Thursday, August 12, 2010

Riding the rollercoaster

I've somehow gotten onto some sort of rollercoaster and I want to get off really badly.

I've been working 50 hours a week for the last three weeks. My brain is basically mush because I went from doing nothing to working 50 hours a week.  Plus, I've been trying to arrange movers, get packed and do all sorts of other stuff with about 2 hours a night to myself before going back to work the next day.

As you can guess, it's not working out too well.

Besides the very tacky group of people I've had to work with, who can find nothing better to do with their time than sit and belittle other people because they're so incredibly bored, the supervisors at the warehouse are quota crazy.  You have to do X amount per day of X thing or you get snipped at.  I sat there just amazed on how low I've had to sink just for a paycheck.  Me?  Manual labor?  Really?  Even so, I am always above my quotas, even surpassing quite a few of the folks who have been sitting in that warehouse, complacent in their mindlessness, for over two years with no benefits and no permanent position.  Yet they sit there, pissing, bitching, moaning and whining.  Then you've got the smug people who think they know better than everyone else and don't mind saying so, even though everyone seems to be in agreement that the know-it-all's really don't know shit.  It's just one long session of being amazed at how far people will go for money.  I'm not like that.  If I don't like something, I'm gone.  I don't care what the hell people have to say about it.  I'm not going to sit there and be a mindless drone.  I'm too smart and way too talented for that crap.  I've sat surrounded by people for the last three weeks who hate that place with a passion, are disgusted they've had to stoop so low for so little money.  From creepy foreign veterinarians to PR majors, all the way down the line, the warehouse is just filled with lost souls.  It's incessant whining all day long.  Ten hours every day of hearing nothing but the people around me spouting, "you can't do this, you can't do that, I hate it here", noses in other people's business so they can vicariously get their jollies over stuff that is nowhere near their business.  It's enough to drive any sane person with an ounce of ambition straight off their rocker.

Let's put this on top of having to pack my apartment.  I've got so much stuff here that still has to be sorted, thrown out, donated and such, that there aren't enough hours in the day until the end of the month to get it all done.  I'm having to do it alone.  No help.  Last Saturday was the only day I really had to myself to get anything done. I had already missed my dentist appointment to get my crown finished up because of that idiotic job, then I had to reschedule my hair appointment for Saturday, then make time to FINALLY get my brows and lip waxed.  After finally being able to maintain myself for the first time in six months, I got it all done only to find my mother pissed off and impatient that I didn't make it out to her house in time to pick her up and let her help me pack.  Let's add on the fact that the ex tried to pull some bullshit with me, giving me a budget he worked up that had me paying out over $2800 every month while he got out only paying $1500.  He's bitching and moaning, he's breaking the lease on the apartment, telling me little to nothing about what's happening, then I've got to sandwich finding movers, storage and pack all on two hours a day if I'm lucky.

Do I sound happy?  No.

I went in on Tuesday afternoon, to the Nazi who runs the warehouse, and asked politely if I could leave work at 4:30pm, after putting in 8 hours, instead of having to put in the other two hours of overtime for the day that would have equaled 10.  The guy looked at me and very snippily said, "Why?"  I stood there completely shocked.  In the last 10 years there has not been a single person who has questioned why I've done something.   More to the point, being asked to work 10 hours a day, five days a week, week after week after week tends to burn people out a bit, especially me when it's the equivalent of going zero to sixty in about two seconds flat in a car that hasn't seen the freeway in 10 years.  Yeah, working fifty hours a week went over with me like a lead balloon.  Then the guy asking me why I wanted to leave after my eight hours were up and not do their "mandatory" overtime just sent me over the edge.  I sat there thinking to myself, "Really?  Did he really just ask me that?  I'm working as a mindless drone, the inflexibility of the job has made it so that getting into school this semester near to impossible when the Basic Production class I want to take is at 8am, I've got to move back in with my parents, my ex is being a piece of shit, Dad is still recovering from knee surgery, and on top of it all, I'm supposed to work 50 hours a week AND move?  You've got to be shitting me!"  Oh yes, I want my aspirations and future pushed aside for a meager $11/hour job and an asshole asking me why I want to leave after working my 8 hours instead of staying for 10 hours doing something that insults my intelligence surrounded by the dregs of humanity.

