5/31/00
I panicked briefly this morning because it dawned on me...sometimes I add to my entries throughout the day, so what if someone doesn't check back and inadvertently misses some deep revelatory thought I wrote down at a later time? Then I thought about it...judging from the time stamps I've seen on most of the guestbook entries I've read, the people who read this thing aren't even out of bed by the time I get off work, much less on line...you're all a bunch of slackers, and that's why I love you...:)
Speaking of slackers, one of the resumes I sent last week actually has already resulted in a phone call. This hospital is like, 10 minutes south of my house and typically (from my experience), hospitals kick ass to work in. Think about it...easy access to food (if you can call what they serve in hospital cafeterias "food")...the parking is either cheap or free...and most of the time, free health insurance. When I worked for KU Med, they also contributed to the 401k, regardless of whether or not YOU contributed, yourself. (I know, you're thinking, who gives a fuck about a 401k, but when I quit that job, it was a check for $850 I wouldn't normally have had. Ker-CHING!) Plus I've decided that if I want to go to law school, I'd better get the fuck away from lawyers because I will otherwise end up hating them all and wishing them dead. Which most of them deserve. (My personal friends excepted.) And this isn't the kind of law I want to practice, and moreover, I've realized that this job is not a proper environment for my healing psyche. I need something kinder and gentler and less...coronary inspiring.
I've also been considering going back to my writing. I haven't been down that path in a long time. I have an idea in my head that I've been mulling over for a while...sort of an impressionist take on my own life...I think I've been working on the concept for many years now, I just never really knew where to fit everything in and how to present it, but that may be coming together now... Not that I will likely ever sell anything, but you never know. When I'm #1 on the best seller lists, you can all say you "knew me (sort of) when..."
Notice I have written nothing about Megan or my relationship. That's primarily because at this point, there's really nothing to write. We had dinner last night at Minsky's (best fuckin' pizza in town) and she has agreed to whatever it takes. And that's fine by me, I suppose. <Sigh> I really don't know if this is THE relationship, but it certainly works for now. I'm in no position in my life to take on any further upheaval. Maybe that makes me weak. I really don't give a flying fuck if it does. This is my life and I have to do what I have to do. Maybe someday I'll be strong enough to trust in myself to the point of being able to make it on my own. But I'm not there yet, so I will make the best of this situation and hope for inspiration.
I also found an ad in the Sunday paper (on-line, of course--newsprint is so archaic and it makes me dirty) for a part-time job transcribing court proceedings, "flexible hours, work from home." Duh, I'm a legal secretary, that's what I DO ALL DAY (kind of), hire me already! I left them a message and haven't heard back yet this morning, but assuming I can get my FUCKING COMPUTER fixed, I'm all over that.
Okay, I must go do some work now that I have cleansed my soul for the morning. Do check back, darlings, as you never know when I might spout some fountain of knowledge you just can't live without...
(Later, already--damn those time warps...) Okay, I'm listening to Buffett, and the printer repair fucks are here fixing my fucking printer that's been busted SINCE FRIDAY (about damn time) and they're making all kinds of unnecessary noise--dork jokes, squawking on their 2-way radio (because they think they're on the fucking Voyager, you know they do) and other shit and it's interfering with my shiny happy musical interlude and pissing me off. As if they can't tell that I'm over here getting on a mental groove to the Buffett version of "Brown Eyed Girl." Duh! Shut the fuck up, already!
Oh, happy day, I checked my budget today and apparently I'm not as broke as I thought I was. I'm still fucking broke, but not as much. (OKAY, now the fucking printer is squeaking like a mouse caught in a damn meat grinder--I think my ears are bleeding. Cut it out, ASSHOLES!) Right now my account is at negative $170. Ouch. I should never have signed up to have my car payment sucked out of my account on the same day I get paid. Hopefully that won't "clear" until midnight and I'll end up not bouncing anything. That's something else I have never understood--BANK TIME. What the fuck is so special about the banking industry that they get to operate under their very own time zone? Not only operate under, but CONTROL their very own time zone? Like the day actually ends at 2:00 (Deposits AFTER 2:00 P.M. will be credited on next day's business) except for certain occasions in which it ends at midnight like everyone else's (automatic debits will "clear your account" at midnight when they "post") and what the FUCK IS "POSTING", ANYWAY? Why don't my transactions count when they are made? Wouldn't that be the most logical choice? And what's with those stupid little velveteen ropes in the lobbies, anyway? Do they really think that's going to stop me from storming the counter if I happen to be carrying a gun? "Oooh, no, not VELVET..." Okay, now that you know how I feel about banks...I can move on now...
I'm now on hold with the lovely UMKC financial aid department trying to get a clue as to whether or not I'm going to school this summer (if I can't get enough loan to cover tuition, I ain't going, unless someone out there wants to spot me $1000...don't everyone offer at once...). Why don't they just speak the truth? "Financial aid, can you hold for a very long time until you become disgusted and hang up and call back and get put on hold again and tomorrow we'll tell you that we have no record of you on the system?" It just seems like the truth would prevent the untimely death of so many of their employees. That's the only explanation I can come up with for the ungodly high turnover at that office. Disgruntled students have to be coming in there and picking them off one at a time. Every time I call this office (and that's pretty often) some new retard answers and has no fucking clue what's going on. This is my last semester of my senior year and I have never, NEVER got my loan money earlier than mid to late October. What the fuck is up with that??? Every year I have to do this "verification" thing where I have to send them my tax returns and shit. Like if I was going to lie about my pathetic fucking salary, I'd make it that laughably low? Last year they wanted proof that I didn't live with my parents. I had a lovely telephone conversation over that one--"uh, I'm 26 years old and divorced and I bought a house this April, hell-O..." If you ever find yourself in some sad work study program and working in the financial aid or registration or some other crucial school office, do us all a favor--don't be a fucking nitwit. Use the brain your non-defective chromosomes gave you.
I have been on hold for ten minutes. I think I'm going to take a hostage.
Next Entry