But, I suppose, so far, in a good way.

Yesterday was interesting.  When we went out for our afternoon smoke break we saw a coworker sitting outside on the gravel looking like he was meditating.  He's not really the meditating type of guy.  So three of us went out to join him and the other two sat on the groun nearby.  I was wearing too short a skirt to pop a squat on the gravel *or* the grass, so I stayed standing.  To those inside the building (and on the other side of the tinted windows) it looked like I (standing) was leading some sort of group therapy session.

They always look at us when we smoke...  at least we are entertaining.

Today was also interesting in the smoke break kind of way.  Lisa and I decided to have a picnicfor our lunch break, such as it was.  Basically, it was little more than an excuse to sit in the sun for as long as we could manage, and we managed a good long time.

We were joined by all different people at all different times, but I must admit that my favorite part was when it was the same four of us as it was yesterday (part of that, of course, is that one of us four was my *sigh* crush).

It started with a socio-political/current events/historical kind of question by (of course) yours truly, asking for a definition of a Second World country.  I will spare you the details of the answers, but I was pleased that after having this particular conversation periodically throughout the past few years, I finally got answers...  two different ones.  It veered in many different directions including philosophical/comedic questions ("Why is palindrome, not?  Acronym and abbreviation...  far too long.)  At one point the Meditating Man stood up to get our attention and gather his charisma (probably trying to make a point) and he got the honor, today, of preaching to the rest of us.

Afterwards Lisa decided to lead stretching exercises which I, dressed like a girl with slits up the sides, again declined to participate in.  This one garnered a reasonable sized audience and a few people came out to inform us that they were watching.

... that I don't like to hear.

"Promise" 
"Never" 
"Always" 
"Sorry"

People don't seem to understand this, regardless of how much I say them.  These are words that people rarely, if ever, truly mean. 

Promise:
I think the intentions behind promises are usually genuine, but guarantees of this sort, regardless of the guises under which they are put forth, are futile at best, deluded at worst.  No one can truly make a promise that the know they will keep.  People change, circumstances change, the world changes around us and promises are designed to be forever.

But I don't think that forever ever really lasts.

Never/Always:

Good grief, after a mostly drama-laden weekend, I find myself happy to be at work.  I don't think that there was anything of import that went down this weekend.  I attempted to push myself and have a good time, but outside of Tulip Fest, there wasn't much interesting to report.  Being sick will do that to you...  at least on the other end it will.

Mother's Day was uneventful, though I did enjoy taking my mom out.  FyreSpawn spent the day with his father, only calling me after prompted by my mother and stopping briefly to deliver (very sweet) gifts to me.

Huge raging blow out with a good friend kicked off the weekend(I am not talking to him, petty though that may be, I need time to stew) and this is the second time it's happened in virtually the same way.  I'm at the point of trying to decide if we stick with the three-strike rule and let it potentially happen again or if I'm just fed up enough to write him off after 6 years of strong friendship.  Until I feel less petty and am finished stewing, this is not a decision to make, just one to think on.

I did learn, however, how to hang up on someone face-to-face.  It is rather gratifying I find.

Baby Mama drama continues.  It makes me tired to think about it.  I don't think that I could even begin to type that story from now and there is no way in hell I'm telling the whole thing.  It never ever ends and it's the child of Chaos who suffers.

Random comments shouted by strangers shouldn't affect me, but sometimes they do, especially when I'm already in a funky state of mind.  Called it an early night and walked home in the rain.  At least it was a warm rain.

Sunday, the disappointing Mother's Day, I found out about the death of someone I had fond memories of.  Not my family, but that of someone close to me and I'm grieving a little inside.  I'm also trying to be supportive and to assist (as possible) with the travel arrangements for the Dragonmaker.  Granted, I have my own selfish motives in this (namely that if I'm going to have this contest and put whatever plan I wind up with into effect it's got to be now or WEEKS - horrible, pining weeks - from now), but it's my belief that everyone has selfish motives no matter what they do.

