I have written a few blogs over the last year bemoaning my health, my money issues, boyfriend (or lack of) woes, my chronic pain, loneliness and unemployment.
Suffice to say, the last year has sucked it.
Some women think turning 40 is just a number and attach no real significance to it- 40 is the new 30, you're only as old as you feel blah de blah blah.
Now I don't know if it's the turning 40, or if I was just due for a bad year because I'd had 3 or 4 good ones in a row..(I'm a glass is half empty kinda chick to begin with) but I repeat, this last year sucked,
And hard.
I won't go through the litany (and bore the hell out of every one who has listened to me pontificate from the pity pot) but today, I got a little bit of the good stuff back.
I've been unemployed on a full time basis since about May, some it because of illness, some because it's no longer an employees market here, and competition is stiff -I said stiff. Heh- but it has been really tough (notice what word I didn't use) to find any barely above poverty level paying job here.
I've had to string two and three part time jobs together, over use both my credit cards and I've beaten my overdraft like a dead mule.
I've sent out over 350 Resumes, been to God knows how many interviews, and have laid a big fat dodo egg landing only a job that gave me no more than 7 5 hour shifts in an entire month.
That was until today.
As I was finishing getting ready to head out for a second interview for an HR position of 25-30 hours per week, my phone rang, and I was offered another job that I even forgot I had interviewed for as a weekend/night auditor in a bed and breakfast starting Saturday.Only part time, but still...
So off I go with a little more hop in my step to Interview two where the Managing partner tells me that she has no need to look any further, that I'm exactly who she needs and is looking for. She hires me, announcing to the ten people in the waiting room that the HR position has been filled, but that there are still sales positions available.
I start that job Monday morning. It's semi part time, but since I get to set my own schedule, I do not need to give up either the B&B job, or the Beer wench job and between the three jobs, I'll really only be putting in a 45-50 hour week, and I will be able to start to caw my way out of the Grand Canyon of debt that I've been camping out in, eating cold Spaghettios and meatballs.
It will also help with my new obsession...ebay.
See, sometimes the Universe is not too shabby after all, and the glass is looking a wee bit more half full than half empty. ( Of course,that could also be because of the big splash of Vodka I added.)
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Monday, February 2, 2009
My Friend and Mentor (and now worst enemy) tagged me in 25 things about me (I fucking hate tags) but here we go.
1. I have 4 cats. They annoy me endlessly.
2. I am the oldest of two girls. (I'm the fun one)
3. Women who can't drive stick shift (or drive it badly) should have one finger cut off. (their choice of finger, of course.) What am I, a Mafioso?
4. I can put me feet behind my head. (creepy, huh?)
5. I have only been in love, truly in love, twice. (that worked out well)
6. I love cheese more than any other food on Earth.
7. I am not a shoe girl, but I LOOOVE boots. (not hat I would turn down a free pair of Laboutins...)
8. I HATE Internet Explore. I'm a Firefox girl all the way.
9. Pansies are my favourite flower.
10. I am phobic of stuffed mascots. They scare the living shit out of me.
11. I love food that starts with the letter P. Pizza, Popcorn..ok you get it
12. I have never seen a single episode of lost. Nor do I care to.
13. Sometimes I will eat only orange foods for weeks. I know, weird.
14. I lived in Istanbul for 9 months and Greece for 3.
15. I swear waaaaay too much. Ah fuck it, who cares. If you know me, you know this already.
16. I despise socks.
17. I don't tuck my sheets in for the same reason I hate socks. I am afraid there will be a fire and my feet will get all tangled and I'll burn to death, which is the worst death ever. Except maybe being crucified. That would hut a lot I think.
18. Anything pink should be put in a huge pile and set on fire. Sort of like the Burning Man Festival.
19. I have 7 tattoos. No, you can't see them.
20. 2 Is my favourite number, Uneven numbers bug me.
21. The only bug/creepy crawly I am afraid of if is the earwig. Those things go in your ear and lay eggs. It's true Science. You could look it up.
