time warp

8:45am, 10/9/06

The only thing I don’t like about being back here, besides the dismal pay,
is the lack of internet. It is so sad. I mean, I have email, through the
PBX address, but that is all, folks.

Sigh.

Other than that, things have been good. I spent 45 minutes last Thursday
reacquainting myself with the processes and extensions and what-have-you,
and I was back on the phone. I have had hardly any problems and all of the
old-timers have been quite excited to see me back. Quite a few new-timers
have been glad as well. Apparently, there’s been a lot of upheaval in the
department since I left.

One thing that has not changed is my extreme paranoia left over from ACS
(OMG SOMEBODY’S WATCHING MY SCREEN) (Seriously, dude, nobody’s watching my
screen) (If somebody IS watching my screen—which I seriously doubt—HI. I AM
SO UNBELIEVABLY GLAD TO BE BACK AND I AM NOT EVEN CLOSE TO KIDDING.
KISSES!). It turned out that I was not paranoid, that people WERE watching,
but this is not the Gestapo and nobody cares what I’m doing on the computer
as long as the phones are being answered, and nobody is recording my calls
because it’s rare they last more than 30 seconds so there would be no
point. I don’t watch for flashing boxes and I do not have to look forward
to the pleasure of somebody critiquing me every two weeks.

Wait, did I say pleasure? I meant SHEER TORTURE AND HIDEOUS PAIN.

And there is no 3 line. Well, there is a 3 line, but it’s just the line
above the 0, 1, and 2 lines, and that’s it. My extension is 0. I don’t care
that I don’t have anywhere to keep anything personal—there’s no drawer and
no cubicle. I do have a window that looks out on a lot of green and a very
pretty live oak tree. Right now it’s sunny, and I am enjoying watching the
rich people load up their Mercedes (Mercedi?) with their golf clubs and
full sets of Samsonite luggage.

I do need coffee, y’all. And I could totally go get some, but the hallway
that once led to the Place Where There Is Coffee is suddenly a wall with a
chair in front of it. DISMAY. I felt like a dork, walking purposefully, as
I had always done, toward a…wall. With a chair. As if to say, this is MY
wall, and this is MY chair, and I will SIT in it, SO SAYETH ME. Everyone
else? BACK AWAY FROM MY CHAIR.

Except I was not expecting a wall with a chair, and so I abruptly (dorkily)
stopped and stared at the chair, as if it was an apparition and it was
going to disappear along with the wall to reveal the Hallway That Was There
Before, Dammit, so I could go get coffee.

It did not, in case you were wondering. And I? Got no coffee, and
therefore, I stared vacantly for most of the day.

In random news, holy crap, am I ever hungry.

I have an appointment with the shrink on Wednesday. We are going to have a
discussion about Zoloft. Zoloft is not outstanding; it is not even
competent. I am forgoing the coaching points altogether and giving it an
autofail. (You will not understand this grading system unless you have
worked at the Gestapo.) (If you have worked at the Gestapo, THAT WAS FUNNY,
HUH. Am HILARIOUS.) Anyway, moving on with my freakitude. Whatever.
Zoloft. Not working. There are some…personal female-related side effects
that I am not at all enjoying and do not wish to continue. Add that to the
insomnia that affects me all the night long and the fatigue that attacks at
arbitrary moments throughout the day, and the fact that I am still anxious
as all-get-out, and you’ve got a dud. Zoloft is not working. I need
something else. Lexapro was good for my depression, so I don’t get why I
couldn’t do Lexapro for depression, Klonopin for anxiety, and sleep like a
frigging normal person already. Perhaps I will mention it. He probably
won’t go for it, and I have three months of Zoloft already sitting on my
nightstand, so losing all that money for pills I’m not even gonna take
(hopefully) is kinda sucky. Maybe I should try Effexor. Maybe I should look
into a brain transplant. Hey, there’s a thought.

Okay, so, I sucked it up. It’s now 10:20a.m. and coffee has been acquired.
They have GOOD coffee here, too. I shall be trembling with the OD on
caffeine for the rest of the day. And yet, am so very, very tired. Cannot
write more now.

12:15p.m.

I’ve perked up a little, but let me tell you I will not be sorry when all
these people have checked out. All the world is stressed and pissy.

1:07pm

Yeah, so less than two hours left now. I just emailed Katherine, who has
taken a mental health day because her workplace sucks hairy sweaty donkey
balls. I keep almost trying to get on the internet and then I remember I
can’t, and my heart aches. Sigh! It’s not fair! Weep! Woe! I keep trying to
then write things here, and I get interrupted every two seconds by a call,
and so I keep losing my train of thought. But whatever, dude, at least they
are not taking pictures of my computer screen or tracking every move I make
or insisting I write it down when I need to tinkle.

I found out recently that a member of my extended family has been cruising
through my cousins’ myspaces and happened upon mine, where she read my
(rather lighthearted, I thought) post about my depression (I swear, I’m
going to have to give it a name, I talk about it so much) and freaked the
fuck out. So, with the new/old job at BC, and the nosy relatives, I’ve gone
private there, and obviously am already private here (I need more Vox
invitations, I guess, if I want more than two readers), so now I’m all
private and I can talk about My Depression and all the suicidal bullcrap
that goes with it without my relatives calling my mom in a twist.

I think I shall make a poll. What Should Lori Name Her Brain Issues? Fred?
George? Norbert? Agatha? Dolores Umbridge? Margaret? Ipecac? Castor Oil?
The Thing That Will Not Die (TX3WND)? Any suggestions?

Um, I guess I’m done for now. There is nothing else to write, it’s all been
written and there’s no way to post it. So I will copy this in an email,
send it to myself, delete it from here, and post it later.

Happy Monday.