chaotic household

With changes going on at work, it’s really no surprise that something like this has happened at home::

I got up yesterday morning, after Jamie had already left for work, and did the normal “before work” stuff (brushing hair, brushing teeth, scooping up cats and shoving them into the craft/cat room so I can let the dogs out) as well as starting on the handful of dishes Jamie found. Let dogs out to pee/play, got ready for work, etc.

Recieved a handful of texts about work (there’s no one in your department, one of your machines is broken, etc) to prepare me for the madness I was going to walk into (on top of the whole “oh yeah, there’s going to be like 20 managers, including the district manager, all up in your business for gods know how long” for some manager-training class). Mentally prepared.

Left the dogs in their room (we have a new door! Fred and Jamie installed a new, solid wood door over the weekend), but did not crate them. Felt they’d been Good Dogs and deserved some “out” time while Jamie and I were at work. The door could be secured, I figured things would go ok. Let the cats out of the room, grabbed my stuff, and left.

Work Happened.

Jamie got home and I got a string of texts that boiled down to: there is shit everywhere.

The dogs had gotten out of their room somehow (my guess is Carrot probably headbutted the door and Firefly or Hobbes pulled from the bottom on their side) and wrecked havoc on the house. The cat boxes were flipped over and litter was strewn everywhere, there was poop in all the rooms (cat/craft room included), the box of clean litter was knocked over and spread all over the kitchen floor, the clean dishes were on the floor, the box of water flavorers were destroyed, the dirty laundry that was in the bathroom was everywhere (Jamie’s dirty laundry from when he showered Monday night), the pantry door was open and stuff was everywhere.

But

The basement door was shut so no one got out and no one went to doggie-jail (thank gods because today is Payday and we wouldn’t have had the funds to bail them out yesterday).

Jamie spent his afternoon cleaning up the house while I was at work and a coworker and I were trying to figure out the best time to shut down the department so we could clean and have everything done by the time I was scheduled to be off.

This is my life. I have elderbulls who have apparently decided that life is now “no rules” and work is going to be chaotic due to restructuring and we’re all going to be dumped into this new extravaganza on Saturday, when my department will go from having 6 people to 4 and the new DM gets to figure out how we’re going to manage and stay open during the times corporate wants us to stay open. It’s going to be a fun two weeks of madness, that’s for sure (and then hopefully everything will be streamlined/better)

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Somewhere, something is going on

My unwritten goal for the blog was to update it more frequently than I had. Not like Scalzi level updating because I don’t think I could do that (in fact, I’m fairly sure I haven’t been able to do that since high school). But more on a “at least one to two times a week” kind of updating rota.

Yeah. This isn’t happening.

It’s like the whole “gonna update my comic tumblr twice a week.” Ha. I haven’t touched it in…a couple months or so. I don’t even know anymore.

So. Things. Things are happening.

My dad is still in the hospital, however he has been recently moved into a “normal” room so that’s a huge plus. He has physical therapy to help him re-learn how to use his left side, he’ll probably have to see a psychologist in order to help with the forced detox from addicting behaviors (smoking/drinking), but that probably won’t be until after he gets some speech therapy or something. I don’t know.

But, the staples are out of his head, he’s medicated, his boss is worried about him so that’s a plus. I have no idea how long he’ll be in the hospital, I have no idea if we’ll be rearranging the house in order for my parents to live with us. It’s an underlying stress that’s been going on for the past almost-month.

Jamie’s dad and step-mom came by yesterday to help with the house. They insisted and it helped because they brought a new door for the dog room (because of course I have dogs who will destroy a door), and while Jenny and I worked on doing inside cleaning, Jamie and Fred worked on fixing the part of our fence that was slowly falling down.

After they left, I went out in search of my glasses (because I lost them this past tuesday) and found them under the car after I’d been laying partially under the car and seeing a wall crab I’d never seen before (small wall crab with spindly black legs and a red body). I’d sighed and went “Anasazi, if you’re around, could you point me in the direction of my glasses? Because I’ve never seen one like that one before” (the wall crab) and sure enough, that little red-with-black legs wall crab walked over to where my glasses were.

I left out fruit in thanks.

I try to not bother gods because I like how Granny Weatherwax thinks of it: you acknowledge that they’re there, but there’s really no need to bring attention to yourself. I think it’s a good way to see it as: they’re there, sometimes they like to hear people say their names, and sometimes they like to be talked to or thanked. But, there’s really no reason to go out of your way to grab their attention because then you never know what’ll happen.

