You know what? I'm just going to say it: I'm overwhelmed. I've been trying to be a good sport about things, believe it or not, and not complain too much, or whine. Dammit, though, I've had my fill of some of the stuff that's been going on lately, and the last three weeks have just worn me down til I'm a raw nerve.
#1 on my list is the dentistry. Everyone hates the dentist, I hate the dentist, it's not fun, blah blah blah. I've been trying to keep this in mind, and keep in mind that it's all for the best even while almost heaving at the staggering cost. The thing is, this whole proccess has gone on for TOO FUCKING LONG. How long have we been at this now? I haven't had proper use of my teeth since well before Thanksgiving. While I do like my care providers, as they are kind and superiorly trained, I am about ready to blow a fucking gasket. Cute Endo is only in the office on Mondays. Persian Dentist is only in the office on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Every time I go in there it's a cabaret of pain, literally.
Yesterday I stopped in after work to have them re-glue a temporary crown back on. I'd gone a little crazy the night before and tried to eat a cookie. (WHOA! I'm outta control!). I had to go see J the Therapist at 4:30 in Encino, and it was raining. I TOLD them: "I just want you to reglue this; I don't have time to be fitted for my crowns today. I have an appointment on Tuesday for that."
What did they do the minute I got in the chair? "Julie, your crowns are here! It will be 15 minutes! Let us put them on!" I'm thinking when they SAY 15 minutes, it means 15 minutes. Big mistake.
Why is that a big mistake? Oh, well, let me tell you. The new crowns didn't fit. Was I surprised by this fact? NO I WAS NOT. Why? Because when Persian Dentist took the impressions for the crowns, I said, "You know my bite is all fucked up. You're going to have to make adjustments, because if you're going on what the temporaries are like, you're way off base." I don't know if it was the use of colloquialisms like "fucked up " or "way off base", ( he's actually very fluent, but sometimes, he gets a quizzical look on his face when the English goes by too fast) but he really thought I was worrying about nothing. Not like I've had this wreck of a mouth my whole life and he's just looking at it a handful of times, but whatever.
So THEN they start trying to make adjustments, to send them back to the lab to be remade. Meanwhile, time is ticking away. Finally, at 4:15, I say, "You have to STOP. I MEAN IT. I don't want you to rush this off so I can get the wrong crowns again, and I have to leave. " They consented, reglued my temps, and I left. Which is all I wanted them to do in the fucking first place!!!!
I was late for the therapist. And now I won't have my proper crowns in time for my birthday, which is all I was really hoping for, you know? I don't know WHEN they're coming in. All I know is I have to go back on TUESDAY- not Monday, or Friday, or Saturday, days that I am off- to get refitted one more fucking time.
I am so sick of this process. I eat soup every day. EVERY DAY. I can't chew anything harder than a muffin, and my head aches from the fact that my jaw doesn't fit together properly because of those horrible temps. But apparently, I've got a couple more weeks to go on this, and that's just the way it is.
#2 on my Shit List is being broke. I only work three days a week, and while I like my job, I would like to take that stupid computer program at work and throw it in the middle of Ventura Blvd. I seriously have not gotten a good night's sleep that was not chemically induced since I started working there. I have these dumb dreams where I am doing the same thing over and over again and panicking about not getting it right. It doesn't take Freud to figure out what's wrong: I'm obviously very stressed out about mastering the system. Secondarily, I like my boss, but it's still a little awkward getting to know him, and I'm with him all day, alone, every day. I'm still in a trial phase, and I know he's watching me carefully, and I know he's probably not half as worried about my performance as I am. Still, I see his ease and humor with everyone else, and I just think, "God, am I doing okay?" I realize this is probably transitory; all those people have been there for well over 5 years. Plus, I don't want to have too much candor with him at this stage, given that I'm still trying to earn his trust.
In the meantime, I'm not making my bills. Not even close. I'm up at night worried about money, and I feel like I've lost all the ground I made last year in financial solvency. And I just cannot go back to worrying about money constantly; I just can't do it and remain sane. I'm looking for a second part time job, at the same time keeping in mind that I still have to schedule all this dental work to get through, and I'm clearly very stressed out with the one I already have. I am very discouraged right now about my financial picture, especially given that the folks at the dental credit plan are going to want to start deducting $360 a month from my bank account as soon as they can.
