Some Things Never Change

My dad sounded a little too cheerful when he asked to take me out to lunch tomorrow. I am, as a result, filled with dread.

How can someone sound too cheerful? you may ask, and why does that frighten you to your very core?

It's rather simple, really. Whenever my parents had really horrible news, they would try to temper that news with a treat. They'd act a little too casual, and the treat would be completely out of nowhere, because usually it was something they'd been trying to hide. For example: My sister has never watched the movie Forrest Gump through to the end.

One fine spring day, our parents pushed the couch up in front of the tv to make things cozier, told us we were going to have a movie and ice cream sundaes later, then sat us down and announced that my mom was moving out. My sister had no clue until that moment, and she did not enjoy her sundae, nor did she watch the movie all the way through.

I loved my sundae, and I loved the movie. Of course, my bedroom was directly across the hall from my parents' and I was a bit older, so the announcement was wonderful for me. No more being unable to sleep until 3 am listening to them argue! And a sundae on top of it all!

Once in a while I'd wake up and find that my father had taken my sister out for the day, and that announcement was always met with dread. It meant that my mother wanted to tell me something truly horrible, perhaps break my spirit and remind me what a horrible person I was for having repeatedly done something wrong over the previous weeks or months. The problem was me, and she needed several hours in which to set me straight, while my sister went bowling or fishing or out to the park.

So any time I get an unexpected treat just for me, I'm thrown into anxiety. I asked my dad if my sister and brother-in-law were also invited to lunch, which is always the case, but no, it's something just for us. *shudder*

So, what am I so afraid of?

Well, number 1: homelessness. I've been living in someone else's house as a favor to me since December 2009. My then-best-friend kicked me out after three and a half months because I was still unemployed, and she and her boyfriend had decided that not only did I not actually want a job, or I'd have one already, but that I was never going to amount to anything, and I should give up and try to get on disability.

I then moved into my aunt's house. She didn't actually have room, but I had just been kicked out, and it was that or let me live in my car. I stayed with her for about two months before I managed to get into Grad School. Unfortunately, I flunked out after two semesters because I couldn't wrap my mind around Accounting, and my school did not offer any kind of Master's degree in any kind of art or design.

So it was on to grandma's house. I was there for several months before I was notified (by my father) that my grandmother wanted me to leave, because I wasn't the companionship she'd hoped for. I'm an introvert, you see, and sitting quietly in the same room with someone feels like good company. I don't like to fill the air with words unless I have something to say which I think is important.

My grandmother was terribly injured, went into surgery, and ended up staying with my father, because his house is wheelchair accessible and hers is not. This extended my stay at her house to nearly two years, because I took care of her pets and kept the house from being abandoned/broken into.

My sister kindly, generously, amazingly, asked me to come live with her for reasons such as the horrible heat wave, horror at my living situation, and hope that she could help me out. I've been here four months and I'm still unemployed, even with her tossing every job she hears about my way (yes, I apply for them all), and now it's into autumn, which means the Seasonal Affective Disorder is kicking in. I'm sleepy all the time, I'm no longer oozing the hope and enthusiasm I was when I first got here.

So, back around to lunch with my dad tomorrow. There's a chance he just wants to have lunch with only me, though we don't get along for more than the shortest amounts of time. There is also a chance that he wants to pass on a complaint from someone else because he thinks it's helpful.

I'm taking bets.

Depression is Depressing. III

You don't want to hear it, so I just won't say it.

That's why I'm so quiet.

Blank

I can't do it. I can't write for NaNoWriMo even though I was excited and feeling defiant last night after my rant on the subject.

I made a NaNoWriMo account, and things started out well. I'd decided on a fantasy, based on a short story I started years ago, but never finished. It was a fairy tale, and I went through it, getting vague ideas of how to expand, characters to introduce, and a direction I wanted it to go in.

I began writing. I got interrupted. By the time I returned to it, my mood had dropped and all I wanted to do was scrap the whole thing. I no longer want to write. I don't even want to blog, but I feel like I should tattle on myself to really drive home the lesson here; I can't see anything through, not even when no one's going to see it but me.

