now i know i've been in rough shape
Nov. 14th, 2005 11:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mountain_laurellet me just say that when your prescription charge is so high that the drugstore has to run it as two separate transactions because their system isn't set up to handle that kind of money, and that wasn't even all of them, you're entitled to be fucking cranky, yo. the up side is that the doctor upped my cytomel dosage another 5 mcg and i'm definitely feeling it. don't break out the champagne just yet, but i managed to care enough about food to do a load of dishes and spend most of the weekend cooking gorgeous, gorgeous Indian food -- and instead of staring slack-jawed at the TV and/or the monitor, i read two books.
one of those books was the latest from my favorite mystery author. i'd started it almost two months ago but found it un-fun (!). so when i started reading it again and couldn't put it down, i started thinking about where all this started. what was the first thing i love that i lost interest in? ah yes. that guitar i haven't picked up in well over a year even though it's sitting right out in the middle of the living room. because in the back of my head, i know the Primary Guitar must be quickly accessible at all times. it never occurred to me to put it away. and yet i never felt an urge to play it.
then it's all a jumble. i stopped listening to music. i stopped going to movies. i got increasingly cranky with the cats. the cats, for god's sake. i stopped cooking decent food. and finally a few weeks ago i stopped eating. i mean, sure, i was grabbing a piece of cheese out of the fridge occasionally, and i made myself eat a bowl of frosted mini-wheats every day, but beyond that i just couldn't be bothered. i wasn't hungry. even sweets didn't tempt me. every few days i'd get hungry enough to cook something. if you count grilled cheese sandwiches as "cooking." and there was the week i lived on a slice of pumpkin cake a day. i couldn't finish it before it spoiled.
i stopped even writing. i just ran the stories in my head. couldn't be bothered to keep up with my favorite TV shows, even, because all i wanted to do was lie on the couch and daydream. all these things i needed to be doing, but every time i started to do anything, the next thing i knew it was three hours later and i was staring into space, muttering to myself in some ridiculous accent or other. (my Croatian is laughable, but my British is appalling.)
oh, and bathing -- not enough of it. i'm just sayin'. this is what depression does: it takes things away from you. first it takes your job. then it takes your social life. then it takes everything you love. then it takes your dignity. finally it takes the most basic of human necessities: food, clothing, shelter. its goal isn't to kill you; that would be too merciful. it's to obliterate you. to take away everything you are, everything you do, everything you know -- but oh, it keeps you breathing. because if you stop breathing, you can't feel pain anymore, and pain is what the black dog eats. like you need air, it needs pain. it wants you doubled over on your knees in an alley, gnawing on rancid scraps from a dumpster in the rain, because that's the dog's thanksgiving feast, right there, that's caviar and champagne and filet fucking mignon. your famine is its bounty. it's the most vicious parasite ever known to man.
i just found two errors on my resume. one of them no one but me will recognize, but the other (two sections out of order) would be caught by anyone as nitpicky as i am. neither was caught by any of the people i asked to proofread my resume. i figure i'm probably ok. (but i'm fixing them both.)
i have a phone interview tomorrow, with the company![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
amywithani works for. cross your fingers for me. especially considering their reputation letting months and/or years (no lie) pass between interviews and offers. does anyone know a tactful way to say "and by the way, i hear you take forever to hire people, but i'd really appreciate it if you could make me an offer while i still have an address?"
my only other lead so far is that my favorite teller down at the bank slipped me an application and said they're hiring some part-time tellers right now. i'd totally go for it except it's not such a great idea to take a job with your own bank branch and then quit a month later when you get a real job. they know where i keep my money! still, mad props to Teresita. whatever that means. i just realized i have no idea what that means. i get the "mad" part, but what the hell is "props?" is that short for "AttributionDammit?" jesus christ, i'm old. i have no idea who's on the radio and i can't decipher the slang. i'd better get some more tattoos so i can at least get respect on the ink front. that'll be especially important once i'm living in my car.