22. Black is my favourite colour. it IS a colour, too. Look that up as well.
23. I suffer horribly from Insomnia. Always have.
24. Spring and Fall are my favourite seasons.
25. I spell with the U because IT IS NOT SUPERFLUOUS!!
The End.
1. I have 4 cats. They annoy me endlessly.
2. I am the oldest of two girls. (I'm the fun one)
3. Women who can't drive stick shift (or drive it badly) should have one finger cut off. (their choice of finger, of course.) What am I, a Mafioso?
4. I can put me feet behind my head. (creepy, huh?)
5. I have only been in love, truly in love, twice. (that worked out well)
6. I love cheese more than any other food on Earth.
7. I am not a shoe girl, but I LOOOVE boots. (not hat I would turn down a free pair of Laboutins...)
8. I HATE Internet Explore. I'm a Firefox girl all the way.
9. Pansies are my favourite flower.
10. I am phobic of stuffed mascots. They scare the living shit out of me.
11. I love food that starts with the letter P. Pizza, Popcorn..ok you get it
12. I have never seen a single episode of lost. Nor do I care to.
13. Sometimes I will eat only orange foods for weeks. I know, weird.
14. I lived in Istanbul for 9 months and Greece for 3.
15. I swear waaaaay too much. Ah fuck it, who cares. If you know me, you know this already.
16. I despise socks.
17. I don't tuck my sheets in for the same reason I hate socks. I am afraid there will be a fire and my feet will get all tangled and I'll burn to death, which is the worst death ever. Except maybe being crucified. That would hut a lot I think.
18. Anything pink should be put in a huge pile and set on fire. Sort of like the Burning Man Festival.
19. I have 7 tattoos. No, you can't see them.
20. 2 Is my favourite number, Uneven numbers bug me.
21. The only bug/creepy crawly I am afraid of if is the earwig. Those things go in your ear and lay eggs. It's true Science. You could look it up.
22. Black is my favourite colour. it IS a colour, too. Look that up as well.
23. I suffer horribly from Insomnia. Always have.
24. Spring and Fall are my favourite seasons.
25. I spell with the U because IT IS NOT SUPERFLUOUS!!
The End.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
First of all, I want to apologise to all the people whose blogs, flickr pages etc that have been remiss on commenting on. Then, an apology for not blogging or being out using my spectacular new camera, and lastly, a big I'm sorry for all the whingey 3am phone calls telling you how much pain I'm in.
Really, I should be blogging like a wailing Irish banshee being as I have all this free time on my hands, but to be honest, aside from the pain, I've just been lazy.
We had like 10 inches of snow which pretty much shut our city down, but instead of writing about it, I just crawled deeper under my duvet and waited for that stupid underground rat to not see his shadow, or to see it, or whatever it is he does that means Spring is coming.
Because it' been pissy and foggy, I haven't dared take out my new camera, although I have started my"dead things" set for Char, And I hope to have it finished before the new stuff sprouts.
Thanks to a most special friend, the coolest camera bag (shown above) is on it's way to me. I love you, you, gorgeous little round egg!! (Yes, it is actually a diaper bag, but I HAD to have it, and since it's only available in the US, I needed a generous friend to order it and send it to me.)
Perhaps it will bring my photo mojo with it.
I had my surgery on Monday, thanks to all for the prayers and well wishers. The pain is still pretty bad, but I'm hoping it will pass soon.
The clutch burned out on my step father's car, luckily he is paying for it.
So, I guess it's back to ye olde job hunt with wreckless abandon, fingers crossed and all.
There, that wasn't so hard, was it?
Um, yeah, it really was.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
07 Sep 2008
Happy Birthday to yo...OW MOTHERFUCKER...FUCK!!
Current mood: 
Category: possibly dying of pain Life
These are my very adorable nephews. On Friday, It was the little one's 5th Birthday. The older one (who is 7, had a challenge for me)
Since the right side of my body feel like someone ran me through with a fucking Samurai Sword, I will post a picture blog instead.