Loser.

You're not supposed to talk about yourself like that, it doesn't do any good and it's not healthy.

You're crying, loser. You're crying because you decided you don't want to write a story. A story no one even cares about. This is why you can't get a job. How do you expect anyone to want to hire someone who's sat on their ass for almost three years? You don't want a job, anyway. You want to spend all day on Facebook, playing with apps. You want to sleep sixteen hours a day so you can pretend you don't actually exist. Why don't you just f~ing kill yourself?

I don't want to kill myself. I just don't want to live.

No wonder. You're so lame, I don't even want to look at you. And now your face is all red and blotchy like a stupid blotchy-faced lame crying person.

That's a really stupid insult.

Pssht. You don't deserve better insults.

Cool.

No, not cool.

Dammit, blanked out. I hate losing my train of thought, though this time it appears to have stopped me from beating myself up.

Anyhow, the point is that *fights blanking out again* um... Oh yeah, the point *blank* I've been fighting *blank* Fighting depression and stuff for weeks, I think sometime in October, I don't remember when. Missing that job didn't help. I should do laundry. Maybe NaNoWriMo was a bad idea, if I can't handle the stress of writing a story. I don't know how I could *blank* Disability. I don't know how I could apply for disability. I managed to get through college. I think that being able to do something productive, something I could be proud of, would help, but I can't seem to get started.

Oh, I give up. My mind wants to be blank.

Failure is Not My Muse

NaNoWriMo gives me the following advice:

Tell everyone you know that you're writing a novel in November. [...] Seriously. Email them now about your awesome new book. The looming specter of personal humiliation is a very reliable muse.

Humiliation. Well, that used to be a great motivator for me. Lately, however, the fear of failure has been sending me directly to failure. For example: Recently, a job became available as desk help at a local hotel. I was incredibly excited by this. So excited that I began to worry about being rejected. Getting an e-mail from a fast food place telling me that they have no open positions I am qualified for is an annoyance. Getting one from some massive Graphic Design company is disappointing. This was something which felt reachable.

The first day, I sat at my computer and tried to distract myself enough to calm down. The second day, swamped with guilt, I lay in bed alternately staring at the wall and sleeping. The third day, I hid beneath the covers and cried.

I later confessed my nerves to my father, a huge mistake on my part. I should know better by now than to hope for encouragement. Instead, he reminded me that a former boss of mine (a woman I couldn't stand, who fired me when Workforce Development stopped paying her back half my wages) eventually left to work at this hotel.

"I was fired from that job, you know," I told him. He just grinned. I don't know why. Why was he grinning at me? He seemed to think it amusing. Anyway, I spent the next two days alternately sitting at my computer and sleeping, and never went in to get an application.

Despite the likelihood that I will not manage to write a 50,000 word rough draft of a novel, I have told a couple people.

I will not be telling my family. As much as I long for their approval and support, that is not what I would get, if anyone managed to read it. Whatever I write seems to apply directly to them. My sister read a play I wrote, which was based on characters I'd used and changed multiple times; she decided that I had made her a cripple and was bashing her.

Actually, the only reason the main character had a brother at all was that I originally created the pair for a role-playing site which needed more single male characters. I crippled the brother for the same reason I killed his mother in my play, to give my protagonist a deep source for his guilt. Not because my parents are divorced and... I don't even know why I'd injure my sister. Except that she trashed my work.

So there's no reason for me to worry about pleasing anyone with what I write. I'm telling you, because you're all very supportive and I love you all to pieces, and two of my friends know. If I fail, I will not feel humiliated, and that's good. Now I just need to decide what to write about.

Hire Me, I'm a Liar

I'm about to lie on this next batch of job applications.

I've been searching for two years (with periodic breaks/breakdowns) and the only time I made it to an interview, all my charm and optimism did me no good; I had just convinced the hiring manager that I only wanted to use my art degree for freelance work, but what I really wanted was something steady. I loved Arby's and would be thrilled to be the store manager.