With my phobia, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if Anasazi took a shine to me because he seems like the kind of person who likes to fuck with people for shits and giggles. It’s like dealing with Mercury/Hermes, who I think likes to remind people to stop taking life so seriously.

In a sense, it seems hilarious that jokester gods and story teller gods are my kind of gods. But hey, whatever works I guess.

I’ve been trying to work on writing a bit. I saw a submission call for a Halloween story, but there wasn’t any deadline at the time and I thought it’d be fun. While I doubt that I meet the deadline or anything like that, I think it’d be a lot of fun to write a Halloween story. It’s helping me stay away from the one story I was working on before my dad had his seizure/stroke/whatever it was. I’m not in the correct headspace for it.

I’ve got about 7 pages written in a notebook for the Halloween story and I’m just now getting my characters parked at the setting they need to be in for things to start going and out of the car. Hey, not bad. I mean, I could have probably prolonged it but that would’ve made it boring as hell. And, it’s only the first draft so who knows what’ll happen.

So it’s really weird knowing that I’m working on a horror Halloween story and now I’m getting smacked in the head with an idea for a pseudo folktale kind of thing. I guess maybe it’s a sign to take a break from horror and see where this idea goes before going back to horror and working on the Halloween story along with the one I had a dream about the other day (complete with watching myself write the story title down in the dream. super weird)

And lastly:

Still working on knitting. Woo. I like it. I’m enjoying making the shawls and I’m thinking that if I have another 500+ yd skein (not necessarily lace weight, but something between it and the “sport” weight I normally use. I have half a skein of what it is somewhere in my stash), I’m going to go for another idea and see how it works out.

I finished Super Hideous Texture shawl and, now that I’ve used it up, finished it, etc, it doesn’t feel as awful as it did when I was making it. The textures striped naturally and Jamie said that it would look so much cooler if there were more sparkly yarn interspersed throughout the yarn besides the just 2 or 3 spots that it was.

Now, I’m on a new shawl, using a pseudo chunky style yarn that I pulled apart 3 times and now I’m on tryout number 4 and the 4th try has come out pretty well and I’m happy with it. It’s not as tight as it was, and as I continue, it’s kinda fat so it’s fun to work with. I’m hoping I have enough yarn to get it done, but if I don’t then that’s ok too. I think I have another partial skein somewhere in the basement, so we’ll see what happens.

Getting angry

Yesterday, I’d decided that I’d work my way through Tales from the Lake, vol 4 (because it’s on my kindle and, since I currently can’t afford to buy it, I’m reading it through Kindle Unlimited) during my bus trip to work. I’d left earlier than my normal time so I could use that time to pick up a few things and shove them in Jamie’s car before I clocked in. However, by the time we’d reached one stop, I’d looked at the time and realized that we were not going to make the transfer time.

I put my kindle  in my backpack and just stared out the window, hoping I could make my transfer without having to have to wait for an hour. I didn’t think that I’d had enough money anyway for a new bus ticket (but I’d later find a quarter in my pocket, which is what I needed, so there’s that) and I didn’t have service on my phone because we were waiting for payday to buy a new phone cart.

I’d be stuck.

But, I held out hope and thought maybe we could make it. And then a train came though. The driver drove to the next street (why? I don’t know. the cross bars go down at like the same time) and then went up and around, to find that the train was still going. I resigned myself to my fate of being stuck, and the driver turned down another street and…almost hit a guy who was laying part way in the street.

Someone on the bus yelled “He’s drunk, just ignore him.” And I watched pedestrians just stare at the situation while the driver is using that phone thing they have to contact the supervisors to report this individual who looks to be dead asleep on the side of the road.

We got to the transfer area in time to watch the last handful of busses leave. The one I needed was gone and I just got super frustrated and walked into the waiting area to sit down. I found the quarter in my pocket, and realized I had enough money, tried to find an unlocked wifi signal to text Jamie that I’d be later than 11 like I’d initially planned, and pulled out a story I’d been working on in one of my notebooks.

I was so frustrated and angry, I ended up writing about 6.5 pages before my hand decided to swell up and go “nope.”

I managed to weird out a handful of people in the waiting area (because apparently people writing is never heard of or something). Got on the bus, used up the last bit of money and change cards I had, plopped my butt down, and mostly stared out into space before I realized the pen I’d stolen from Jamie was red and I’d been angrily writing part of a horror story in red ink and I got a kick out of it.

Got to work to find Jamie super concerned and that he’d been told to clock out and go home because he had too much overtime, so he got to leave early.