Ready?
This.........
Plus.......
This.......
Equals .......
This.
A cracked Rib and some cracked cartilage.
I think what really did me in was the little one jumping on my stomach whilst I lay on the pavement in tears praying for death.
At least I got a bunch of these......
Now I get to spend the last few Summer Days laying on the couch watching reruns of House, which I have already seen because I was sick all fucking Spring.
I hate this year.
Monday, May 26, 2008
The Needle and the damage done
Watching someone you care about being devoured by their demons is perhaps the most painful thing that I think anyone ever has to go through.
I am currently watching it, and my heart is in constant pain.
It doesn't matter whether it's mental illness, or an eating disorder, or drug use, it's all the same.
Knowing that you can do nothing to help someone who doesn't want to help themselves is agonising, and knowing that it can only end two ways, either in death or the person getting well, is the coldest of comfort.
I suppose I have an even more acute understanding of both sides of this issue now, because not so long ago I was the one destroying myself, and people had to watch me, knowing that I would either get help, or die.
And there was nothing they could do to fix me.
Now, I sit in the ironic position of watching someone I care about destroy themselves more every day, and the pace of his destruction is picking up.
He looks thinner.
His face is drawn, and the bags under his eyes are stretching down toward his cheekbones.
He looks ill, and he has a sick smell that only another who came close to dying from the same choices can recognise.
I doubt he's slept in the last 48 hours.
I know he hasn't eaten, because every penny he has goes up his nose, or into his arm.
He is dying line by line, and I'm not sure he even knows it.
He stole from me to feed his demons, and while I am angry, angry enough that I considered selling his debt to someone that would probably beat him senseless for my money and then make him pay for their time, I am more saddened then pissed.
I cry for him daily, in spite of the fact my tears aren't doing him, or me, any good whatsoever.
I've been through this before, my ex was a junkie too.
But we were both using at the time, and I couldn't see past my own pain to even begin to look at his.
We were together 5 years, and almost all 5 of those years included copious amounts of dope.
I loved him, but by the end, I loved dope more, and I wasn't too concerned about what happened to him, so long as I got what I needed.
He's not clean.
In fact, I hear he's working boy's town, blowing strange men for crack.
My heart aches for him, but it's different, because I can't and don't have to see it.
I don't have to see it every day, and I wouldn't even want to dare to look for him.
But this one, this one that I gave a piece of my heart to, this one who I trusted and allowed into my house and my heart only to have him steal from me, him I have to see every day.
It won't last much longer, I know, because either he will have ripped off the wrong person and they will finally catch up with him, or he will get fired from his job, or he will disappear down that rabbit hole the way we all do when we have finally exhausted every person and every option we have.
When there is no one left to beg borrow or steal from, we bolt.
If we are still healthy enough to work, we move onto another menial, useless job, and a whole new set of people who don't know the truth of who we are.
Some end up like my ex, hustling in dark alleys for enough money to buy ten more minutes of oblivion.
Dignity is so often the first thing a junkie sells, and believe me, it doesn't come back cheap.... if it comes back at all.
Some things are just to ugly to look at in the cold light of sobriety.
Thankfully, there are some of us, when we get backed into that corner, we finally give up, and we get help.
But rarely does that help come from those who love us, because they aren't around. They got tired of watching us sit around in our self pity and self destruction and cleared out weeks or months or years before.
I want to take this boy, and really, a boy is what he is, and shake him, and yell into his face until I make him understand that he is dying, and that I may very well have been the last person who cared enough to try and help, and he pissed in my face.
But I also want to hold his head to my chest, stroke his hair and let him listen to the heart of someone who has lived where he now lives and survived. I want to give him hope, and show him that it is possible.
I can do neither of those things.
He is no longer speaking to me, because I did the unforgivable.....I talked.
I told others what he did to me, and essentially what he was doing to them.