Even though I'll be at work late tonight, I've been productive this week (all two days of it) and all I really have to do is babysit the process as others learn the ropes.  I don't really mind being at work this week, though.  I feel much better after hitting the point of actually burning out and think that I've staved it off for at least a week, if not longer.

Promises, promises, but next week may be the week I regain my life.

They always call me brave for stupid things.  Things people are too self-conscious to do that I do without thinking.  Even Liz called me brave the other day for something I did without thinking.  Now, I know that I'm brave, really I do...  how many people would chase the GMB around the house trying to get a decent picture?  How many people feel comfortable enough to speak their mind to people who have the power to fire them?  How many people ask the ghetto rats to ask politely for a cigarette and then jump out with "DUDE, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?" when they cross the line?  I know I'm brave, but more often I'm either stupid or unthinking.

But, you know, the bravery wanes often.  Even when I do brave things, things that I consider brave either as or after I'm doing them, there's a good measure of fear involved and there are certain rules I set for myself to prevent my heart from breaking or my ego from bruising.

My pride is not my be all end all as I know it is for some people, but my ego is a lot more fragile than I let on to pretty much anyone.  I pretend to be so full of self-confidence that it's intimidating, but the reality is that I do it to keep my own doubt at bay.  I have a hard enough time with the doubt of others, but when the self-doubt comes into play, it's all over.

I can't handle rejection.  I can't even handle perceived rejection.  I have a hard time even taking criticism, though I often crave it and am trying, at this point, to warn people that I won't take it well, but I will take it in, think on it and appreciate it at some later date after licking my perceived wounds.

This is why I have such a hard time asking for things, whether it's a date (romantic or otherwise), a favor or even assistance.  I just can't take it when people say no.  I'm a pretty persuasive person and can usually talk people into almost anything, but part of that, I believe, comes from the fact that I simply cannot take it when people reject me, even if it's just as "No."

Little by little those rejections break tiny pieces of my heart.  They usually grow back, but when it comes in a rush, those little pieces add up and I find myself retreating into a shell of fear, waiting for regrowth before I am, once again, brave enough to put myself on the line again.  It just hurts too much for me to deal with it, but I would never let that pain show.

Emotionally cold is what they often think of me.  The reason that's the perception, though, is because I am too cowardly to let anyone know the pain that I feel over the little things that wound me deep.

I hurt today, but I will never tell him why...  or even that.  However, I will retreat, and even if he notices, he will probably never know it was he who hurt me.  As pathetic as this may seem, I wouldn't want to hurt him by letting him know that he hurt me.

Brave?  Not really.  Just stupid and a little too sensitive sometimes.

~FG };^>

When I was little I loved Garfield.  I had all of the however many books that were written until the point at around 10 (when I really discovered real books) when I decided it was lame and repetitive.  But for a long time, Garfield was the bomb.  I remember reading over and over again about how much he hated Mondays and, as time went on, I learned that this is a common feeling.

Everyone always talks about how horrible Mondays are, the start of the work week, the start of the school week, the last remnants of the weekend until the alarm clock rings and you go back to your mundane life.  I never really had that problem.

I kind of like Mondays.  I'm still rested from the weekend, flying high from whatever exploits I experienced.  The day flies right by, by noon I'm shocked that it's already lunchtime and I find myself to be pretty damn productive in the beginning of the week.

Tuesdays are similar to Mondays.  Still rested, the day still goes by relatively quick.  Even though it's my first late night of the week, I still have decent energy and get things done.  Lighthearted, happy-go-lucky me, I find that I'm still holding on to all of those things.

Thursday is planning day.  Setting up the plans for the weekend, starting to wrap up whatever is going to be left over for the week.  It's my second late night of the week, but I usually have a nice car ride whether with a friend or in a cab and I'm counting down the hours to when I can leave work on Friday.

