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

Lazy

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.

Friday, 25 April 2014

Burnout

And at a certain point, you just lose the will to have a life.

Why go out when nobody is interested in my work stories. Why wearing decent clothes when people at work (be it underlings or guests) don't appreciate it. Why bother with anything at all when all the people I meet I hate - not each of them separately and for a reason, only in the collective sense of belonging to a group of employees which, in the year and half, became an equivalent to continuous nuisance and idiocy. Guests are even worse - snotty idiots, Captains Sweatpants (hey, I made a Big Bang Theory reference) who think that expensive sweatpants are good enough for going out, people who think that the receptionists or whoever are there only for them and their convenience... and people who just are, with all the side effects like making noise. So, why the burning hell I should bother to wash my hair when I'm surrounded by idiots I hate.

I realized that I'm in deep shit indeed when I started speaking in dialect. Not the dialect of the area where I work, my native dialect (of sorts, my mother is a linguist and always prided herself that our household speaks nice, not some contorted whatnots. Also, she hated said dialect, a heavy one, for that matter, although I'm not sure on what grounds, whether just because or because her first teaching gig was deep in the country and she couldn't understand the first-graders. Gotta research). Because, I'm from elsewhere, see, everyone, not here, I'm from that nice town that has an university and two theatres and actual places to go and things to do apart from navigating the swampy meadows and counting orchids. Not that I was going out too much but I could if I wanted, right? And due to that fucking work and fucking morons who needed to go holidaying so they pretended to be sick or something, I missed a concert of Paco de Lucía back at home and now he's dead, right, so I have no chance of going again. Yes, I might not be able to afford a ticket or I might not go but I could. And that's the point. But I digressed. I just distance myself both willingly and subconsciously from work and everything related. I would quit on the spot but I'm not one of them, falling sick when I don't feel like working (okay, marauders were already disposed of, not in the compost heap but told to go away voluntarily or else), I feel a moral obligation or two, such as not leaving people in deep shit as it's not nice and I don't really remember much from the days when I worked two shifts in the reception every day and had to do a shitload of other stuff and was sick of fatigue all the time. It's not done in the low country - or it is, maybe I just haven't met enough people but it's a nice stereotype to fall for, that the hard-working farmers actually worked hard and kept their word. Sometimes I'm not entirely cynical, cherish those moments, they don't happen often.

And then people tell me that everything is fine, right? Because, let's take people looking funny at me, they certainly don't mean it, they live in their own heads and I shouldn't worry. Problem solved, next! You dislike talking to people? You don't need to as you had to before a new receptionist was hired, everything is fine. Problem solved, next! You feel stuck up in the middle of nowhere? You should have learned to drive, your fault, suck it up, problem solved, next! Nowhere to go, nothing to do? Other people actually pay money to stay in the hotel, the view is nice, where's a problem, problem solved etc. See, there's no problems left, everything is fine, go out and enjoy life. Add optimists and rationalizers to the list of things I detest. Phew.

Saturday, 29 March 2014

Just because

I may or may not have mentioned a friend of mine who is just... odd. In the way I am odd but those who know me know that my intellectual je ne sais quoi comes with an additional baggage of self esteem of a dead lab rat, depression, social phobia and no people skills to speak of but for wishing less than nice things to people.
While Pete is suave. Well-dressed, well-behaved, at home in every company, going to events, meeting people, not screaming at them, omgwtfddt, meeting people and going places with them and enjoying it. Somehow, we get on well together, which is a proof that the gods, or random movements of Universe, or whatever may be the reason why the world exist, is pretty wicked. So, this guy chooses to hang out with me from time to time although he could get better company by crowds even though he's already been subject to my outpours of nastiness.

He's a language freak, too, which is a thing we hold in common. Well, he has an actual degree in assyriology while I only got as far as to professors wondering why the hell I speak Florentine when I'm not a natural born one. As Pete would say, there is the special theory to it and the general one - the special one being the actual circumstances: I landed in Florence of all places without any prior knowledge of Italian, his department had too much funding so they opened a course of Yiddish just the semester when he had nothing better to do on Thursday afternoons. The general theory is general for both and all other cases: just because.

