Sunday, 14 September 2014

The shoe odyssey

I'm a simple person. I like stuff that works and I like when it works forever. Alas, my old Pentax gave up eventually and since I do a lot of photography, I finally scraped up the money and got a new camera. And, obviously, being who I am, I'm pretty pissed.
Yes, the shutter opens which is a great improvement but the sound is different and, more annoyingly, louder. I like my shit quiet, grrrr. And the buttons and knobs are in different places. The thing feels different in my hand. And it's just different, damnit.
On the other hand, my bespoke leather bag is still almost like new and will remain so for several decades so there's at least some equilibrium in the world.

I hate shopping. I mean, I'm fine with going to the bakery getting my bread. I hate going through shops and never finding anything I need. The other day, I needed to buy shoes. Ordinary black flats, size 42, US 12, black, flat, leather, decent quality. I had a bit of time so I went to a mall. In one store, they had various stuff made from a large choice of synthetics, up to size 41 and the clerks looked pretty annoyed when approached so I just left. At Bata, they used to have that little shelf with "oversize" stuff where one could find a few pairs of something sligtly boring by brands that tend towards the expensive side but on the other hands, leather, good fit, looks slightly boring but reasonable so I went to look. After not finding anything, I asked the clerk and she said that yeah, sure, but they had to restock the oversize corner all the time and it was too much hassle so they don't have it any more. I sighed, saying that I need some nice black flats in 42, is there a chance of finding something, the clerk replied, let me check, there's this in 42, and brought me a pair of brown pumps with 10 cm heels. I politely thanked, thinking that it's certainly vodka o'clock. In a nearby boutique where they do have my size on a semi-regular basis, I held up a nice black flat and asked Could I have this in 42?, the clerk went to rummage and said Sorry, sold out. After repeating this about three times, I asked Are there ANY black flats in 42; the clerk merrily explained that I must come at the beginning of the season when they have new stock because they send some choice of models and sizes from the central, and not everything arrives up to 42 and when it does, there is only one or two pairs and they get sold fast. I nodded wisely and asked why they do not restock the stuff when it's in demand? Well, the central doesn't like it, there's paperwork and extra hassle, you know. Something similar happened in another store with the gem of "These sell too fast and we had to restock them all the time so we don't carry them any more" and in another shop, the nice clerk was a bit apologetic and gave me the model numbers and told me to order them from the international website of the shoe company. At the Högl boutique in Prague, I said I want this in 42, the clerk looked at me via her nostrils and said This is made only up to 40, with the unspoken Go away, you poor scum.
Meanwhile in Austria... I wanted those Högl shoes. I went to, found out that the model in question is made up to 42, messaged my Vienna friend explaining that I absolutely need those shoes, can she do something about that. Said friend went to a Högl shop, said I want this in 42 for a friend, they said We don't have them in this shop but leave your phone number, please, we'll ask around. Someone checked around, they found out that not a whole heap of 42s in this model was made but there are some left, got a pair delivered from someplace like Salzburg boutique, called my dear Anna that the requested shoes are ready to pick. And that it would be better if I came to the shop to try them in person because even if I wear Högl shoes regularly, it's always advisable. Well, when I came to Vienna, my feet got so swollen that I could barely fit into my worn sandals.
Meantime, my dressmaker gave me the phone number of her shoemaker. I brought him the worn-to-death Marc Jacobs flats I kept at the bottom of the closet for the remote chance I would ever find an affordable shoemaker and said This fits great over my heels, make ones like that in black, thankyouverymuch. Some time later, I got lovely black flats that did scrape the skin off my heels but not any worse than anything off the shelf and the shoemaker promised to work on it. I'm saved. Also, I'll get green and burgundy Marc Jacobs lookalikes that fit better. And many more, because now I can go and get shoes instead of damn shopping for them.
Fashion spreads sometime later.