I got to leave at 4:30...lucky for the Warehouse Nazi or I would have probably skinned him and put his hide up on my wall.  I left work, picked up some paperwork from my apartment that needed to be dropped off at the employment agency and then promptly went over to my doctor's office.

By 5:45pm, I was sitting on the table in the doctor's office shaking like a leaf.  I was so wound up, you could have easily used me to spin a top from Vegas to Seattle.  I'm serious.  There was no amount of nicotine I could pump into my body to slow me down or ratchet down my stress.

The Doc looked at me and said, "yeah, we need to slow you down."  I sat there incredulous thinking, "Noooo.  Ya think?"  I had to answer a mood-disorder questionnaire...another "ya think?" moment.  Dude, I know I need therapy.  I know I need to sit on a psychiatrists couch for about a year to get even remotely near sane again.  The doc looks at me and says, "yeah, a bit of depression there..."  I nearly about took his head off with the "no shit, ya think?" that was dying to go flying from my mouth, but didn't.  I've been battling depression for how many years now? I sat there thinking to myself, "where has my legendary patience gone?"  I'm well known for how patient I am with people.  I just think my plate is too damn full for me to do anyone any good at this point.  But the doctor applied for sainthood as he loaded me up with some very nice 10 mg Valium (Xanax just wasn't doing it body was laughing at it as an anti-anxiety tool, so he decided to try something different).  He also gave me samples of Cymbalta to try to get me leveled out again.  I go back in two weeks so he can check on me.

Lucky for me, the job assignment ends Friday.  I get to push to see if I can still get registered for classes this semester AND find a part-time job that will allow school to come first, still leaving room to make enough money for my car payment, insurance and a little bit of pocket money, all while having to drive 45 minutes to school and work every day instead of the 30 minutes from the apartment.

But then it occurred to me.  The ex.  All of this crap could easily fall under the umbrella of being enabled by him for the last 10 years.  I had just finished watching 9 1/2 Weeks (one of my favorite movies from my teenage years...ok, if that doesn't tell you how screwed up I've been from the get-go, I don't know what will) and realized (because I did read the novel which is no where near what the film portrays), me spouting off about being questioned as to why I wanted to do something was from the fact that my ex never asked me anything, he just enabled it all and I had to do no explaining as to the "whys" I did anything.  For someone to tell me to do anything or fit into a 'corporate' structure as a drone just doesn't work for me anymore.  Since the ex has been gone, I've been autonomous, doing what I want, when I want, with no one telling me I could or couldn't do something.  I've gone to my classes, done my best, and fit in really well doing that, but as far as a work culture goes, um, no.  I'm struggling there because I don't answer to anyone but myself.  For some Warehouse Nazi who probably couldn't do what I do in his wildest dreams to come and order me around...oh, yeah, that's not going over too well with me.  That's like having an army private give orders to a full-bird colonel.   It's just not happening.

Then let's just add the cherry to the cake of it all.  Just when I thought I was going to get out into the world and start dating again?  Nope.  I got a text message last Saturday (of all things...omg...let's just add that to the rocket fuel, y'all know how I feel about texting...) saying that the guy was cancelling, that he "couldn't do it" right now...meaning who knows what...but bottom line, he didn't even have the balls to call.  I got a fucking TEXT MESSAGE to cancel a date.  What kind of world are we living in?

When my date went belly up, I called my pal Chance in tears.  With all this crap happening plus some bitch at work deciding that she was going to pour a ton of salt in wounds she had no business asking about then proceeding to make me sound like I was psychotic because I don't like dogs and don't have children, I was at my breaking point.  Add on the Warehouse Nazi having the nerve to ask me why I needed to leave on time instead of working overtime...I am about ready to blow up.

The only guys, outside of my pharmaceutical savior doctor and my immediate family, who have been there to really lend support have been my WoW guildies.  They've been there, sticking with me, come hell or high water.  When I called Chance, he just told me, "I'll check on flight prices, I'll be down this weekend."  I grabbed onto KP with both hands, realizing that dating is so not for me, and realizing more than ever that I need to put the cash together to get on a plane for Hawaii so I can get a solid hug from a guy who's been mopping me up and taking me out to do things (albeit in a virtual world), being supportive and having all the time I spend with him feeling cared for and loved, exactly when I need it most.

Up, down, loopty-loop...side, side...hills and stomach lurching drops...

I've had enough of this fucking rollercoaster!  I want off!

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