A Working Experience

4 03 2012

I had a gig yesterday, which made me feel all productive and everything. Granted , it wasn’t the most intellectually stimulating work (filling out forms and making out guest lists and online forms and credit card numbers) but I can’t complain too much. Except I can, because geez Louise.

I was working for my aunt and one of her friends, but there were other people present. My aunt happens to be blind, but she’s more capable than some people who aren’t handicapped, and only asks for help if she really needs it, or if it is openly offered. Her guests however, are not, and seem content to stay that way, which I don’t understand.  Being dependent, for me, is beyond frustrating. Being able to do things for myself excites me, simply because my depression and anxiety makes it so hard for me. And these women, who are physically disabled, seem…almost content with the idea that someone else has to do things for them, and that someone else will do things for them. Rather than ask for a cup of coffee, they simply proclaim ‘I want coffee’, and then express how they would like it, simply expecting the coffee to appear to their satisfaction. It seems a little…presumptuous to me. Naturally, I don’t expect blind or very handicapped people to do something that would be very difficult for them, not when it would be easier and more efficient for someone else to do. However, that doesn’t make it all right for them to just take advantage of that fact, and a demand does that. My aunt, when asking for something, has always been polite, no matter who she was asking something of.

I wonder if this distaste I have for these presumptuous women has something to do with my distaste for myself, or well, the old me. The one who never did very much on her own, relied on others to read her mind or do the things she found difficult, who shied away for her own responsibilities and difficulties. I think that would make sense; I’m so hard on myself, I think that if I recognized something that I found unacceptable in myself, I would certainly look down or at least disapprove of the trait or behavior in someone else. It might be unfair, because they could be just as frustrated with their own limitations as I am, but all I have to judge them on is their behavior, which I don’t like.

I didn’t exercise today because A. I was tired, and B. I think I messed up my stupid bad ankle. Either that or it’s going to get colder. Or rain. Either one. Or both, it doesn’t matter. My ankle doesn’t like any change in weather. I’m still having a hard time with motivation, too. I mean, if I’m already out, then I’m like, ‘Oh, I guess I can go to the gym.’ But if I’m at home, cozy? I might as well be under house arrest, because I just huddle under the blankets or putter around the apartment because I can’t get up and go! It’s like there’s more than one me, but the one who wants to go keeps getting shut down. Like this:

Enthusiastic!Me: Oh, look, we’re awake! Let’s get up!

Drowsy!Me: …eh. Sleepy. ::proceeds to roll over::

Enthusiastic!Me: …come on, get up get up get up get UP!

Pessimistic!Me: There’s no point in doing anything. Let’s go get some ice cream from the freezer.

Drowsy!Me: Don’t wanna get up. Sleepy.

Enthusiastic!Me: …come on you guys, let’s go, we’ll feel better!

Pessimistic!Me: There’s no point. Nothing will make us feel better.

Drowsy!Me: I’m trying to sleep. Be. Quiet.

Enthusiastic!Me: Oh, I give up, you guys are impossible.

Me: ::doesn’t get out of bed::

And so on it goes. Tomorrow I have to get up, because I have a gig and I’ve already gotten paid for it. (Need to go to bed on time, self!) But the day after? I don’t have to be up until it’s time for therapy. But maybe if I don’t look at it as an obligation, but as a fun thing, maybe I can go? In any case, it’s on my schedule. In the meantime, I’ll try to control my sweet tooth. …Oooh, I’ll buy hummus with tahini. That is super yummy. And not hugely fattening. …I think I should be cooking dinner, but there isn’t anything defrosted. I should make a supper plan too. Hah. Supper. Who says supper anymore? Well, apparently I do, but still.


I started a piece with A as the inspiration. It’s good, I think. It’s a little racy too. Not too surprising, considering the source material. I mean, we were so sexual. Not that’s all we were, but it was a sexually charged relationship, when we weren’t pondering on the universe and all that. I mean, I don’t think I believed half of what was coming out of his mouth, but it was interesting. I think he was always gauging my reactions. I think he saw me as something of a student, someone who would think of him as worldly, that he could teach. Which is one of the things that I didn’t like as much, because it made me feel inferior, as much as it drew me in. Like I said, it was interesting. But as for what I think is becoming a short story, it’s not a direct telling of us, my stories never mimic life exactly, but he is the spark that started this little fire. So we’ll feel what happens, once I get to the end of it. Speaking of which, I’m going to go write and release more emotions! Yay for emotional catharsis!

Sincerely yours,





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