(no subject)
I know, I know, I know: this is just what happens to me every time I'm faced with a big change. New job? Anxiety. New housemate? Anxiety. Going back to school, moving to a new city, and basically starting over again? Bring on the panic attacks. If this is the price for grad school then I'll gladly pay it, but goddamn! Little things will send white-hot waves of molten panic through me, which makes getting shit done feel impossibly overwhelming. Just the mere mention of the words "money" or "rent" makes me want to curl up in a dark corner and hyperventilate. I have bad premonitions that finding my replacement housemate will be the same long, drawn-out affair it was last time.
Finding a place in Seattle, on the other hand? Shockingly easy! Apparently I am a hot commodity: every ad I've responded to has brought back a response that amounts to YES-PLEASE-OH-GOD-COME-LOOK-AT-THE-PLACE-AND-SIGN-THE-LEASE-NOOOOOWWWW! I'm going to have to make another weekend road trip up there to check some of these out (if I can make the time, and you want some Allie, speak now or forever hold your peace). So far the front runner is a house of 8 people all in their mid 20's to early 30's, who on paper seem decent and sane. What sold me was that one of the guys living there works at the Pacific Science Center. He and I could trade horror stories for months and never run out of things to say!
Speaking of which, I had the worst phone call of all time on Thursday. Ever. In all of history. It was the perfect storm of an impatient, entitled customer, and everyone he needed to speak to out of the office on vacation. I would transfer him, he would get a voicemail, he would instantly call me back to rant at my incompetence. It was like I was personally insulting him because no one was there to take his donation. He screamed at me for fifteen minutes. FIFTEEN MINUTES. I can defuse almost any angry call, but this ass hat unpleasable, and by the time he hung up for good I was so frustrated I was in tears. The moral of the story is, if anyone offers to donate an '81 IBM PC to you, run the other direction as fast as you can.
Finding a place in Seattle, on the other hand? Shockingly easy! Apparently I am a hot commodity: every ad I've responded to has brought back a response that amounts to YES-PLEASE-OH-GOD-COME-LOOK-AT-THE-PLACE-AND-SIGN-THE-LEASE-NOOOOOWWWW! I'm going to have to make another weekend road trip up there to check some of these out (if I can make the time, and you want some Allie, speak now or forever hold your peace). So far the front runner is a house of 8 people all in their mid 20's to early 30's, who on paper seem decent and sane. What sold me was that one of the guys living there works at the Pacific Science Center. He and I could trade horror stories for months and never run out of things to say!
Speaking of which, I had the worst phone call of all time on Thursday. Ever. In all of history. It was the perfect storm of an impatient, entitled customer, and everyone he needed to speak to out of the office on vacation. I would transfer him, he would get a voicemail, he would instantly call me back to rant at my incompetence. It was like I was personally insulting him because no one was there to take his donation. He screamed at me for fifteen minutes. FIFTEEN MINUTES. I can defuse almost any angry call, but this ass hat unpleasable, and by the time he hung up for good I was so frustrated I was in tears. The moral of the story is, if anyone offers to donate an '81 IBM PC to you, run the other direction as fast as you can.