Monday, 1 September 2014

Mild and hesitant progress

It seems that my meds kicked in. Fluoxetine tries its best to turn my stomach inside out when eaten before meal and upturned my sleep schedule but some ten days ago, I felt almost energetic. I went to work and instead of feeling that on the next corner, I'd die of sheer exhaustion, I walked and enjoyed the air and the movement and it was all nice.
I'm far from okay, though. It's about two years of a steep downward spiral. I feel better but I'm still very tired. I'm also horribly out of shape which makes me even more tired when I try for some physical activity. I'm worried about emotions because I grew terribly indifferent towards most things and very emotional, even sentimental, about a few and getting back to baseline might be quite interesting, as in "better be observed from another galaxy". My body seems to be in a constant state of threat - I'm crouching, not moving to go unnoticed and such. My personal hygiene habits suffered badly. I got used to not talking because I have nothing to add to the conversation anyway so why bother.

Whatever. It's not time to party and not caring has advantages because I don't care. Meantime, while I feel like doing something, I'll do some cleaning and decluttering. Depression ate my short-term memory so I'm somewhat aware that I for example bought things but I am not too sure what they were and where I dropped them so I'd better go through the random shopping bags. I may well vacuum the dead flies, too. And if things go well, I'll have a shower, too.

Sunday, 24 August 2014

Tasteful scarf

I wasn't in a mood for knitting in the last few months. Nor did I check much of my mail. Yet, one day I did check mail and saw a newsletter or handful from DBNY, checked what was up and discovered a batch of Cashmere Tweed in a colour I call carroty red; slightly orangeish shade of red I just don't like but it's totally my mom's colour.
My mother, as it has been noted repeatedly, disagrees with knitting. And I, being the silly naïve person, keep trying to persuade her that there's nothing wrong with hobbies. Lately, she's been complaining a bit less about my ever-present WIPs around the living room so I decided to go for it. And, everything can be redyed to black.
The yarn arrived, I showed it to mom and said that if she wants, I can make her a scarf because I thought she'd like the colour. She agreed under the condition that the scarf be tasteful.

I decided for linen stitch which is obviously tasteful and it doesn't look obviously knitted. Not sure what mom will think, should she whine, I'd get pretty pissed because this yarn is pain in the arse to rip and there's no way in hell I'd wear a red scarf.
We'll see.
More knitting content to be expected.
More content at all may be expected.

Sunday, 17 August 2014

All the same

I must've mentioned many a time that I like when things are unremarkable. It means that there's no impeding disaster and being the boss, I am the one who solves problems. I hate dealing with problems caused by other people's stupidity and since my underlings are not the sharpest knives in the drawer, most of the problems are caused by negligence, lack of literacy (seriously, I can't believe that some of the folks passed the basic school) and several other sorts of idiocy not described by science yet.

My mother is having a tough time as well but apparently she's not losing good humour. She has a degree in theory of education or something along those lines and the stuff going on around here reminds her of a daycare for slightly retarded children. She thus promised to find me some courses in special education and social pathology to help me understand the mentality. I stopped planning to run away, not that I wouldn't want to but because I don't have enough mental capacity to plan something so complicated but from what I hear from other people, it's all the same all over the place with the exception of academia where one would need courses not in special education but rather cat herding and a double dose of social pathology.
Mom also wants me to make notes so that she could coauthor a book based on my experience. Which means that first, I'd need to move away, far, far away because the persons involved would recognize themselves and the persons not involved would recognize themselves too. If I get my caustic sense of humour back, though.

Seen my shrink and got new antidepressants. So far, I got a steaming helping of side effects so I sleep badly - not that I'd slept too well but there's always some space for worsening, right? - and I stopped eating almost entirely. Due to somewhat busy week, I've been nomming my dear benzos to prevent my head from exploding and I can't really judge my mental status. Or, I can, it's shitty but I haven't noticed any new variations of that shitty.

I'd add a gratuitous cat picture or something but my camera died and I can't afford a new one. Go and pet your own kitty.