Adventures in wtf, really?

I think I’ve developed an allergy to turkey.

I don’t eat turkey all that often. As a kid, turkey was:
wtf is this comically large chicken and why is it so dry? My mouth is a desert.

As an adult, turkey is:
wtf why is this so dry? You can easily make a nice, juicy bird. What did this bird do to you to deserve this?
Ground turkey is currently cheaper than ground beef and I want burgers. Turkey it is.
Jamie found turkey cutlets. More power to him, I will cook them for him.

And, on the rare, “I want a sandwich” moment, turkey is: pre-packaged, molded, and sliced into evenly made bits that I can put on a sandwich with honey mustard. The package says it’s “mesquite.”

But, the past few weeks, I’ve realized that every time I’ve cut turkey for customers my face becomes itchy. It didn’t really register as anything beyond “I must be allergic to a cleaner we use back here” in the department or the usual “I work in a disgusting, greasy department. It’s only natural to feel gritty.” Because, really, I do. There’s only so much cleaning I can do, the fryers are on for 12 hours every day, minimum, and I’m constantly going back and forth between excessive heat and freezing cold with very little “comfortable” temperature in between.

I don’t normally try the meats we have available for customers (or any of the food for that matter) because, while we are encouraged to sample in order to help describe things to customers, I’m just not interested. And when the hell do I ever have time to cut a slice of meat to try out? Almost never. It’s also not a priority for me, so I don’t think about it.

A few weeks back, I tried a peice of the honey turkey and a bit later I realized my stomach hurt, but hey random stomach pains happen and I didn’t really make the connection.

The other day, I had a woman ask for hickory smoked turkey (one of our new ones!) and she’d asked for “thick cut, for salads.” So, I cut a slice that might be the thickness she wanted, she said it was alright, and after the second slice, she changed her mind and requested that I make “slices for sandwiches” and that she’d cut it up for salads herself. Ok, no problem.

Set the two peices to the side to be weighed and tossed, sliced “sandwichy” and finished her order, wished her a nice day and checked how much I was going to be throwing away.

Quarter of a pound. In just two slices.

I asked my coworker if they’d want to try a piece of it, since I was going to be throwing the cuts out anyway, and it’s a new item so we’re allowed to sample it. They told me no, and I went to weigh it out.

I decided to try a piece, so went into our prep area and pulled a small bit off, popped it in my mouth and didn’t really taste anything besides copper/blood. Huh, weird. I couldn’t tell if it was the taste of the turkey itself or if it was me. My stomach started to hurt, but that didn’t mean much because my stomach had been hurting off and on since the day before from the quinoa salad mix I’d brought for lunch.

Another coworker came in, I’d asked if they wanted to try a piece and they said no. I said I’d tried it, but it tasted metallicky, so I pulled another peice and all I tasted was blood, my face started itching, and my stomach was like “oh, no thank you.” I left the area to grab benadryl that I have in my backpack as the second coworker went “way to go, genius” in a jokey manner.

My eyes stayed itchy/red/gross for about two days, I still have hives on my stomach, and after reading some stuff on allergies (“metallic/copper taste in your mouth when ingesting thing is an immediate indicator of an allergy” [sic]), I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to turkey.

But, it’s not like I can go to an allergist to verify this. I don’t have the money to go to the doctor and I’ve got enough benadryl to cover me while I’m at work and cutting things. I can easily avoid ingesting it because Jamie and I hardly ever go out to eat. And, on the upside, this means I can give a better reason than “I don’t want any” whenever people ask me why I don’t have any turkey on my plate during holiday gatherings.

Painted Dogs

I realize that my last post was a real downer and I don’t want to dwell on it, so let me tell you about Friday Night.

It’s been a long day of work, Jamie and I have just gotten home after attempting to get some fast food because we were both kinda hungry but didn’t want to make anything (the fast food joint locked their doors right after Jamie parked the car, so we wound up discussing how we’re not mad and they’re probably super short staffed). We come home, without food because it’s late, we’re both tired, and Jamie’s volunteered to work the next day.

The first thing I see is the pillow that Hobbes stole is now covered in colours, Bug is nowhere to be seen, and Cricket is making her sad-dog whiny noises while Hobbes looks guilty. There’s stuff on the floor. I tell Jamie I’ll get the broom, not thinking that it’s worse beyond the living room and I heard Jamie huff and go “God damnit guys.”

The baking drawer is open and there is stuff everywhere. Cupcake liners, the little metal cookie maker plates (why do I have these? where did they come from?), empty sprinkle bottles, and Firefly…liking up coloured sugar.

