Sunday, August 12, 2012
Astrid is not an addict
Why yes, coworker, I do find your behavior unreasonable
For some ungodly reason, I am at work right now. And alert. Usually, at 3:06 am, my main thoughts are "Why are there no blankets on me?" or "Next time, I will definitely get this done while at work", but not today. Today, I'm working at my little mental institution (It's not mine because I own it or because I live there, even though I've had conversations with people where they've told me that they suspect that I really am a patient/client and I've just tricked everyone into believing that I'm an employee even though I never wear a badge and my bosses never actually see me... Anyway... They're wrong. But if they were right, I'd be the most awesome crazy person ever and as such, I probably shouldn't even be a patient, so really, I would be doing the entire place a favor.) and started the nightly cleaning. Apparently, that was a signal for my coworker, previously asleep in front of the tv, that he should start his cleaning. Which is ridiculous because the entire purpose of having two people employed on the graveyard shift is so that one of them can stay at the desk and answer the phones while the other one does some cleaning. With every other person I've worked with, this has been implied and seemingly makes sense. Not with this guy. EVERY SINGLE TIME. He does this. Invariably, I come back to the desk to answer phones and rant about how he's weird. Let's not even talk about the fact that he carries a club around that he's a little weird.
Anyway, it's not a big deal and I should be less annoyed. We're clearly very different, by which I mean that I am anal retentive and he is completely oblivious to the purpose of his job. He also empties the trash from my side of the facility, which is weird. Unless he cleans only the side that I am working on... Whatever.
The highlight of my day so far (the last three hours, not yesterday) has been finding out that Allie Brosh of Hyperbole and a half is not actually dead. Or at least wasn't 3 or so months ago. See! Yay! I'm glad for her. Also, I have a lot of anxiety about bloggers talking about mental illnesses online. Not because they shouldn't, because they totally can and should if they feel comfortable doing so. I know it always makes me feel better to know that other people experience the same weirdness as I do. (On a somewhat related note, S and I were reading Let's Pretend This Never Happened, the book by The Bloggess and I knew what a cistern was and told S that I had one and that it was awesome and then I realized that I didn't actually have a cistern as a child because we had a reservoir, which was likely much bigger than a cistern. And also that I am not the only person who will hide in a bathroom when faced with social situations I don't understand. There are a lot of them. It's usually fine, though, unless it's a funeral, in which case, I freak out because being in the same room as a dead body and chatting is weird to me and I don't think it really is helpful behavior, unless by helpful people mean "making sure this person isn't a zombie because they aren't moving". So that funeral was accompanied by me freaking out in the bathroom until it was over and calling my parents and sobbing because all the people were weird and there was death and it smelled like death and I couldn't leave because I had to be supportive, but I wasn't being supportive because I was hiding in a bathroom when I really should have been with S and talking to my in-laws about their loss, but I couldn't do that because of the aforementioned sobbing and the slight shrieking. So, yeah. I think funerals cause me to have panic attacks. Or maybe just that one. I don't go to a lot of funerals. I think I've been to one prior to that one and I don't remember much about it except that I wore a dress I stole from my mother that I still wear to church periodically and I was trying to be sad even though I didn't really know my great-grandfather. If I could go back, I would tell 8 year old me to stop worrying that I couldn't summon sadness because I would eventually be able to summon a lot of sadness at everything because I developed so much guilt over not being sad enough about things over the years. I can't remember where I was going with this. Maybe I'm not as alert as I thought. I use too many ellipses. I would strike them through so that I could show how many ellipses I use, but periods don't really work that way.)
So, yeah. Bloggers talking about mental illness. I think it's great, but I do wonder if it helps that people come out of the woodwork and are all "You think you have it bad? Well, let me tell you about how bad I have it and will continue to have it. Also, I love you so much." The last part is probably really helpful, but the rest bugs me. Whenever I read posts about people with depression or anxiety, I feel like I should tell them that they aren't alone and that might help, but at the same time, nobody experiences everything the same. I know I've felt really upset when people have tried to empathize with me before. I'll be in the middle of telling someone that I'm sad about something and don't feel well, and they'll chime in with their own sad story, which makes me feel like I should be focusing on them instead of me. Can't people just have their own sadness and have others just be supportive? I mean, I think that stories with concrete "this is how I got out of this" or "and then I felt better, so you can too" are helpful, but I'm not so sure about the stories about people who have struggled for years. I know that doesn't usually help me. It just makes me feel like I'm a whiny b****. Oh, ABC, how I love you for making that a reasonable thing to say and type.
The guy is cleaning all the things. Or at least mopping all the things, which is weird because he's not mopping it the way I would do it and I wanted to clean. I STARTED CLEANING ALREADY, you jerk! Normally, I wouldn't be mad at someone doing my job for me, but in this case I am. He's not doing it to the standard that I would do it and I usually use my cleaning time as zen-music listening staying awake time. I don't understand why he can't just be better. I'm sure he thinks the same thing about me. I bet he's thinking that I'm just this lazy person right now who always stops working right when he starts in an attempt to get him to do my job. ARGH. I hate all the things right now. I would call S except it's 3:30 in the morning and last time I made a decision at that time, I ended up with felons almost living in my house. Which I'd be fine with except that I'm pretty sure it would be a conflict of interest due to my other jobs.
*** UPDATE*** He totally did not do his job at all. Which is mopping the floor in the entryway. He really does just do things that I've already started to do. What is the deal with that? Is he unaware of what his job is? Probably. What do I DO?!!! Anxiety setting in. Do I do the stuff that he should have done? Because I don't want to and I don't think that's fair. Also, the mop has disappeared. But the people coming in the morning are super-picky and also hate me because I dodge their phone calls. AHHHHH....
