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Confession
thejanechord
Diaryland
notifylist.com
2002-08-07
12:00 p.m.
It’s time to step away from the auction sites. Auction sites are very, very, very evil. They’re evil like prying off someone’s fingernails with a screwdriver is evil.
Evil, evil, evil.
I’ve been addicted to everything else on the face of the planet. I suppose it was only a matter of time before I became addicted to auction sites. Luckily -- for the time being, anyway -- I’m only addicted to bidding in an effort to drive up everyone else’s bids. It really doesn’t matter to me one way or another if I win or lose the bid. It’s all a game.
That’s what’s evil about it; it’s NOT a game.
So I’ve had to close down my internet connection for the time being so I can type up a journal entry in Word. This is what happens when the place where I work uses only PC’s. Give me a Mac, and I’ll be working away quietly and calmly on my website, trying simply to make the graphics better or the layout better. Give me a PC, and I’m bored out of my fucking skull because you can’t do a goddamn graphic-related THING on a PC that can’t be done better on a Mac.
My frustration is scratching painfully away at the back of my spine.
Of course, the other problem with working here is that I have to try to keep my craziness to an absolute minimum, and I disclose it solely on a need-to-know basis -- you know, only to the people who’ve seen me lose my fucking mind over something so stupid as a document that needs to be filed. For instance, two days ago when my boss asked me to file something, I became rather disturbed because she doesn’t seem to appreciate being bothered in her office. This being the case, I usually do filing when she’s out of the office at lunch or something.
Despite the fact that she specifically asked me to file, I was absolutely terrified to go into her office while she was in there because I feel like I’m bothering her when I do that, and I don’t want to bother anyone. I’ve asked her before if it bothers her, and she always responds evasively without really saying much of anything. Now, the possibility exists that I’m entirely imagining all of this, but that doesn’t change the fact that I was stuck in my chair staring into space for a good twenty minutes, all my muscles clenched between steel grips, pressing and crushing, crunching and crumbling my bones until I was utterly paralyzed.
That night, my new health insurance ID card came in the mail. Thank god I have company benefits again. Now I can finally go back to my old doctor and talk to him about everything, particularly these muscle cramps that coincide with my anxiety pangs, all of which seem to be worsening by the day.
Someone like me should not leave their doctor for an entire year. It’s a bad idea.
The good news (for once, there actually is a bright side) is that my boss has just left for a two-week vacation, so I can breathe easy at work for two whole weeks. All I have to do now is redirect my intensity of purpose from auction sites to the Great American Novel. Then, at least, I’ll get something accomplished.