She walked away from me, looked at another application, then asked the man how he would get there every day, since he'd listed that he didn't have a car. He wasn't sure, and he'd never been employed... she asked when he could start.

So, lies and cheating, since the truth has gotten me nowhere.

I'm going to stop listing my Bachelor of Fine Arts. No one knows what it means anyway, and it just makes me sound pretentious. My high school degree, as long ago as it was, will do.

I'm going to combine all the jobs I worked at University into one long-term job. If all you do is glance at the page and I've worked five places, it's got to look bad, but my title was "Student Worker" at all of them. So, from now on, I was "Student Worker" at University for three years. When they ask what I did, I'll list what I did where, and my supervisor can be the supervisor from my final position.

I've tried to keep in touch with people from college. One of my two possible professor references (assuming I decided to list my degree after all, in a fit of insanity) has died, and the other is a hipster, which I'm not saying is necessarily a bad thing, but I admitted that I had a PC in front of him and he couldn't stop laughing. By the way, Macs are for people who don't know how to use computers.

I went there.

One of my close college friends has since decided I'm lame because I was unable to get a job within a month, and because she got married to a wealthy guy and I was apparently a charity project, so I've lost her (good riddance), whittling my contact list down to...

K: Friend in college. Trained me for a week in a student position she was leaving.
Peer: Trained for position as graphic designer at University.

E: Friend. We met while writing role-play for a Harry Potter website.
Peer: Creative writing, group projects, personal research.

H: Friend: Also met role-playing on a Harry Potter website.
Peer: Creative writing... You can see where I'm going with this.

I know, normally when one lies on an application it's to make oneself look better. You want to inflate your own importance, make yourself seem even more valuable than you are. Well, I tried that for the first year, when I was actually looking for Graphic Design positions. However, it's been almost three years, and I just need a job. I need money so that I can stop living with relatives and feed myself without government assistance.

Hey, you say. This is another complaint post about unemployment!

It's about time you caught on. Seriously though, it's a completely different angle this time.

I'm a terrible liar. I can do it on paper, but if one of these places actually calls me in, I can imagine the look on my face if someone said, "You've never had a job, at your age?" I know, it's a hamburger-flipping job and saying That's right, never been employed, I've always depended on the kindness of strangers. *cough* I mean, I cared for the home while my significant other/family member/pet iguana brought in the money is more likely to get me that entry-level position than Yes, I have a degree, but I swear I want to work here, and I'll do a really awesome job!

It's funny, in that way that's only funny if you tilt your head; when I was applying for Design jobs, my friends and family got onto me about being picky. Now I tell them that Pizza Hut sent me a "We currently have no positions which you are qualified for" e-mail and get responses like, Well, duh. That's because you're over-qualified.

My sister tells me (though I already know) that I have to stop submitting my resume. I have a nice resume. The guy from Apple was impressed, though sadly he hated my portfolio and wasn't hiring anyway.

I have several resumes. I have my Design resume, my Clerical/Office resume, and my Generic resume, which states my objective as looking for a "challenging" position. Why the hell does the McDonald's website ask you to upload your resume if it doesn't want it? That's the trap I fall into. I see the "Upload Resume or CV" button, and I have to click it.

But no more.

I have a high school diploma from many years ago, and have never worked. I have low standards, and will take any job you offer me. Speaking of which, do you know anyone who's hiring? I'm willing to move if relocation is paid for.

The 90's Called, They Want Their Prank Back

Yesterday I received a prank call. I dealt with it in an adult fashion, trying not to snicker too much, notifying the caller that he had the wrong number, and hanging up rather than continue to feed the troll. A good friend suggested something less mature, but far more amusing, that I could have said. My sister suggested something else, also amusing, but not likely to solve the problem.

Keep all that in mind as you read my responses to the text I received this evening, from the same local mobile number.