The floor has a huge blue stain from where someone exploded a bottle of cheap ass food colouring (y’know, the one that comes in the 4-packs when you need to dye non-newtonian fluid colours for fun). I tell Jamie I’ll sweep up stuff, tell the dogs they are terrible dogs, and Hobbes goes back and sits on the pillow right after I pat his head and tell him he’s a terrible dog.

We don’t punish our dogs. We have yelled at them, but we don’t smack them unless we’re playing around with them or doing the “butt scritches with play smacks” thing. Come on, they’re pit bulls (and Cricket). They’re special dogs, they don’t need to be punished. They pee on the floor, it’s our fault. We clean it up, we tell them to not pee on the floor, and we clean it up again when it happens the next time. Bug has explosive poo, we sigh, put on gloves, and clean it up.

The worst punishment is telling them to “go to bed” so they can get fed, put up for the night/when we go to work, whatever. Yeah, totally mean dog parents.

I have to say the words “It’s not blood, I swear. It’s just food dye.” because the floor has a large red oozy spot on it.

So, we clean up the mess, and go to bed. We’re woken up about an hour before the alarm goes off to a massive crash in the kitchen. Hobbes has stolen a pan out of the sink, I tell him he’s a terrible dog, and go back to bed.

Jamie goes to work and I clean up the now-knocked over trash can, take the trash out, let the dogs roam the back yard, and find that not only is Hobbes’ legs covered in green, purple, and blue, but he’s also got purple on his butt. Bug looks like she’s about to turn into the derpiest zombie dog ever (because she got into the red icing dye, the really nice red icing dye that has better pigmentation and a little bit goes a long way), and Firefly has blue on her butt.

Cricket comes away as just being slightly sticky, but it’s spring and she’s always slightly sticky.

Dogs come inside, I work on laundry. Spent time wiping Bugs’ face off, so now it looks like she ate someone’s cake instead of a raw steak, and it’ll hopefully continue to wear off and I find that not only does Firefly have blue on her butt, but her belly is also swathed in blue.

Firefly is the reason why part of my kitchen floor is blue/green.

Guilty

I shouldn’t have to feel guilty for calling out of work. I shouldn’t have to feel guilty for feeling awful, for having a migraine, for being sick. I shouldn’t have to feel guilty for having a disorder that makes me a paranoid bubble who thinks that everyone is out to get them. I shouldn’t feel guilty for making jokes about it either, especially when I need to make those jokes to make myself feel better or make light of a situation.

I shouldn’t have to feel guilty because I’m 1 minute late changing something out. I shouldn’t have to feel guilty for forgetting to do something trivial, like picking up the debris caught in the drain under our sink. Especially when I know I’m the only one who ever does it. I shouldn’t have to feel guilty for not being able to get our product from the main freezer into our freezer because I didn’t have time. (especially when I know that if the department manager doesn’t do it and I don’t do it, it won’t get done without at least 20 minutes of loud complaining about how “no one but me ever does anything around here.”)

I shouldn’t have to feel guilty for not getting everything done so the newest member of our “team” only has to do one or two things before they leave for the night. I shouldn’t have to feel guilty for not pulling mark-down items before I leave, especially when I’m already 20+ minutes past the time I’m supposed to leave and I’ve still got at least 30 more minutes worth of work to do.

I shouldn’t have to have my paranoia sky rocket because I’m going to get shit for not doing this or forgetting that, for not staying “only five more minutes” or for staying past the time I’m scheduled to leave. I shouldn’t have to feel guilty when being told that I should “thank” a certain person, or people, because they calmed another person down after their verbal tirade. I shouldn’t have to feel guilty because I know how the whole verbal abuse thing works.

I shouldn’t have to be made to feel guilty because one of my coworkers doesn’t understand the concept of “go to break/lunch” or when to clock out on time. I shouldn’t have to feel guilty because I work in “the worst department in this entire store.” That doesn’t fucking help me.

I shouldn’t feel guilty for attempting to tell someone that the reason why I am in X-place instead of Y-place is because I am removing myself from a toxic situation that will only result in me becoming reactionary in a negative way. I also shouldn’t feel guilty for refraining from explaining why I think the department is going to implode while listening to someone talk about how it’s a “drama hole” and we’ve “all been sucked into it.”  And “it needs to stop. Now.” I shouldn’t have to feel guilty for taking photos, to show proof that someone wasn’t doing everything, months ago and having it brought up now to make me feel worse when I’m already standing there feeling like shit.