Saturday, 16 August 2014

News roundup

Grandma was diagnosed with breast cancer in spring. She's getting second round of pre-op chemo and she's allergic to it so every dose incluses anaphylactic shock.
Mom is doing major part of the care. Her siblings need to go holidaying and stuff and accompanying a rather boring old lady to the oncology ward is teh nuisance, and my uncle is retired so he has no time to hang around anyway, he needs to do all that relaxing.
Dad has his own health issues with bad legs - result of various accidents, injuries and neuropathy. It's understandable that it makes him cranky but he's grown intolerably annoying as of lately.
Poor mom is in the middle of this and I can't help her due to lousy job elsewhere and my own issues.
Speaking of my depression, it calmed down. I don't break stuff and cry, I'm rather resigned. I do change my sheets and clothes and have showers from time to time and I pretend to be functioning but it doesn't work.

And then there's the real Rio at work. The usual stuff is usual - imagine a long rant about how I hate dealing with people - and since we've been pretty full in the last two weeks, it's a sort of badly managed chaos. The highlights of the weeks were thieving staff and a nice talk to nice police officers and less nice talk to staff in question who didn't understand the wink, wink, hint, hint of Maybe the missing cash is just misplaced at first because they're morons but they came to the conclusion on their own or my dear deputy did more yelling than diplomacy.
Then there was a mutineering cook who made me yell at him in front of guests and staff - guests enjoyed the amateur theatre and staff is spreading the schadenfreude.
Next day, the other cook called in sick but then something happened and she came to work - I suspect that the injury of pride caused by the other cook (mentioned above, generally known as Fat Asshole, generally disliked) taking over the shifts would be more serious than some upper respiratory problems.
And then there was the angry guy with steel pipe.
I would like to start drinking. I have booze, I have reasons but I just don't feel like it. Horrible.

Sunday, 6 July 2014


I'm legitimately doing nothing.
No, I'm not relaxing in the psych ward, I just went to see a friend and I'm just sitting in someone's armchair, reading stuff and knitting.

It's all the same story. Stress, depression, stress, depression, just in different shades. I got a deputy of sorts, a person who does a part of dealing with idiots for me and she was off for a week so I needed to survive the communication with employees. So far for running a business in countryside. Half of the natives are inbred or something and the other half is no the dole and doesn't want to work. The whole district... well, I guess one should go Medieval on them and invite settlers from Saxony or Südtirol to cultivate the land, build roads that last and all that stuff as the kings did it back in the 13th century. The current residents might be shipped to North Korea, they vote for commies, nazis and iterations of thereof in every election anyway.
The who guessed that I don't like the general area was right.

Which is besides the point; summed up: work sucks as ever. Before leaving for Vienna, I was in a lousy mood, at which point I just try to be polite but not really cordial. I don't feel like talking because I don't feel that I have something to say, something that people may be interested in. And, I got into a rather nasty row with my mom. Due to foaming adrenalin, I fail to remember what exactly made me explode. She asked about work, I told her, complaining a bit but not much, I didn't really feel like talking, and then she started yelling at me that I'm just whining all the time and she had a dental surgery and says nothing, and her work sucks and she doesn't complain either, and that I'm a little lazy wimp. Well, at a point, I said that I refuse to listen to this, grabbed my glass and slammed the door to go and cry in the kitchen. Mom followed me, yelling stupid questions such as Who brought you up this way. I hate this because it's idiotic and accusatory and just manipulative and damn, I'm not going to say the expected Mommy dear, you raised me perfectly well but I decided to be mean, for which I sincerely apologize. Well, I answered, I think, along the lines of You should know the answer best. There was more to that and I didn't avoid the confrontation by saying nothing because I used up all my self-control to not throwing objects at my mother or just anywhere around, I just smashed a box of tomatoes.

At which point, I'm probably already deemed an intolerable piece of agressive shit and now everything is going to be my fault, which is strategically significant problem. Not that I'd be able to care too much. Not that I cared about this clash either, this happens from time to time, usually I break some glass and life goes on. It just generally sucks, this depression thing.
And then I went to Vienna, walked around the town, saw friends and did all that normal stuff I can't do in Middle-of-Nowhere where I work. My feet are swollen becuase apparently I've deteriorated so much that some windowshopping makes me exhausted.
Things have gone wrong. I just can't find a way how to fix them.