Number 3 is internet dating. I am so frustrated with the whole thing I want to throw my laptop in the middle of Ventura Blvd., except I like IT ( versus this dating bullshit) AND I still owe money on it. The bottom line is, I'm living a "Sex and The City" script. Remember that episode where Miranda goes out on this great date, and there's sparks and the whole nine yards, and he NEVER CALLS? Then all the girls are trying to help her along with it: "Oh, it was just a first date. Give it 3 days." "Maybe he's really busy at work." "Just relax, I'm sure he'll call. " Then someone says, "You know what? Maybe he's just not that into you." ( And then the producers wrote a best-selling book with the same title.)
I'm beginning to think that's the case. Because you know what? Email about the nice "chat" we had and my issues from the past/ personal insecurities about turning 39 aside, if he really liked me, he'd have called by now. I called him today. Left a message just asking how he was and if he wanted to hang this weekend. I also sent an email saying the same. Heard anything? NO. I think unless his grandmother dying, we know what the picture is. ( As the book states, "Men know how to use the phone. It doesn't matter how "crazy busy" he is; if he likes you, he'll make some time to call." Written by a MAN, by the way, just so we're all clear on the veracity of the source. Obviously, I would have to concur with his assesment. )
And I talked with the therapist last night about this ( in my truncated session): the bottom line is, I'm not really made this way. I just don't believe in this whole miasma of rules or whatever you want to call them. I understand there are a few things you don't do; calling too soon and looking desperate or mentioning your therapist-- OR parole officer, or rehab or even your crazy ex-- too early on are usually romance-killers. But I'm the kind of person who sort of lays it all out there: if I like you, I call you fairly soon. I don't sit around.
Why would you hold back from that? If you meet someone and you really like them, life is short. Step off the cliff and be done with it.
And I don't have complicated rules about when we are "dating" vs. "in a relationship" vs. "seriously involved". I'm pretty old fashioned, and the bottom line is, if you're sleeping with me, ( not that I slept with him; I'm just sayin') you're involved on SOME level ( exactly what level is up for discussion and is situation-dependent, but suffice to say, the "dating" portion of the show is over). That's it. I don't want to sleep with you if you're sleeping with anyone else or seeing anyone else, and that's it.
I realize this all may make me extremely unpopular in today's dating world, but I'm tired of worrying about that, too. It's not like the phone is ringing off the hook right now, anyway.
4 is the fact that I've been on antibiotics since right after Thanksgiving. I don't know what caused this, ( and neither do any of the specialists I've seen) but I've been getting tiny painful cysts in *weird* (I'm really not feeling like going into exactly ALL the places, okay?) places on my body. It might very well be because I have gums so inflamed from all the infection they've been cleaning out of my teeth that I can barely brush. When I suggest this, though, I get the Typical Western Medicine Response: "That's not related." Well, how the fuck do you know? You've had me on three highly noxious medications meant to kill off anything within a 50mile radius of my body, and nothing has worked. How do you know once this all heals over, the cysts will stop occurring? In the meantime, the drugs make me want to hurl and not get out of bed, simoultaneously. They wear me down and out. I'm tired, my mood is low, and my stomach perpetually upset. And guess WHAT?? I got a new cyst two days ago.
The last slot in my list of Current Complaints is #5: I still haven't been able to serve Actor Cop with his papers. Why? I haven't had a moment to breathe since R managed to weasle his (we're assuming) correct address out Actor's management. Not to mention, I have to have someone else serve him, and everyone I know is busy with other shit. As it stands, our court date is in two weeks and the man still hasn't gotten the papers. It's been suggested to me that I get the LA County Sherriff's office to serve him; I guess I could call them, but I'm not optimistic. I highly suspect they will just decline as they had better things to do, like, you know, attend to crime scenes.
As if all of this isn't enough, I'm just fed up with this apartment, all the repairs it needs and I just want to MOVE. I'm tired of Crazy Landlady, and I'm tired of shit breaking all the time, which seems to be the karma of this place. Even stuff that's MINE and not actual fixtures of the house break on such a regular basis, I feel like I'm living someone else's psychic script. The latest thing: this cool glass light fixture someone gave me for Christmas. This place is a money-sucking portal, I'm telling you. I've had it.
Add all that together with turning 39 next week, having no one to actually spend my birthday DAY with, and you've got me in the mood I'm in now. I'm stressed out, I feel alone, I'm overwhelmed, and I swear to god anyone who calls me and tries to pretend like it's all a.) not happening or b.) in my head or c.) going to magically be all right will promptly get hung up on. You can take that to the bank.