I made sure that everyone who didn't already know he was using ( and believe me, there were not many of them) now knows.
I told the person that we work with that used to be his using buddy that he was helping him kill himself, and I told him that he was no kind of friend.
So now, he feels I have betrayed him, and will not say a word to me.Yet every day and for 8 and a half hours I am forced to work in the same place as him, to watch him stumble around with that look of the walking dead etched on his face.
And each time I see him, my own shame and guilt wells up and I think "This is what it feels like.
"This is the pain I caused others"
This is what it was like for people who loved me watch me die a little every day.
They couldn't help me.
I can't help him.
And it hurts.
My heart is so very heavy.
I am currently watching it, and my heart is in constant pain.
It doesn't matter whether it's mental illness, or an eating disorder, or drug use, it's all the same.
Knowing that you can do nothing to help someone who doesn't want to help themselves is agonising, and knowing that it can only end two ways, either in death or the person getting well, is the coldest of comfort.
I suppose I have an even more acute understanding of both sides of this issue now, because not so long ago I was the one destroying myself, and people had to watch me, knowing that I would either get help, or die.
And there was nothing they could do to fix me.
Now, I sit in the ironic position of watching someone I care about destroy themselves more every day, and the pace of his destruction is picking up.
He looks thinner.
His face is drawn, and the bags under his eyes are stretching down toward his cheekbones.
He looks ill, and he has a sick smell that only another who came close to dying from the same choices can recognise.
I doubt he's slept in the last 48 hours.
I know he hasn't eaten, because every penny he has goes up his nose, or into his arm.
He is dying line by line, and I'm not sure he even knows it.
He stole from me to feed his demons, and while I am angry, angry enough that I considered selling his debt to someone that would probably beat him senseless for my money and then make him pay for their time, I am more saddened then pissed.
I cry for him daily, in spite of the fact my tears aren't doing him, or me, any good whatsoever.
I've been through this before, my ex was a junkie too.
But we were both using at the time, and I couldn't see past my own pain to even begin to look at his.
We were together 5 years, and almost all 5 of those years included copious amounts of dope.
I loved him, but by the end, I loved dope more, and I wasn't too concerned about what happened to him, so long as I got what I needed.
He's not clean.
In fact, I hear he's working boy's town, blowing strange men for crack.
My heart aches for him, but it's different, because I can't and don't have to see it.
I don't have to see it every day, and I wouldn't even want to dare to look for him.
But this one, this one that I gave a piece of my heart to, this one who I trusted and allowed into my house and my heart only to have him steal from me, him I have to see every day.
It won't last much longer, I know, because either he will have ripped off the wrong person and they will finally catch up with him, or he will get fired from his job, or he will disappear down that rabbit hole the way we all do when we have finally exhausted every person and every option we have.
When there is no one left to beg borrow or steal from, we bolt.
If we are still healthy enough to work, we move onto another menial, useless job, and a whole new set of people who don't know the truth of who we are.
Some end up like my ex, hustling in dark alleys for enough money to buy ten more minutes of oblivion.
Dignity is so often the first thing a junkie sells, and believe me, it doesn't come back cheap.... if it comes back at all.
Some things are just to ugly to look at in the cold light of sobriety.
Thankfully, there are some of us, when we get backed into that corner, we finally give up, and we get help.
But rarely does that help come from those who love us, because they aren't around. They got tired of watching us sit around in our self pity and self destruction and cleared out weeks or months or years before.
I want to take this boy, and really, a boy is what he is, and shake him, and yell into his face until I make him understand that he is dying, and that I may very well have been the last person who cared enough to try and help, and he pissed in my face.
But I also want to hold his head to my chest, stroke his hair and let him listen to the heart of someone who has lived where he now lives and survived. I want to give him hope, and show him that it is possible.
I can do neither of those things.
He is no longer speaking to me, because I did the unforgivable.....I talked.
I told others what he did to me, and essentially what he was doing to them.