Thursday, 1 May 2014

Excerpts from an inner monologue

Why the hell again.

The other day, I dropped to a recruitment agency to test the water, they gave me a card and told me to mail my CV. I mailed the only one I have, written by my friend Pete when I applied for a part-time teaching gig. It's full of interesting things - that I [sort of] know Eastern Old Norse and similar. Well, back in the day, I sort of knew some Eastern Old Norse.
Which is both reason and explanation why I should get my attention deficit and memory troubles treated.
I didn't hear back from the agency, maybe when I'm in the town, I'd throw the hard copy at them. Or maybe I should muster a version with shorter words.

Grandma has cancer and the relatives who generally care only when there's a party with a lot of free food are visiting both grandma and us, we live around the corner and there's free booze or something. Obviously, not all relatives are greedy jerks, and one of these is my cousin who is generally amiable... but one of those boisterous extroverts. I told her about my mental issues, both those that thrive on their own and those that are work-fed, when she was visiting around Giftmas. A week or two or three (I don't remember. Me and calendar - disconnected) ago, she dropped by, I didn't want to talk about work but she or my mom asked about something, I said it sucks. She told me moreless this:
So you're complaining that work sucks, that your nerves are on the go, and you're doing nothing at all. How many interviews you had, heh? None at all. Did you apply for some jobs? No. Did you try to do something-or-another? No. So I have to infer that you're actually happy about your current state of affairs. Maybe you should stop complaining.

Oh yeah, when depressed, one is always ready to spring into action, always alert and thinking sharp and clearly, sure about oneself so getting things done is so easy.
I'm lazy and it's no big secret.
Another publicly known fact is that I'm introvert, sociophobic and with long-term mental issues that just... well, sometimes I'm almost physically paralyzed and it takes a lot of effort to uncurl and go and do something. Sometimes I'm paralyzed mentally in a similar fashion. Add all those memory and concentration issues and there I am, sitting among piles of papers to be dealt with, desperate, because I don't know where to start, I know that back in the day, I was damn good in logistics and organizing, and now I don't know what to do. Two hours later, nothing is done, I'm just more guilty.

I mentioned to BossDad that I would actually welcome if he told me that he employed someone. That I somehow inferred it from the contracts to sign and file, mixed into a bunch of other paperwork, but I'd rather be informed beforehand. He started an exercise in blame shifting - I don't know it because I don't talk to my deputy, it's all my fault, obviously. I grumbled something, got scolded for grumbling and replied that, the hell, I'm doing the things as best as I can but I refuse to do any liking of my job or positive attitude or similar shit.
It wasn't the first exchange of this sort we've had, and as always, his general response was two-fold and basically Things are complicated even elsewhere and So what would you like, I'll make that job for you. I'm 35, for fuck's sake, I can find a job. I guess it would take me half a day to have a contract for something I'm capable of doing, better paid, with less responsibilities. Janitor, sales clerk, anything - not that it would be a dream job but at least minimum legal wage would mean an improvement, and the possibility to drop everything after 8 hours and go home and have an actual life. Okay, I'm repeating myself. And, yes, I do know that everywhere, there are issues. But, in this case, the issues just added up and overwhelmed me and I know I need a long sick leave to pull myself together, to start with. I stopped seeing the shrink for the usual reason - I think I'm not doing enough, I finished my meds again so I'm off them... and I feel too guilty about it to go and see him. I feel too guilty to talk to many people because I'm still annoyed and forgetful and generally a pain in the arse. I'm afraid my cousin isn't the only one who thinks it's just a bad attitude of mine.

Whatevs. I'll go and fetch some donuts, try to print herbary tags so that I can sort out my dried plant matter and I'm pretty sure that the work won't do itself meantime so what's the point.