Friday is the TGI day.  The first night of the weekend, one of the two going out nights.  Payday.  No matter what happens, you can usually take heart in the fact that it's almost over and you get a whole two days to yourself.

Wednesday, though, is a completely different matter.

Middle of the week.  Too far from last weekend to still be recovered; too far from the coming weekend to really start looking forward to it.  It's the longest day of the week and it seems like most people are just going through in a daze.  They call it Hump Day, but I can't remember the last time I humped on a Wednesday :-P

A friend of mine told me that he and a few others had conducted an unofficial study on Help Desk tickets placed throughout the week.  Wednesday was the day that most people called to complain and the day when they had the least patience for whatever fix needed to be implemented.

Even the spelling of the day is fucked up.

I firmly believe that everyone hates Wednesdays, they just don't realize it.  It's socially acceptable to dislike Mondays, but I repeatedly have to explain my utter loathing for Wednesday.  Once I explain, though, they generally understand what I'm talking about.  Regardless of what day it is, I find that the really horrible days get referred to as Wednesdays (though usually they also occur on Wednesdays, it's not unusual for me to say on, say, a Tuesday "Oh, man, I had a Wednesday").

People are listening.  They GET IT.  I've had friends call me to say "I had the worst day.  Fyre, I had a WEDNESDAY!" and recently I heard a co-worker having a horrible day (Thursday, though it was) shout out "Goddamnit!  What day is it?  Is it Wednesday???"  I'm affecting people.  They DO understand.

As far as I'm concerned, there's really only one redeeming feature of Wednesdays.

Lost.  8pm, ABC

The true irony of it all will be if the day I die just happens to be a Wednesday.  How much you wanna bet...?

~FG };^>

"I gotta go" was all I really could say as the room swam, my stomach turned and I shivered uncontrollably.  I don't know that I've ever quite worked myself to that point before, but there's nothing else I can think of to explain it.

I think that part of the problem is simply how intent I am on getting the job done, regardless of what it costs me, but the toll that's being exacting seems like it's going to be a harsh one.  Don't get me wrong, I love the work that I do.  I never would have made the career change 5 years ago if I didn't ADORE working in IT, but this project just keeps taxing me.

Something's gotta give and the promises that it will are not so much filled with hope as causing me to doubt that it will happen, making more stress for me.  I've had two miracle nights in a row where the job ran so smoothly that it was almost frightening (did I skip a step?  did I screw it up?  how many voice mails will I come into tomorrow?), but I'm trying to take it in stride.

My whole body hurts.  I'm freezing and I think I might be running a fever.  I want to sleep for DAYS. 

And there are enough people who would take all of that and take a few days off.  Not me, though.  I'm either just that dedicated or just that stupid that tomorrow at 6am I'll be up and getting ready for work.  I'll stay until anywhere between 7pm and 10pm (depending on the problems), come home, pass out (no dinner) and wake up on Friday to start the grind all over again.

I need to finish this project so that I can move forward and start working on something else.  The tedium of the details and the repeated process over and over and over again...  they're all factors in this ridiculous thing.  Other people are seeing it; shit, other people are SAYING things about it.  I'm so tired these days and trying to preoccupy my own thoughts with distractions like crushes and weekend plans are not working at all.

I guess I'm running on autopilot now.  The main concern is whether or not I'm going to run out of gas.

~FG };^>

I'm rapidly getting to the point of burnout.  I've been doing this job for six months and am now out of patience.  I have no patience for users, no patience for the scripts, no patience for my own ridiculous mistakes.

One friend of mine keeps referring to me as a raging bitch :(

I don't think it's quite that bad, but going from the exceptionally nice and sweet person that I am to this no patience "I don't have to take your shit" person that is becoming more and more often the outward projection, I can see where she's coming from.  Thankfully, the boys don't necessarily agree.  It was even said "Uh, no, we don't take that sort of shit".

Right on.

