The stress test was, well, stressful. I like walking, but that treadmill. My heart’s pretty damned good, which means my anxiety is driven by the brain. Not that I wanted another pill or a procedure to help knock down the panic attacks. But this reaffirms that yup, it’s all in my head.
In the past six hours I’ve developed a cough. It’s sudden and brutal, and I’m overdoing on vitamin b complex and c tonight. If I don’t work, I don’t get paid. No sick leave for me.
Still no movement on getting the ID to log in the hours. I sent an email today to complain. If it doesn’t come by end of day tomorrow, I’m going to tell the recruiter that I won’t work ‘for free’ and if it isn’t immediately fixed, I’m sitting out until it is.
At least one of the cheques arrived today. I can pay bills on Wednesday.
When Mohammed can’t come to the mountain, the mountain will come to Mohammed.
My father called Thursday, asking if I wanted to meet him today for lunch.
This is not news. We do this on occasion; usually when he’s working. Like he was today.
What’s surprising was the venue.
If I wanted to see my dad, I traveled to meet him. Either I made the trek into Scarborough, or downtown near where he works.
This time, he asked if there was a restaurant in my ‘hood that I’d like to go to.
That sound you hear is a pin drop.
I suspect — and thank, if true — my brothers for putting the thought in his head. They’ve come with me to my psychiatrist a couple of times and I’d mentioned this.
And voila.
More surprising? He suggested coming back into my neighbourhood again.
Pin drop.
The conversation was, for the most part, the one we always have. He talks about winning on Pro-Line (it’s a running gag among Kevin, Wayne and I), work, etc. Only this time he talked a bit more about family. I got to talk a bit about my upgraded diagnosis (nothing too heavy; I’m not going to send him into shutdown mode).
And he shared something else. I won’t detail it here because, it’s his to live with. But my first thought was “well that’s bullshit”. And then I realized, no, not really. It’s truth to him, and it was told to him as truth. Though I suspect it was a lie to protect his feelings, on a very passive-aggressive level. He accepts it as gospel because he needs to.
I couldn’t do that.
Back in 2007, I had my heart broken. It was brutal. And I was told 90% of the truth. But I suspected something else wasn’t being said, because they truly cared enough about me and didn’t want to cause more pain that was already happening. Only I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t let it be the whole truth. And I learned what that 10% was (and in hindsight I can completely say ‘thank you for trying to spare me this hurt’), and that minor percentage crippled me. If I was in my father’s shoes and this was told to me, I’d see through it, or think I saw through it, and wouldn’t let up until the entire truth was out.
And it would destroy me.
So maybe that’s why he lives with this as his truth. Because the alternative would be devastating.
Honestly, the bullshit is reaching a boiling point.
Despite signing the contract, despite spending 5 days on the new job, the recruiting company apparently DOESN’T HAVE ME IN THE SYSTEM, AND THEY CAN’T FIND ANY RECORDS OF ME. Which means I still can’t record my hours. I’d get paid for Monday in the middle of the month if I could get on the system. BUT I CAN’T.
And while I’m bitching about idiot companies, FUCK YOU CANACCORD GENUITY. Despite numerous attempts by the background company to verify my employment with them (November 2008 – August 2012, I have the ROE), they keep dicking the backcheck company around. They’ve promised several times to get it done, complain they’re too busy, then just don’t bother answering back
Since I got laid off, it’s been a fucking struggle to find work. I’ve been paranoid that someone was fucking with me. This, right here? Doesn’t ease the paranoia AT ALL.
And let’s hear it for CANADA POST, who have NOT delivered the cheques I’ve been waiting for. The companies are always prompt with paying, and it’s a crap shoot whether or not it shows up in my mail box in days or weeks. And now I’m dealing with the latter. I’ve got $30 in my pocket until they come in. I do have rent that I keep forgetting to send out (the landlords are cool with this) and I WAS going to send it tonight but now I need the fucking cash to survive until the assholes who think it’s a good idea to stop door-to-door service bother to deliver my mail.
I don’t know what it is about me and kitchen appliances this year. I’ve had the toaster, kettle, and now coffee pot break down since the beginning of 2014.
It’s been a tough week. I’m waiting on cheques. Down to a few bucks in my pocket. I’m double-booking appointments, never seem to go in a straight line. Not even my thoughts are linear tonight.
I’m pretty much screwed over the HST thing. Gotta get the number. Two new layers of complicated red tape.
Screaming in my brain right now. I need simple tonight, I need uncomplicated.
I get it. First world problems. I’m thankful for what I have, however much or little. Things could be far worse. I just wish I was handling it better.
So I went to put out the recycling earlier tonight, only to find the way blocked by the upstair’s friend who parked his big-ass truck jusssssssst deep enough in the driveway to make it impossible.
Two hours later I checked again and they’d left, so I ran down to put the containers by the curb.
And I dunno if it was the chill in the air or a stray synapse misfiring (probably the latter with a pinch of the former), but it brought on a panic attack that had me reaching for a steady surface.
What a prank today was. My brain nearly exploded early on reading over the instructions of how the office works. They’re a well-oiled machine, I’ll give ’em that. But damn, man, how the hell are you supposed to keep track of everything without losing a few memories to make room?
And today the company that got me the contract are saying I need an HST number. Even though I won’t come near the $30k baseline. So I’m having to look into that. Such a simple job, I thought. And now I’m spinning so damned fast trying to keep up.
At the end of the first day in the office, one of two things was going to happen: I’d be drained and regretting the contract, or I’d be energized and ready for more.
I’ve been manic for hours, and not sure if I can find my equilibrium tonight without outside assistance. (Like decaf tea. Or another kind of leaf.)
I woke up this way. Really think it’s tied into the anticipation of starting the contract tomorrow. I’m a little nervous about it, but mostly excited. Woke up feeling energetic (or so I thought at the moment). Barely through a cup of coffee and bagel for breakfast when I had a game plan. Laundry. Good idea of have all clean clothes for the first day. So I trundled off, got it done by 3, even made good headway in my book. (50 pages to go.)
But that wasn’t enough.
It was a beautiful day and so a walk was planned. I needed to get a bottle of distilled water for my CPAP so I set out on Gerrard to Food Basics. But of course once I was there, it wasn’t just a 4L bottle I was going to get. I had half the fixings to make a tuna pasta and decided I should get the onions and mushrooms, and whole wheat pasta, and set it up for the week. I’m working 10-6:30 but I don’t know how the evenings will go yet, whether or not I’ll have the energy to cook. And this is how I used to do it, so it made sense. And coffee was on for $6.99 (there’s the sweet spot). Picked up a Timmies coffee for the stroll home. Barely took time to unwind and I was in the kitchen getting the pasta ready. Much better result this time. The secret is using Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup. The texture is thicker. The no-name stuff is runny and waters it down. (The other secret? Hot sauce.)
And just as that came out of the oven after baking, I had pans going for a small ham steak and onion/mushroom and cheese omelet (why does that word look wrong? I feel like it should be omelette). Now I’m watching Once Upon a Time and contemplating whether or not to watch Cosmos at 9 and The Walking Dead after or vice versa. And there’s that bit in the back of my brain that’s thinking about work tomorrow and whether I should set the coffee pot overnight so it’s brewed when I wake up or if it’s better to make it like I usually do (it’s routine after all, and I need routine) and why the hell is Brenchel still on The Amazing Race and damn I really should get over and pour the hot water for my tea and…
And Izzy and Mels are cuddled up beside me on the couch, not giving a shit about anything.
The Bloody Doors Off 