Ain’t Superstitious

Excellent song by the Jeff Beck Group.  I highly recommend it.

But on to the actual content of this post…

I never thought of myself as superstitious.  In fact, I’ve always commented on how silly superstition is.  Apparently, though, I’ve become superstitious behind my back.

On Wednesday night I had dinner plans with a friend.  We met up at the University, and she drove me to the spot where my car was parked, as it was completely across campus and the night was cold and windy.  I explained that the reason I was in that particular car park is because nothing bad had ever happened to me when I stopped there.  I have bad situations attached to other Uni car parks, absolutely none of which involve anything remotely related to cars or crime of any sort.  And, what makes it even better is my parking on a certain row facing a certain direction.  Days *really* go well when I park in those spots.

Don’t worry, though.  I ain’t superstitious.  🙂


Open Letter to Telemarketers

Dear Telemarketers

I’m writing to express my sincere appreciation for your attention to me.  As you have so wisely discerned, I’ve taken a bit of a break from the outside world in order to complete a project I’ve been working on for quite some time now.  Thanks very much for drawing me back in to the real world with your constant phoning.  The effort you put in to reaching me alone is impressive.  And the variety!  Why, you’ve phoned me from three different numbers this week alone, and it’s only Tuesday.  I wait with bated breath to see the next combination of digits that grace my phone.

I must ask, however, that you stop your efforts.  Being an ungrateful sod, I can’t appreciate your time nearly as much as some.  You’ve left one message in which I could actually hear your beautiful voice.  Thanks for that as well.  What’s impressed me most, however, is the sound of your modem grinding and the sound of your breathing in to the phone as if you haven’t even realised that someone could be listening on the other end.  My voice mailbox nearly melted with the excitement of it all.

I’ve learnt your game, though.  I’ve researched you and come to the painful realisation that you’re phoning others as well.  How could you, after all we’ve been through?  The ignoring phase, the messages… I thought I meant something to you.  You’ve spent so much time on me that I thought what we had was special.

But again, I don’t have the fine and cultured taste that would be necessary to fully grasp your greatness.  My mobile phone as well simply cannot take the stress of anticipating your calls.  Poor tiny thing lights up every time it sees your number(s) glowing on its little screen.  It even beeps repeatedly to let me know you’ve phoned while I was away.  Even my phone can appreciate you more than I.  It’s very sad, really.

Please accept the effort it’s taken me to answer your latest calls and press the ‘9’ key repeatedly.  I’m hoping the sound will be music to your ears, whether in person or through the message system that sometimes speaks for you.  I’m hoping the lovely sound of that key singing to you will repeat in your head until you’ve forgotten me at last, for I know someday you’ll find someone better.  Until then, I remain

Yours sincerely


High Times

I haven’t been half bitter in my oblivion these days, and Mairead is having a great deal of fun with that.  A few weeks ago we heard very loud music coming from her room.  When I pointedly asked her to turn down the music, she leaned out of her door and screamed ‘PARTY!!!!’.

As I’ve mentioned before, both Mairead and I are die-hard Del Amitri fans.  ‘High Times’ is a song from their album ‘Some Other Sucker’s Parade.’  I can’t say it’s one of my favourites, but as Mairead pointed out, it has the sort of disillusionment that we’ve been feeling lately.  I like the start of the second verse: ‘Little snow white, she was hungry.  Told to go out and grab for it.  At the end of the rainbow, she was mind blown, to be staring at a crock of sh*t.’  Perfect.  I guess those Scots know bitterness.  🙂

On a more serious note, music is powerful.  It’s amazing how lyrics penned by complete strangers sometimes seem as though they were written about your own life.


Who- or What- ever rules the Universe sometimes seems to have a laugh or an infinite amount of laughs about me.  As I wrote in another post, I had a bit of trouble with bulimia at one time in my life.  When I wrote that post I still felt somewhat optimistic that I could stop this eating disorder bit in its tracks and go on.  Not so much this time.  I’m really good at complicating my own life.

A few minutes ago I realised my stomach was growling.  Then I spent half an hour standing in front of a pantry trying to find something I could eat without feeling like the most disgusting person to walk the earth.  I really have gained weight, but something tells me this isn’t the way to handle the situation.  Mind you, I’m not sure how I *should* handle the situation.  I’m counting every little calorie and fat gram that enters my body, and I’m walking four miles a day.  Last week I gained two pounds.  Something doesn’t add up there.