i'd claim my life is half over but i'll never get that lucky -- longevity (and cynicism) runs on both sides of my family; as my dad likes to say, "we enjoy our poor health well into our old age." i figure i'll go 90, 92 at a minimum, unless they legalize voluntary euthanasia by then. so vote Democrat, or you can count on 50+ more years of my whining.
also, i have discovered the best personal ad ever.
one of those books was the latest from my favorite mystery author. i'd started it almost two months ago but found it un-fun (!). so when i started reading it again and couldn't put it down, i started thinking about where all this started. what was the first thing i love that i lost interest in? ah yes. that guitar i haven't picked up in well over a year even though it's sitting right out in the middle of the living room. because in the back of my head, i know the Primary Guitar must be quickly accessible at all times. it never occurred to me to put it away. and yet i never felt an urge to play it.
then it's all a jumble. i stopped listening to music. i stopped going to movies. i got increasingly cranky with the cats. the cats, for god's sake. i stopped cooking decent food. and finally a few weeks ago i stopped eating. i mean, sure, i was grabbing a piece of cheese out of the fridge occasionally, and i made myself eat a bowl of frosted mini-wheats every day, but beyond that i just couldn't be bothered. i wasn't hungry. even sweets didn't tempt me. every few days i'd get hungry enough to cook something. if you count grilled cheese sandwiches as "cooking." and there was the week i lived on a slice of pumpkin cake a day. i couldn't finish it before it spoiled.
i stopped even writing. i just ran the stories in my head. couldn't be bothered to keep up with my favorite TV shows, even, because all i wanted to do was lie on the couch and daydream. all these things i needed to be doing, but every time i started to do anything, the next thing i knew it was three hours later and i was staring into space, muttering to myself in some ridiculous accent or other. (my Croatian is laughable, but my British is appalling.)
oh, and bathing -- not enough of it. i'm just sayin'. this is what depression does: it takes things away from you. first it takes your job. then it takes your social life. then it takes everything you love. then it takes your dignity. finally it takes the most basic of human necessities: food, clothing, shelter. its goal isn't to kill you; that would be too merciful. it's to obliterate you. to take away everything you are, everything you do, everything you know -- but oh, it keeps you breathing. because if you stop breathing, you can't feel pain anymore, and pain is what the black dog eats. like you need air, it needs pain. it wants you doubled over on your knees in an alley, gnawing on rancid scraps from a dumpster in the rain, because that's the dog's thanksgiving feast, right there, that's caviar and champagne and filet fucking mignon. your famine is its bounty. it's the most vicious parasite ever known to man.
i just found two errors on my resume. one of them no one but me will recognize, but the other (two sections out of order) would be caught by anyone as nitpicky as i am. neither was caught by any of the people i asked to proofread my resume. i figure i'm probably ok. (but i'm fixing them both.)
i have a phone interview tomorrow, with the company
amywithani works for. cross your fingers for me. especially considering their reputation letting months and/or years (no lie) pass between interviews and offers. does anyone know a tactful way to say "and by the way, i hear you take forever to hire people, but i'd really appreciate it if you could make me an offer while i still have an address?"my only other lead so far is that my favorite teller down at the bank slipped me an application and said they're hiring some part-time tellers right now. i'd totally go for it except it's not such a great idea to take a job with your own bank branch and then quit a month later when you get a real job. they know where i keep my money! still, mad props to Teresita. whatever that means. i just realized i have no idea what that means. i get the "mad" part, but what the hell is "props?" is that short for "AttributionDammit?" jesus christ, i'm old. i have no idea who's on the radio and i can't decipher the slang. i'd better get some more tattoos so i can at least get respect on the ink front. that'll be especially important once i'm living in my car.
i'd claim my life is half over but i'll never get that lucky -- longevity (and cynicism) runs on both sides of my family; as my dad likes to say, "we enjoy our poor health well into our old age." i figure i'll go 90, 92 at a minimum, unless they legalize voluntary euthanasia by then. so vote Democrat, or you can count on 50+ more years of my whining.
also, i have discovered the best personal ad ever.
