My immune system is crap. While I haven’t gotten the worst (knock on wood) colds and flu this season, I seems to be constantly fighting off some strain of it. Yet again I’m under the weather. Stuffed nose, cough, phlegm. And I’m pushing through this, because I’m an idiot like that. No, I’m not. But I need the work and I don’t get paid if I don’t. The second March cheque came in tonight so I can breathe a bit easier, but if I’m going to start a cushion with this contract, then I can’t afford to take time off. Not in the second week, at least.
Things are going well so far (despite still not having an I.D. to log my hours into with the agency), and it’s a bit funny that I’m doing pretty much everything but what my primary function will be. I’m okay with that; it’s good they see I can adapt to the situation and be a part of the team.
Not much for introspection tonight. Head’s too fuzzy.
Today finally felt like Spring. When you step outside at the end of a work day and regret wearing your winter jacket. The sunshine makes a bigger impression than the prevailing winds. When you’re looking ahead as you walk, instead of down at your feet so you don’t step in sludge or a puddle. It’s 9:45 and I’m watching baseball on TV, and am hopeful for the team. (I’m sure they’ll flame out soon enough.) The Leafs are out of the playoffs. That’s when you know it’s Spring.
There’s a woman in the office who’s name I could learn, but have decided it’s more fun to call her Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons (it’d be easier to learn the proper pronunciation of her name). Thankfully, she called me Tyrion right back. If I can’t laugh at work, I don’t want to work there.
I spent 3 hours this afternoon learning Production, aka the copy room (binding, etc.). Because while there are people who work there specifically, if I’m ever on call Saturday or (gods forbid) late a night and they’ve gone home, I’ll need to know how to pitch in. Everyone goes through it. I’m a bit surprised they don’t have a more dedicated team set-up given the size of the company and the stuff that needs to get printed. But that’s probably a cost-saving tool and none of my business, really.
Still no I.D. I’ve talked to my rep again and got another ‘team, let’s get on this’ from IT. I’m quickly losing patience.
I couldn’t convince myself to go see the Winter Soldier movie tonight, despite it being ‘cheap Tuesday’. I felt guilty. What kind of horseshit is that?
Mels has become quite the cuddle monster since she got fixed. Took me by surprise. Izzy thinks it’s fun to bite my chin. Miss Princess Fattie McFatterson Hannah just wants food and wants it now.
‘Mels’ is short for Melanie Elisabeth. Betcha didn’t know that. She’d been previously nicked Courtney Love but I knew that wouldn’t stick. No clue what to name her though when I picked her up. Got down to the Danforth, her softly meowing as she bumped along in the carrier, and between Pape Avenue and Greenwood Avenue she’d been named.
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.