I made sure that everyone who didn't already know he was using ( and believe me, there were not many of them) now knows.
I told the person that we work with that used to be his using buddy that he was helping him kill himself, and I told him that he was no kind of friend.
So now, he feels I have betrayed him, and will not say a word to me.Yet every day and for 8 and a half hours I am forced to work in the same place as him, to watch him stumble around with that look of the walking dead etched on his face.
And each time I see him, my own shame and guilt wells up and I think "This is what it feels like.
"This is the pain I caused others"
This is what it was like for people who loved me watch me die a little every day.
They couldn't help me.
I can't help him.
And it hurts.
My heart is so very heavy.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
I have cats.
A lot of them.
Shut it, Kurt and Brina.
It all started with two, and when I took one to the vet he said "don't worry, she's too younng to get pregnant"
WRONG.
She had 4.
Now the thing about kittens is you have like a 5 week window to get rid of them before they become cats.
Everyone loves kittens.
Cats, not so much.
So.
Of the 4 original, two were girls and two were boys.
Guess what, I didn't get them fixed fast enough, and ended up with three more litters.
Best part?
The one that is a boy...and fuck you, I know what testicles look like, he/it had 7 kittens.
So, I have an amazing hermaphroditic cat.
I should sell those things for like 400 dollars each, because they're like magic or some such shit.
Anyhow.
I am down to 7 again, and the adults all have appointments to get fixed VERY soon.
The rest of the kittens go tomorrow, so you can all stop calling me the crazy cat lady.
Assholes.
A lot of them.
Shut it, Kurt and Brina.
It all started with two, and when I took one to the vet he said "don't worry, she's too younng to get pregnant"
WRONG.
She had 4.
Now the thing about kittens is you have like a 5 week window to get rid of them before they become cats.
Everyone loves kittens.
Cats, not so much.
So.
Of the 4 original, two were girls and two were boys.
Guess what, I didn't get them fixed fast enough, and ended up with three more litters.
Best part?
The one that is a boy...and fuck you, I know what testicles look like, he/it had 7 kittens.
So, I have an amazing hermaphroditic cat.
I should sell those things for like 400 dollars each, because they're like magic or some such shit.
Anyhow.
I am down to 7 again, and the adults all have appointments to get fixed VERY soon.
The rest of the kittens go tomorrow, so you can all stop calling me the crazy cat lady.
Assholes.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
The last six months have been incredibly up and down for me.
There have been incredibly good things (a reconciliation with my sister and my nephews becoming a part of my life) and there have been some straight up suck ass things (losing my job, losing a relationship I was sure would be the last one I ever started, because I never figured it would end) and there have been some totally weird ass things (there was an encounter with a semi famous cock that I promised NOT to blog about)
I have had two root canals, five bladder infections and found a lump in my breast.
I have owned two cars in the last six months.
I have been ripped off by the person I was sleeping with to the tune of almost 1500 dollars. It will take me three months to dig myself out of that hole.
I have had trusts broken, and have been offered friendship from people I never would have expected it from.
I have had people I had never met come half way around the world to help me nurse my broken heart and help to heal my wounds simply through friendship.
I have spoken (and written) openly about things that I never thought I would share with anyone, other than say, my shrink.
I have lost close to 30 pounds, and am about as fit as I have been since my 20's.
In the last six months I have cried harder than I have ever cried in my life, and I have laughed until I actually peed my pants a little bit.
I have felt like I was losing my mind, and I have questioned my own sanity more than once.
I have remembered (at least I hope I have) to tell the people that I love that I love them, and I have tried my best not to cause hurt to the hearts of others.
I have tried to be grateful at least once a day, and although some people may think I failed, I have tried to be gracious in the face of the actions of others that caused me pain.
Despite my best efforts to piss away almost four years without drugs, I have managed to fend off the demons that laid me so low just a few short years ago.
I started taking stock of shit a month or so ago, because I am fast approaching my 40th birthday, and although it is no longer the milestone it was for the generation before mine, it still feels symbolic.