Isn’t it great when you think you’re doing what you should be doing but not getting the right results?  Maybe I should join some sort of medical trial.  That’s it.  I’ll join a medical trial for skin cream or something.  The skin on my face turning blue would definitely take the focus off my weight.

Humour helps with any situation, including handling an eating disorder.

Tugboats and Arson

Last night on ‘Scrubs,’ the janitor said a line that I absolutely love– ‘Tugboats and arson.  That’s all I ever get from you guys.’  He had asked his friends for advice and, quite literally, they suggested those two tactics.  Beautiful.

In spite of the rather large amount of stress I’m dealing with at the moment, that line had me laughing.  Tugboats and arson.  For some reason it just seems fitting.  I’m out of ideas at the moment, and some of the issues dancing through my head seem impossible to fix.  Strangely, this has nothing to do with multiplicity or trauma.  Ok maybe the last one, but it’s a stretch.  It’s largely financial.  I’ve got bills to pay with no idea of how I can pay them, I’m planning a move with nothing but about $800 and some clothes (and a cat who I will *not* be separated from), and then there are tuition bills to finish a degree I’ve put blood, sweat, and tears into.

I’m just ranting.  Last month a friend of mine told me she felt tired and puffy, but as a girl, she was *supposed* to feel tired and puffy sometimes.  I can definitely relate.

And *that* is the Week So Far– grumpy, stressed, and deeply confused.

At least I’m doing something, though.  Even the smallest bit of action means I’m still moving forward.

An Open Letter

Dear Blog Scrapers,

How are you?  It’s been a couple of days since you’ve noticed my blog, and I’m starting to get worried.  It’s not that I don’t appreciate your attention, really, but I think our relationship has reached its final stage.  I’m touched that you think my ideas are good enough to make people buy things.  I’m even happier to see it’s the psych stuff that really interests you.  You’ve learned my secret– I don’t *really* write those personal posts about difficult topics to help people.  I do it for the advertising!  How intuitive of you to suss that one out and come to the only logical conclusion.

But, as I said, our time together is at an end.  And please handle this with dignity.  You know that link to the admin email address?  The one that says ‘remove my blog NOW’?  I’ll always use that link.  No matter how many times you reach out, I’ll always respond in that same cruel way.  Please understand that this is for the best.  You see, I was happy with my little spot in the web until the neon advertisements and flashing banners threatened to make it an urban ruin.  So, really, it’s not you, it’s me.  I’m just comfortably settled in my rut.  I *like* living in this nostalgic mindset of how things used to be before there were scrapers.  Understandably, you may question my resistance to technology and my commitment to the fine services which you work so hard to promote (who *wouldn’t* want that nifty herbal psych remedy, after all??).  But still, I bid you a fond adieu.  And I promise I’ll think of you every time I see a flashing advert for the latest miracle cure.

Love and luck,


You Know Your Job Search Is Going Badly When…

The HR Rep from K-mart doesn’t show up.

I’m looking for a ‘just get by’ job to fund my job search, basically. That said, I managed to get an interview for a cashier’s position at K-mart. Having already been in that hellish position for Walmart, I thought I’d try the Other Side. Apparently the lovely workers of the K-mart chain are an even more evolved group.

I showed up early for the interview, as is my wont. The HR Rep wasn’t there yet, but I was greeted by Suzy Sunshine, the friendly stock girl, who told me that ‘she ain’t gone be in today’ and said to Sunny Service Desk that I was ‘one of them online people who got some interview when nobody was gone be there anyway.’ I should have backed away slowly then, but being masochistic, I stayed.

Sunny Service Desk, bless the dear lady, did check to see if the HR Rep was actually scheduled to be in and found that she was indeed supposed to be working 8-2. Apparently attendance is optional. Could have been a great job afterall…

On the other hand, these people could be marketing *geniuses.* I browsed around the store for a bit, waiting 25 minutes for the HR Rep to show up (25 mins late, mind you). Approaching the service desk and wondering what the proper ritual for getting information was, I asked Sunny Service Desk if there had been any new developments. Visible HR Rep said that, indeed, the other Rep would not be in. Muttering loudly about having scheduled the interview personally with the other person, I asked if maybe she could do the interview with me.

Apparently, Invisible HR Rep is the only one with the hiring-firing power. She must really be something. I’m guessing that her power would have blinded me. In fact, she probably did me a service. I might have become so insecure comparing myself with her that I wouldn’t even feel *worthy* of the job. Yes, she did indeed help me out.

My expectations have foiled me again.