carpet, crying out for people who no longer exist on this plane. Sliding her onto the stretcher, her body misshapen from diabetes. They spirited her out the back door to avoid the perilous front steps; twin lines of salt coursed my face as I stood dumbly. I managed to choke out, “We love you, Grandma,” before they rolled her out of sight. A basket of chocolate turning more bitter by the second.

I huddled near my desk while these thoughts rose, as the stretcher clacked down the corridor to the tune of “Clear the area!” Ten years has not dulled the pain, the memories I wish I did not have.

Diane will be fine. Grandma was not.

November 17, 2009

As 2009 hurtles towards its end, I take my oldest project and make it new again. Keeping a constant record of my works and days was like breathing, until I suddenly ceased (at a time when I would have been better served by continuing). Livejournal has changed so much, not much of it good, in my ever-so-humble opinion. When it seems like a chore to log in and read friends’ words, it’s time for a break. So it was for me.

I have missed it, however. Side project blogs were only a partial satiation, mainly because I couldn’t reveal all of me, or felt that it would get in the way of the main thrust of the articles. My fingers itched to be near the keys again, following down that cursor like a greyhound in hot pursuit of the ever-elusive rabbit. I shall not return to LJ (except to add to my blogrolls and read backwards through all of the months and days that I have been gone); I need a bigger void in which to shout.

I have hoped that you all are, or will be, okay. WordPress is my new home – it is a bit sparse, but give me some time to slap on a fresh coat of paint and scatter some throw pillows and end tables.

But I am back. I am BACK. How are you?