So yeah... Less alert than I thought I was. Just full of unreasonable anger. Maybe the unreasonable coworker is me. I wish I could convey tone through type. That last sentence would be artificially sincere and be all sarcastic. Also, if you're awake right now, S, go to sleep. Just because I'm not hogging the tv with korean soap operas does not mean you should play Skyrim all night. Actually, whatever. You're an adult. I can't really fault you for doing whatever you want. Because again. ADULT.
I think I'm going to read more funny blogs now. Or keep reading that book. Maybe ponder my goals and my lack of progress on them.
Anyway, it's not a big deal and I should be less annoyed. We're clearly very different, by which I mean that I am anal retentive and he is completely oblivious to the purpose of his job. He also empties the trash from my side of the facility, which is weird. Unless he cleans only the side that I am working on... Whatever.
The highlight of my day so far (the last three hours, not yesterday) has been finding out that Allie Brosh of Hyperbole and a half is not actually dead. Or at least wasn't 3 or so months ago. See! Yay! I'm glad for her. Also, I have a lot of anxiety about bloggers talking about mental illnesses online. Not because they shouldn't, because they totally can and should if they feel comfortable doing so. I know it always makes me feel better to know that other people experience the same weirdness as I do. (On a somewhat related note, S and I were reading Let's Pretend This Never Happened, the book by The Bloggess and I knew what a cistern was and told S that I had one and that it was awesome and then I realized that I didn't actually have a cistern as a child because we had a reservoir, which was likely much bigger than a cistern. And also that I am not the only person who will hide in a bathroom when faced with social situations I don't understand. There are a lot of them. It's usually fine, though, unless it's a funeral, in which case, I freak out because being in the same room as a dead body and chatting is weird to me and I don't think it really is helpful behavior, unless by helpful people mean "making sure this person isn't a zombie because they aren't moving". So that funeral was accompanied by me freaking out in the bathroom until it was over and calling my parents and sobbing because all the people were weird and there was death and it smelled like death and I couldn't leave because I had to be supportive, but I wasn't being supportive because I was hiding in a bathroom when I really should have been with S and talking to my in-laws about their loss, but I couldn't do that because of the aforementioned sobbing and the slight shrieking. So, yeah. I think funerals cause me to have panic attacks. Or maybe just that one. I don't go to a lot of funerals. I think I've been to one prior to that one and I don't remember much about it except that I wore a dress I stole from my mother that I still wear to church periodically and I was trying to be sad even though I didn't really know my great-grandfather. If I could go back, I would tell 8 year old me to stop worrying that I couldn't summon sadness because I would eventually be able to summon a lot of sadness at everything because I developed so much guilt over not being sad enough about things over the years. I can't remember where I was going with this. Maybe I'm not as alert as I thought. I use too many ellipses. I would strike them through so that I could show how many ellipses I use, but periods don't really work that way.)
So, yeah. Bloggers talking about mental illness. I think it's great, but I do wonder if it helps that people come out of the woodwork and are all "You think you have it bad? Well, let me tell you about how bad I have it and will continue to have it. Also, I love you so much." The last part is probably really helpful, but the rest bugs me. Whenever I read posts about people with depression or anxiety, I feel like I should tell them that they aren't alone and that might help, but at the same time, nobody experiences everything the same. I know I've felt really upset when people have tried to empathize with me before. I'll be in the middle of telling someone that I'm sad about something and don't feel well, and they'll chime in with their own sad story, which makes me feel like I should be focusing on them instead of me. Can't people just have their own sadness and have others just be supportive? I mean, I think that stories with concrete "this is how I got out of this" or "and then I felt better, so you can too" are helpful, but I'm not so sure about the stories about people who have struggled for years. I know that doesn't usually help me. It just makes me feel like I'm a whiny b****. Oh, ABC, how I love you for making that a reasonable thing to say and type.
The guy is cleaning all the things. Or at least mopping all the things, which is weird because he's not mopping it the way I would do it and I wanted to clean. I STARTED CLEANING ALREADY, you jerk! Normally, I wouldn't be mad at someone doing my job for me, but in this case I am. He's not doing it to the standard that I would do it and I usually use my cleaning time as zen-music listening staying awake time. I don't understand why he can't just be better. I'm sure he thinks the same thing about me. I bet he's thinking that I'm just this lazy person right now who always stops working right when he starts in an attempt to get him to do my job. ARGH. I hate all the things right now. I would call S except it's 3:30 in the morning and last time I made a decision at that time, I ended up with felons almost living in my house. Which I'd be fine with except that I'm pretty sure it would be a conflict of interest due to my other jobs.
*** UPDATE*** He totally did not do his job at all. Which is mopping the floor in the entryway. He really does just do things that I've already started to do. What is the deal with that? Is he unaware of what his job is? Probably. What do I DO?!!! Anxiety setting in. Do I do the stuff that he should have done? Because I don't want to and I don't think that's fair. Also, the mop has disappeared. But the people coming in the morning are super-picky and also hate me because I dodge their phone calls. AHHHHH....
So yeah... Less alert than I thought I was. Just full of unreasonable anger. Maybe the unreasonable coworker is me. I wish I could convey tone through type. That last sentence would be artificially sincere and be all sarcastic. Also, if you're awake right now, S, go to sleep. Just because I'm not hogging the tv with korean soap operas does not mean you should play Skyrim all night. Actually, whatever. You're an adult. I can't really fault you for doing whatever you want. Because again. ADULT.
I think I'm going to read more funny blogs now. Or keep reading that book. Maybe ponder my goals and my lack of progress on them.
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