#1 on my list is the dentistry. Everyone hates the dentist, I hate the dentist, it's not fun, blah blah blah. I've been trying to keep this in mind, and keep in mind that it's all for the best even while almost heaving at the staggering cost. The thing is, this whole proccess has gone on for TOO FUCKING LONG. How long have we been at this now? I haven't had proper use of my teeth since well before Thanksgiving. While I do like my care providers, as they are kind and superiorly trained, I am about ready to blow a fucking gasket. Cute Endo is only in the office on Mondays. Persian Dentist is only in the office on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Every time I go in there it's a cabaret of pain, literally.
Yesterday I stopped in after work to have them re-glue a temporary crown back on. I'd gone a little crazy the night before and tried to eat a cookie. (WHOA! I'm outta control!). I had to go see J the Therapist at 4:30 in Encino, and it was raining. I TOLD them: "I just want you to reglue this; I don't have time to be fitted for my crowns today. I have an appointment on Tuesday for that."
What did they do the minute I got in the chair? "Julie, your crowns are here! It will be 15 minutes! Let us put them on!" I'm thinking when they SAY 15 minutes, it means 15 minutes. Big mistake.
Why is that a big mistake? Oh, well, let me tell you. The new crowns didn't fit. Was I surprised by this fact? NO I WAS NOT. Why? Because when Persian Dentist took the impressions for the crowns, I said, "You know my bite is all fucked up. You're going to have to make adjustments, because if you're going on what the temporaries are like, you're way off base." I don't know if it was the use of colloquialisms like "fucked up " or "way off base", ( he's actually very fluent, but sometimes, he gets a quizzical look on his face when the English goes by too fast) but he really thought I was worrying about nothing. Not like I've had this wreck of a mouth my whole life and he's just looking at it a handful of times, but whatever.
So THEN they start trying to make adjustments, to send them back to the lab to be remade. Meanwhile, time is ticking away. Finally, at 4:15, I say, "You have to STOP. I MEAN IT. I don't want you to rush this off so I can get the wrong crowns again, and I have to leave. " They consented, reglued my temps, and I left. Which is all I wanted them to do in the fucking first place!!!!
I was late for the therapist. And now I won't have my proper crowns in time for my birthday, which is all I was really hoping for, you know? I don't know WHEN they're coming in. All I know is I have to go back on TUESDAY- not Monday, or Friday, or Saturday, days that I am off- to get refitted one more fucking time.
I am so sick of this process. I eat soup every day. EVERY DAY. I can't chew anything harder than a muffin, and my head aches from the fact that my jaw doesn't fit together properly because of those horrible temps. But apparently, I've got a couple more weeks to go on this, and that's just the way it is.
#2 on my Shit List is being broke. I only work three days a week, and while I like my job, I would like to take that stupid computer program at work and throw it in the middle of Ventura Blvd. I seriously have not gotten a good night's sleep that was not chemically induced since I started working there. I have these dumb dreams where I am doing the same thing over and over again and panicking about not getting it right. It doesn't take Freud to figure out what's wrong: I'm obviously very stressed out about mastering the system. Secondarily, I like my boss, but it's still a little awkward getting to know him, and I'm with him all day, alone, every day. I'm still in a trial phase, and I know he's watching me carefully, and I know he's probably not half as worried about my performance as I am. Still, I see his ease and humor with everyone else, and I just think, "God, am I doing okay?" I realize this is probably transitory; all those people have been there for well over 5 years. Plus, I don't want to have too much candor with him at this stage, given that I'm still trying to earn his trust.
In the meantime, I'm not making my bills. Not even close. I'm up at night worried about money, and I feel like I've lost all the ground I made last year in financial solvency. And I just cannot go back to worrying about money constantly; I just can't do it and remain sane. I'm looking for a second part time job, at the same time keeping in mind that I still have to schedule all this dental work to get through, and I'm clearly very stressed out with the one I already have. I am very discouraged right now about my financial picture, especially given that the folks at the dental credit plan are going to want to start deducting $360 a month from my bank account as soon as they can.