Hear hear, there is another person in the world who doesn't wink at my acquisition of tidbits of Catalan, Provençal and other Romance languages by howling along with Jordi Savall's Hespèrion (by means of which I learned of the existence of Cantigas de Santa Maria and other things that rock), and who actually considers it as perfectly normal. Compared to fellow Medievalists back in school who snarked at me for actually reading Medieval Latin poetry because I found it nice, or to muggles who don't know a thing and don't care... and no, I'm not being Captain Obvious. Just now, I could use some nice Fennougric curse, as Pete graciously sent me a textbook of Ingrian and double-sided printing decided to be my Nemesis. I have a colour printer in my office, because one of the ex-idiots ranted that it would be pretty if we could print our flyers, Teh Boss went off to buy a colour printer, then I threw some of the graphic art created by ex-idiot and said This or me, Teh Boss agreed that this would not work and I ended up with a colour printer I don't need at all. Asking me whether I could use some gadgets would result in saying Duplex printer, NAO, but nobody asked so I turn papers around to find the same page printed on both sides, and Fuck it all just doesn't cut it. But, I only ruined 40 sheets of paper, could be worse, pages 120 - 258 are just fine. The thing is, Pete sent me an Ingrian textbook and instead of doing my things, such as throwing objects at underlings or hiding under the table and crying, I'm printing it out. It's written in Russian which is another language I'm not fluent in, but one grows with their tasks. And finally, I'll have a greater joy in reading the Nykysuomen etymologinen sanakirja, known as That would be a cool blue doorstop. Because, comparing words to other words is fun. Hey, Amazon says it's out of print. Guess it was 60 euros well spent. Back in the day when my brain was turning inside out while being poked and prodded by Finnish, because language and thinking are one, and because I'm bound to think Indo-European, I decided that there is certainly more to it. And that I should learn more and observe how it gets learned, for the sake of science.

Another digression: I wonder how many people observe themselves thinking. Not many, regarding how many people are not thinking at all anyway.

And because Estonian is too mainstream... and then I mentioned it to Pete who is even worse hoarder of things and data, got the .pdf thrown at me. Well done.

Friday, 28 March 2014

Huh.

During the journey from Italy, I was slightly bored. Mom decided that I may get sick and pushed me to the front seat which prevented me from knitting (dad doesn't like seeing me knit in the car and driver decides about music and general ambiance) so I stared at the mountains, made a few mental notes, such as getting a book about those castles around Brennero, and taking the old road sometimes, and kept inventing curses.
The latter proved a productive... what's the right word again? Well, thing. Bear with me, I hope I'll be the old eloquent self again. First, it's a great fun to get the starting point at Let the fleas of a thousand camels feast in your armpits and go on. It's not as easy as I kept cursing the whole area so the curses had to be inclusive; Let your wife run away with someone cooler than you someplace cooler than where you live means that the runaway wife had some fun - and that's not the way to go. It has to be locusts and plague for everyone. Second, one can use the odder bits of one's vocabulary, but dear readership needs to find their own examples as I can't think of any.

There was some usual stuff. The chef not reading my email and deciding that he doesn't know what to do - he conjured up something entirely different from the first line and didn't bother to go beyond so the holiday aftermath was screaming about damn illiterate idiots. Parents said that I was overdoing it... and today morning, chef signed a mail with his name misspelled in a bad way. And the Ministry of Education shall send their special units upon thee; they will descend like angry and particularly angular hailstoneson you and beat you with hard-bound literature until you cave, you lazy morons. Those who will fail to get edumacated will be sold to North Korea.

And then I finally started writing the book of my hotel stories. The guys from the publishing forum had prompted me to, offering to actually pay for that. I'm on page 1 and it will be hard to assemble all the fragments I spread over the internetz, in my notebooks and wherever as I forget everything but things don't do themselves and one has to start somewhere. I may or may not keep you informed.