To be honest, I don't know what to make of most of it.
Had you asked me at 20 if this is where I'd be at 40, I would have said "Fuck, no" (not that I had any idea where I would be....but still...it sure as shit wasn't here)
And then yesterday someone at work asked me if I am happy.
I started with my stock answer which is , "Well, I'm not terribly unhappy..."
And I stopped.
I told the person the truth.
I said, "Some days I am happy. Other days, I am the epitome of fucking misery, and it is best to steer clear of me on those days"
He asked how he should be able to tell the difference.
And when I thought about it, I guess the truth is, there feels like there is so little distance between happiness and misery for me that I could never even warn someone before the tide were about to turn.
I'm not even sure when it's going to happen myself.
Yet despite that teeter tottery feeling, I am more mentally stable than I have been since, like, ever.
My medication still works for me.
I get out of bed every day, even when I don't have to.
I try go to the gym almost every day. I try to read more and watch less mindless TV.
I try to remember how even though the last six months have had more bad then good in them, I have seen and lived worse.
Much, much worse.
And I suppose as I slide down towards forty, that's about the best I can hope for.
There have been incredibly good things (a reconciliation with my sister and my nephews becoming a part of my life) and there have been some straight up suck ass things (losing my job, losing a relationship I was sure would be the last one I ever started, because I never figured it would end) and there have been some totally weird ass things (there was an encounter with a semi famous cock that I promised NOT to blog about)
I have had two root canals, five bladder infections and found a lump in my breast.
I have owned two cars in the last six months.
I have been ripped off by the person I was sleeping with to the tune of almost 1500 dollars. It will take me three months to dig myself out of that hole.
I have had trusts broken, and have been offered friendship from people I never would have expected it from.
I have had people I had never met come half way around the world to help me nurse my broken heart and help to heal my wounds simply through friendship.
I have spoken (and written) openly about things that I never thought I would share with anyone, other than say, my shrink.
I have lost close to 30 pounds, and am about as fit as I have been since my 20's.
In the last six months I have cried harder than I have ever cried in my life, and I have laughed until I actually peed my pants a little bit.
I have felt like I was losing my mind, and I have questioned my own sanity more than once.
I have remembered (at least I hope I have) to tell the people that I love that I love them, and I have tried my best not to cause hurt to the hearts of others.
I have tried to be grateful at least once a day, and although some people may think I failed, I have tried to be gracious in the face of the actions of others that caused me pain.
Despite my best efforts to piss away almost four years without drugs, I have managed to fend off the demons that laid me so low just a few short years ago.
I started taking stock of shit a month or so ago, because I am fast approaching my 40th birthday, and although it is no longer the milestone it was for the generation before mine, it still feels symbolic.
To be honest, I don't know what to make of most of it.
Had you asked me at 20 if this is where I'd be at 40, I would have said "Fuck, no" (not that I had any idea where I would be....but still...it sure as shit wasn't here)
And then yesterday someone at work asked me if I am happy.
I started with my stock answer which is , "Well, I'm not terribly unhappy..."
And I stopped.
I told the person the truth.
I said, "Some days I am happy. Other days, I am the epitome of fucking misery, and it is best to steer clear of me on those days"
He asked how he should be able to tell the difference.
And when I thought about it, I guess the truth is, there feels like there is so little distance between happiness and misery for me that I could never even warn someone before the tide were about to turn.
I'm not even sure when it's going to happen myself.
Yet despite that teeter tottery feeling, I am more mentally stable than I have been since, like, ever.
My medication still works for me.
I get out of bed every day, even when I don't have to.
I try go to the gym almost every day. I try to read more and watch less mindless TV.
I try to remember how even though the last six months have had more bad then good in them, I have seen and lived worse.
Much, much worse.
And I suppose as I slide down towards forty, that's about the best I can hope for.
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About Me
- Pina
- There's not much to know. Well, what there is to know is really not for sharing. Ever.