Number 3 is internet dating. I am so frustrated with the whole thing I want to throw my laptop in the middle of Ventura Blvd., except I like IT ( versus this dating bullshit) AND I still owe money on it. The bottom line is, I'm living a "Sex and The City" script. Remember that episode where Miranda goes out on this great date, and there's sparks and the whole nine yards, and he NEVER CALLS? Then all the girls are trying to help her along with it: "Oh, it was just a first date. Give it 3 days." "Maybe he's really busy at work." "Just relax, I'm sure he'll call. " Then someone says, "You know what? Maybe he's just not that into you." ( And then the producers wrote a best-selling book with the same title.)
I'm beginning to think that's the case. Because you know what? Email about the nice "chat" we had and my issues from the past/ personal insecurities about turning 39 aside, if he really liked me, he'd have called by now. I called him today. Left a message just asking how he was and if he wanted to hang this weekend. I also sent an email saying the same. Heard anything? NO. I think unless his grandmother dying, we know what the picture is. ( As the book states, "Men know how to use the phone. It doesn't matter how "crazy busy" he is; if he likes you, he'll make some time to call." Written by a MAN, by the way, just so we're all clear on the veracity of the source. Obviously, I would have to concur with his assesment. )
And I talked with the therapist last night about this ( in my truncated session): the bottom line is, I'm not really made this way. I just don't believe in this whole miasma of rules or whatever you want to call them. I understand there are a few things you don't do; calling too soon and looking desperate or mentioning your therapist-- OR parole officer, or rehab or even your crazy ex-- too early on are usually romance-killers. But I'm the kind of person who sort of lays it all out there: if I like you, I call you fairly soon. I don't sit around.
Why would you hold back from that? If you meet someone and you really like them, life is short. Step off the cliff and be done with it.
And I don't have complicated rules about when we are "dating" vs. "in a relationship" vs. "seriously involved". I'm pretty old fashioned, and the bottom line is, if you're sleeping with me, ( not that I slept with him; I'm just sayin') you're involved on SOME level ( exactly what level is up for discussion and is situation-dependent, but suffice to say, the "dating" portion of the show is over). That's it. I don't want to sleep with you if you're sleeping with anyone else or seeing anyone else, and that's it.
I realize this all may make me extremely unpopular in today's dating world, but I'm tired of worrying about that, too. It's not like the phone is ringing off the hook right now, anyway.
4 is the fact that I've been on antibiotics since right after Thanksgiving. I don't know what caused this, ( and neither do any of the specialists I've seen) but I've been getting tiny painful cysts in *weird* (I'm really not feeling like going into exactly ALL the places, okay?) places on my body. It might very well be because I have gums so inflamed from all the infection they've been cleaning out of my teeth that I can barely brush. When I suggest this, though, I get the Typical Western Medicine Response: "That's not related." Well, how the fuck do you know? You've had me on three highly noxious medications meant to kill off anything within a 50mile radius of my body, and nothing has worked. How do you know once this all heals over, the cysts will stop occurring? In the meantime, the drugs make me want to hurl and not get out of bed, simoultaneously. They wear me down and out. I'm tired, my mood is low, and my stomach perpetually upset. And guess WHAT?? I got a new cyst two days ago.
The last slot in my list of Current Complaints is #5: I still haven't been able to serve Actor Cop with his papers. Why? I haven't had a moment to breathe since R managed to weasle his (we're assuming) correct address out Actor's management. Not to mention, I have to have someone else serve him, and everyone I know is busy with other shit. As it stands, our court date is in two weeks and the man still hasn't gotten the papers. It's been suggested to me that I get the LA County Sherriff's office to serve him; I guess I could call them, but I'm not optimistic. I highly suspect they will just decline as they had better things to do, like, you know, attend to crime scenes.
As if all of this isn't enough, I'm just fed up with this apartment, all the repairs it needs and I just want to MOVE. I'm tired of Crazy Landlady, and I'm tired of shit breaking all the time, which seems to be the karma of this place. Even stuff that's MINE and not actual fixtures of the house break on such a regular basis, I feel like I'm living someone else's psychic script. The latest thing: this cool glass light fixture someone gave me for Christmas. This place is a money-sucking portal, I'm telling you. I've had it.
Add all that together with turning 39 next week, having no one to actually spend my birthday DAY with, and you've got me in the mood I'm in now. I'm stressed out, I feel alone, I'm overwhelmed, and I swear to god anyone who calls me and tries to pretend like it's all a.) not happening or b.) in my head or c.) going to magically be all right will promptly get hung up on. You can take that to the bank.
posted by Jessica @ 12:37 AM
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