     Heyo yet [sic, I say, sic to infinity!] have Cheyenne duffys number

     No but she said she's got the strap-on ready. U gotta bring the lube this time. Yolo

     What the f*?

     She says she likes em big and black. She's out, man. Just grab some KY on the way.

     Mkay lets go

     Gotta get rid of some1 first. Cops are all up in my grill bout that junk you gave me.

     Well don't get caught next time and that won't happen

     K, they're gone, but don't kill me man, they just wanna ask you a couple questions, y'know?

     Yea i got the lube lets go

     Where you at, boo?

     My house

     I'm with L~ and H~, you better get your ass down here b4 we start without you.

     Im stuck here you come here

At this point I wondered what I was doing. I'm an adult, and here I was in a text-hijacking battle with what I assumed to be a random teenager. Not to mention the kid kept tripping me up by playing along. How long was I willing to keep this up? And how the hell could I win?

Competitive Streak: 1
Good Sense: 0

     L~ has my pants, I'm stuck too

     Sucks to suck

     You oughtta ask Cheyenne bout that, you know what I mean?

     No I Don't have her number

Damn, good one. I had to ponder that, and this time my friend didn't have any witty comebacks for me. She did, however, have Cat Facts. For the one of you out there who doesn't love clicking link trails, a brief summary (and my response to I Don't have her number):

     Thanks for signing up for Cat Facts! You will now receive fun daily facts about CATS! >o<

     Okay

Wait, Okay? That's not how it's supposed to go! I decided to make the best of it and regaled my new text-buddy/subscriber with interesting facts, such as:

     Cats use their tails for balance and have nearly 30 individual bones in them!

     That's cool

Really? Oh, a tough one, are you? Yes, actually. It was a Troll battle, me giving cat facts, him remarking that they were interesting, me asking him to prove he's human by stating his favorite animal, him answering with Cat. It was a full hour before I received Who the f* is this, which I admit I'd been hoping for much sooner.

I replied with a Cat Fact. And since he hadn't responded to my offer to cancel hourly Cat Facts, I sent another one an hour later. And another an hour after that, with another opportunity to cancel.

     Cats bury their feces to cover their trails from predators. [To cancel Cat Facts reply 'dghdfjnhddhtd56666443hgfdfefuutregjbvcyu65468990']

     'dghdfjnhddhtd56666443hgfdfefuutregjbvcyu65468990']

Yes! I was finally getting somewhere! Maybe we could end this peacefully, after all. But alas, I'm a smart-ass, and so I asked for confirmation.

     Are you sure you want to cancel? Life without Cat Facts is not as fulfilling. [Reply YES to cancel]

     No

     Thanks for signing up for Cat Facts. You will continue to receive Cat Facts every [hour].

Only I didn't make it another hour. This being the real world, I got a phone call shortly after the Cat Facts renewal, from a very sleepy-sounding, very confused-sounding, woman. So I had to be a grown-up again. I related a brief account of having received a call and multiple texts from that number, from a teenage boy, and then apologized for having disturbed her so late at night.

Whoops.

Is Your Refrigerator Running?

I got a random phone call today. I always answer in my most respectable voice, just in case it's a job offer. Who knows, maybe someone sent my resume to someone who sent my resume to someone who somehow got it in front of some bigwig at Disney and now I'm going to become a famous designer. Or maybe it's the bank and they're willing to hire me as a part-time teller.

Or maybe not.

Hey, can I ask you something?

me: Excuse me, who is this?

It's Javon, can I ask you something?

me: This is Lyric, I think you have the wrong number.

Lyric? Can I ask you something?

me: Sure, go ahead.

Are you DTF?

me: *tries not to laugh* No, but thank you.

What if I'm black?

me: *hangs up*

A friend suggested that I should have offered Javon a turn with a hypothetical strap-on, but alas, I was too busy being amused at receiving a true prank call, something I thought went out of style with the invention of Caller I.D.

Poor kid. He and his laughing friend would have had a lot more fun with someone who'd never heard the term DTF before. Maybe I'll call him back in a couple days when he's forgotten me.