I don’t have the energy, nor capacity, to be the verbal punching bag because someone never bothered to take the time to try to overcome their anger issues. Yes, I know, understand, and realize that I am a barely contained little ball of rage. I have worked many years to keep my anger issues in check, and I continue to work to try to keep my anger to a minimum, and this department has been picking away at it. The difference is, if I blow up on someone, I’ll get fired. But if that same person blows up on me, and customers seeing that be damned, they’ll just get a sigh and a half-assed comment about “this is why no one likes you.” And nothing will get done.

I don’t have the energy, nor capacity, to be everyone’s emotional support. There’s a difference between asking if someone’s ok and feeling like you have to be their human bandaid because every little thing upsets them.

I shouldn’t have to feel like I’m walking on eggshells because something might upset a coworker, something I have nothing to do with might upset a coworker.

Yesterday, one of my coworkers went to the store manager threatening to quit over the bullshit drama in my department. She starts in the store she’s wanted to go to for months this upcoming Monday and I wish her the best. She’ll be happier and we both know that store manager will take care of her.

Friend pointed out this morning that we got our quarterly bonus on this check. She’s getting almost 4x more than I am and I told Jamie about it. Jamie checked his and he’s getting 3x more than I am. We all work roughly the same amount of hours, but friend is getting the highest amount of all three of us. So why am I getting the lowest?

I work in “the worst department in the store.”
My department “has the worst sales in the store.”
We spent a month not even breaking even in sales. We ended this week at -20%
I work in the department that got no less than 8 (EIGHT) calls to corporate complaining about us being “rude” this past week and I feel like I’m being blamed for it.

We keep getting reminded to acknowledge customers, even if we’re busy. We keep getting reminded to smile at customers, even if we don’t feel like it. I’ve had to remind every person who’s done this that I can’t keep it up. I can try, sure, but my disorder keeps me from doing that. There are times where I’m not sure if that customer is real or not, if I’ve smiled or not. I can’t hear people over the sound of the fryer and overhead fan, especially if they’re talking to my back. I can barely hear some of our customers when I’m over on the cold side because of the fans inside the cases.

 

I’m at the point where I’m really not sure if it’s my disorder that makes me feel like I’m being blamed for everything that’s going wrong in that department or if I really am being blamed for everything that’s gone wrong. I can’t keep it up.

At least once a week for almost 2 months, I keep getting told that: our hours are going to be cut, we’re “over staffed,” they can “get rid of one of [us] and cut hours off another and still be over hours,” we’re the “worst department,” and, my favorite out of all of the vague “you’re going to be fired” threats: “do we need to find a new closer?!”

This last week I got to hear it two different days. Most people can easily see it as “motivation” to work harder and whatnot, but I hear it as “we’re going to fire you eventually.”

Unfuck the house

Today is the day for Unfuck The House!

We’ve been doing super basic things (cleaning the dog room, mopping/cleaning up any accidents, doing basic laundry–work clothes and towels, doing the dishes, cleaning cat boxes), but we haven’t had a chance to do things like clean the windows, deep clean the house, dust, etc.

We’ve also decided it’s time to start fresh. Clean slate.

We’re going through out stuff while we clean. Trash, Donate, Sell (Allen and Nanny have decided they want to have a yard sale in the next couple weeks, so we can throw some stuff in there). I’ve found a toy to give Mom as well as my aunt Billie. I’ve also realized that apparently we like to hide blankets from ourselves (for real, 3 different totes had at least one blanket or duvet in it that we completely forgot about)

We’ve also agreed to move the craft room from the extra room to back into the basement. I’ll have more space and I’ll be less likely to lose anything else to the cats. Now I’ve got to figure out how I’m going to set up my fabric holders.

On the plus side, we emptied 2 totes of stuff already, found jackets we forgot we had (winter jackets that were given to us), the blanket my grandma crocheted for me (squee), we gave Firefly 2 of our toys (they have sewn on eyes instead of the plastic ones).

I told Jamie I want to keep the sewing table Dad gave me upstairs and he agreed. Mainly because that fucker is heavy and I hate moving it.

Hopefully I’ll be able to find comics that I’d made, or at least the tracers I need for bits. I don’t know if we’ll be moving all the notebooks downstairs too *shrug* Who knows.

I have a mimosa in my cactus cup to keep me going along with a Kickstart (woo, uppers and downers!)

But, we can do this.

Clean slate. Start fresh.

I feel great. I have energy. I hurt a lot, but I can get through this.