Monday and a load of misery. Bah.
Do I just find another job then? Do I leave here? It’s been a year and things are getting worse, not better and I don’t know what to do. I was going to apply for the job of my counterpart at the other campus but its union (I am not, at this campus) and they won’t even consider hiring outside of the bargaining unit. Even if I got in there somehow, I could be bumped from my role at any moment. I think the staff over there hate me anyway….you know how rumor mills go. I’m swamped in this role and the other one sits around all day talking to her family on the phone. It’s not a fair distribution of tasks but I do get paid more …. totally not worth it though. Not even close.
So here I am, filled with anxiety and misery. I am tired beyond comparison and I spent the weekend sweating puddles on the bathroom floor and violently throwing up everything I put down. It felt like an anxiety attack of decent caliber – I’ve had these many times before, but I’m trying to convince myself that it was a virus. Stupidly. As if the raging pain in my head wasn’t so bad it was making me nauseous and as if the anxiety wasn’t pounding through my veins like a drug. I was a trembling, sweat dripping mess and all I wanted to do was slam my head into the wall to change the pain somehow. I didn’t, because I’m not stupid, but I wanted to. Of course, the tears were flowing (and I’m not even PMS’ing yet!) and whenever I cry I get a raging headache anyway. I’ve never been able to cry without getting one but it’s become much worse in the last ten years. If I cry for longer than five minutes or so I’m looking at a headache that will require multiple doses of some kind of anti-inflammatory, which (OF FREAKING COURSE) usually upsets my stomach. Cause, you know, it’s not like I’m already writhing around on the bathroom floor in agony only to throw up everything I try to put down anyway.
Why the hell I’m at work today is quite beyond me.
So I’m losing my awesome car. That’s the story Dayne is telling me anyway. He says that it’s getting too many dings in the parking garage and the one time I scratched it makes it look like crap now anyway. He says he’ll get it fixed, sell it, pay off the loan and I’ll get another shitty car that can get beat up. The money we save on the payment will allow me to take a shittier job for less pay and we’ll be fine. Doesn’t that just sound awesome?! Maybe I’ll get one that doesn’t have air conditioning again and oh! oh! Maybe the windows won’t open or the door handles will be broken off so I have to open the doors from the inside. That was awesome for a year last time. Dayne accidentally child locked the back doors and I had to twist around (which I cannot do, thank you spine) to let Colt in. Was a real treat. I’ve had one nice car in my life and it’s leaving. That pisses me off. I understand it though. It’s expensive and if I lose this job we’re fucked anyway. I mean, he’s leaving his but we’ve never had to worry about his half of the income since he’s barely had one all these years. Right now, he’s making more than he ever has but the job makes him unhappy so he’s looking for another. Start at the bottom again right? Why not. Who fucking cares. Maybe I’ll just get diagnosed with narcolepsy for sure and they’ll not let me drive anyway and then I can fucking stay at home and sleep all the time and never do anything or go anywhere. I’ll stop fighting all his pain and bullshit, stop being around people period and I’ll be able to just sit in my room and wait for life to play out. I can’t manage friendships, let alone a relationship so why keep trying? It’s not like anyone likes me anyway. Not really….not underneath. Colt maybe does but he doesn’t count…he doesn’t know any better. Eventually he’ll figure me out too, I’m sure of it.
I’m so damn tired. I want to go home to hide and sleep and sleep and sleep.
I dreamed last night (between waking with fire acid scalding my entire esophagus from belly to the back of my throat) that I was visiting my father. He didn’t have any spare room in his place so he made a bed for me in the parking garage. I was having a hard time sleeping because people kept coming in and out to park or get into their cars. I tried to pull the bed back behind a wall but it kept rolling out into view…I eventually gave up. My old boss showed up and asked me to let his son out the back door, which I did, but after he parked the car I could see it wasn’t in gear. I tried to stop him but it was too loud in the garage and he didn’t hear me. I watched the car roll away, down the ramp and crash into something….then it rolled out onto the street when someone else opened the garage door and created a huge traffic jam. I was trying to ignore it but knew I’d be held responsible so eventually went down and got the wrecked car. Then I had to go tell him and he was so mad he roared at me like a lion.
While I was trying to calm down from that experience (still dreaming, of course) I started going through boxes of my old stuff from when I was a kid. It was stored in the parking garage for some reason. I found a Sesame Street record (omg a what?!) that had a huge fold out panel with all the characters on it. Some of them had signatures beside them and I found myself remembering back to when I had them signed. I was in pre-school then and my mother had taken me there. There was a trampoline I loved jumping on and a beautiful lantern that I was memorized by as it turned in slow circles and caught the light in beautiful ways. My mother was suddenly there, trying to take credit for the memory. “I was the one who held that lantern up for you! Do you remember?” She asked.
I did remember and found myself back there, 3 or 4 years old, staring at that lantern as it caught the beams of light from the windows of the room I went to day care in. It was a French speaking daycare but it wouldn’t have matter what language was spoken as I didn’t talk. I refused to talk (in real life, not just dreams) until I was 5 or 6. I was so afraid of people and of the world that I just wouldn’t open my mouth. I remember silently crying, tears pouring down my face, not making a single sound. I hated it when people looked at me; hated when they talked to me. It was horrible when I did say something and people laughed, even if it was a joke. I would burn bright red and the tears would start flowing, silently. My birthday was a nightmare. I vividly recall many years where I bawled and fought to hide under the table at my birthday parties. I hated it when people sang to me….or paid me any attention. I wanted to be invisible and unnoticed at all times. If I could have vanished…I would have.
Stupid dreams. This shit is long over and past and I am fine but the damn dreams just keep pulling it back into mind. I don’t understand why my brain insists on torturing me with it all.
Ahh life. How exciting it is. (It’s only 1045 and I’ve already planned a stop at the liquor store on my way home and I’m hitting that bottle and the couch as hard as I can when I get home. I don’t care if I throw it up. …actually, my stomach is feeling better just now. Yay for keeping down the medication, in all forms).