But I'm still burning out.  Rapidly.  I felt like I just wanted to scream or smash something or maybe just start crying last night.  Thank gods that it worked well and ended reasonably early.  The sun was still out when I left, for the second time I was not the last one in the office to leave, I actually got to have dinner and went out with the boys for bowling.  It was nice.

I've also been promised some measure of my life back, starting next week.  This is cool, but I worry it won't come to pass.  My boss says that it really will, he will see to it, and I think a lot of that is coming from the fact that you can see on my face and in my body language that I'm not going to last much longer if things keep up the way they are now.

Counting down now.  Three days to the weekend.

Oh crap.  It's Wednesday.

~FG };^>

... like I've been tied, to the whipping post, tied to the whipping post, tied to the whipping post.

Oh lord, I feel like I'm dying.

******

That's a little melodramatic, I guess, but it comes fairly close.  I feel like screaming.  I feel like crying.  I feel like maybe something inside of me is dying a little bit.

Today is a bad day.

Lack of sleep certainly doesn't help.  The dreary chill of the rain doesn't help and I feel like the slightest anything could cause my heart to break.  I'm pissy and weepy and fucking tired.  I don't want to stay late, I don't want to train people and I certainly don't want to be yelled at ANY MORE.

But I think everyone is kind of pissy today.  It seems like it's just a bad day for pretty much everyone I know...  and everyone I've spoken to...  and almost everyone I've ever heard of.

But damn, I just want to go home and get some real sleep.

~FG };^>

I hate when I can't sleep.  I hate it more when my sleep is broken by disturbing dreams that affect my reality the next day.  Though I should have gotten a full 8, I think it was really only 5, certainly not in one shot, though.

The biggest problem was the dreams.  You know those nights where you have dreams that seem so real that you wake up the next morning still affected by them?  That's the sort of night I had.  I'm trying not to be angry with certain people who "wronged me" in my sleep.  I'm also trying to remember why, exactly, I feel angry with them.

These were pretty unpleasant dreams.

I can find subconscious reasons for some of it.  There's one person I've been angry with for a while and holding back, lying in wait for the right time.  Amusingly enough, I'm RL angry at him, and while he did wrong me in dreams, I'm no more angry than I was before.

Others, though, have not only done *nothing* wrong, I can't imagine why they would.  The dream scenarios I experienced are pretty far from anything one would expect to happen in the real world.  And yet, I cannot shake this feeling that I have valid reasons to be angry with them.

This is not something I want to explain to people I dreamt about.  I fear that avoidance of those specific people could easily prompt them to demand an explanation, but spending time with them could cause me to act bitter and strained only because, as ridiculous as I know it is, I am still angry.

*shakes head*

This is really ridiculous.  I hate the way my mind works sometimes.  I'm really not angry at anyone, just at their behaviors that came from somewhere deep inside my twisted, sleeping mind.

~FG };^>

So last Wednesday I got home from work as usual, the only unusual thing was that I had not had a Wednesday (explanation coming soon).  I didn't feel like cooking so I decided to take a bath and then order out for me and the kid.

Much to my surprise, when I went into the bathroom, there was kitten harassing what I believed at the time to be the biggest spider I had ever seen that was not someone's pet.  I looked a little closer and I saw that it was not actually a spider, it was a bug.  Now I thought it was a beetle.

It wasn't until the kid came by that we realized it was a bee...  a giant bee, one of which I have never seen the like.  I tell you, the bee was the size of my thumb.  The whole thumb, not just the first joint.

So, being the adventurous, insane person that I am, instead of catching the bee right then, I decided to stalk it and try to get a picture.  None of them are very good, but here we go:

This is the first picture, the bee on the wall in the hallway.  Perspective is a little off, but yes, that is the smoke detector behind the bee, giving you some idea of the fact that I am not exaggerating.


Next up, we have the reason (at this point) that the GMB was angry:


And finally, where I finally caught the bee, desperately trying to escape the clutches of the cat, smart enough to try the window: