(no subject)
It's getting harder and harder to get out of bed in the morning. I still have another couple of weeks before I see the new rheumatologist; hopefully, he will be able to give me some better help than the last one. It's getting difficult to keep up with my exercise every day because I am just so damned TIRED.
Another rumination on last week's party: I had fun, but there were times when I felt like an insignificant bump. There weren't any assigned seats or tables, excepting the one we had reserved for Terry and his family; however, people were saving seats for other people, and I had to scramble to find a place where no one else was sitting. No one invited me to sit with them. This shouldn't bug me, but in a way, it kind of does. I ended up sitting across from Jan, who I do like, and her husband, Dwight, who didn't hear much of the conversation because he's a bit hearing-impaired.
I'll be thirty-three years old, and I have learned a lot since high school, but there are days when I feel like I am still there. No one has spit on me . . . yet.
I'm not sure what I think of our new Trustee, Kelly, yet. I hope she doesn't change a lot of things at once. It's been stressful enough the past few days. We're having to do a mass mailing to all of the debtors to let them know of the change, for the purpose of payments and the like. Today, we had to do a separate one for the people on the automatic payment program; even though they already had signed an authorization agreement, they want a new one signed under Kelly's name. I predict a lot of returned mail and befuddled phone calls in Nancy's and my future. Also, lots of headaches, because if they don't send in the requested form by a particular deadline, we're cutting off the automatic debit, and the onus is on them to make up the payments, or face reprisal.
Kelly did ask me to look over the letter, and I was flattered for all of five seconds . . until I realized I was one of five other people to whom she gave copies. She made some changes that we suggested, but I noticed on the corrected, final proof, she did not notice or care that she omitted some commas. I know, most people who read this letter won't even notice, but it's GLARING to me. It was both times where there was an appositive statement, frex. "Kelly R., the Chapter 13 Trustee will be blah blah blah," there should be another comma after "Trustee," and there isn't.
Susan had told her to come see me with the letter over some other people, because I "was an English teacher or something like that." Wow.
Speaking of teachers, it's been about a month since I last heard from Mari. I'm getting so fucking tired of this. I suppose she really doesn't want to get together all that much. YOU CANNOT BE THAT BUSY. She's already on the damned computer to type out lessons; she always has her phone with her. It takes two seconds to type out, "Hey, how about such-and-such date?" but it's always when I call her and she's always somewhere else, always outside where I can't hear her so well, always with Pawel (and they fight all the time, and she complains that their relationship is always difficult, and maybe she shouldn't have moved in with him, and now she's stuck), and she says, "We need to get together!" and it sounds like when co-workers leave you and they say, "Let's do lunch, soon!" and you never, ever do because soon is not a concrete timeframe - it's a limp flag to wave.
I've mostly come to terms with February. It's never going to fully heal - that sort of thing never does; we all bear scars from previous battles. The thing that upsets me the most these days is people who are happy - at the part last week, Caroline brought her daughter as well as her husband; I watched them standing together in the corner, portrait of a lovely family, laughing together, and I got a funny twisted feeling in my heart and that all-too-familiar prickly feeling in the back of my throat.
Will I ever have that? I feel like the universe continues to play a cruel trick on me by dangling this carrot of marriage-and-possibly-family.
I keep trying to convince myself that this is not my fault, but in a way, it is.
Because I keep picking the wrong guys. The guys I think are smart, who turn out not so much. The guys I end up loving, who either get bored or are just in love with having someone to take care of them.
The guys who don't trust me, even though I have never done anything to make them suspicious of me.
It's a horrid pattern.
Another rumination on last week's party: I had fun, but there were times when I felt like an insignificant bump. There weren't any assigned seats or tables, excepting the one we had reserved for Terry and his family; however, people were saving seats for other people, and I had to scramble to find a place where no one else was sitting. No one invited me to sit with them. This shouldn't bug me, but in a way, it kind of does. I ended up sitting across from Jan, who I do like, and her husband, Dwight, who didn't hear much of the conversation because he's a bit hearing-impaired.
I'll be thirty-three years old, and I have learned a lot since high school, but there are days when I feel like I am still there. No one has spit on me . . . yet.
I'm not sure what I think of our new Trustee, Kelly, yet. I hope she doesn't change a lot of things at once. It's been stressful enough the past few days. We're having to do a mass mailing to all of the debtors to let them know of the change, for the purpose of payments and the like. Today, we had to do a separate one for the people on the automatic payment program; even though they already had signed an authorization agreement, they want a new one signed under Kelly's name. I predict a lot of returned mail and befuddled phone calls in Nancy's and my future. Also, lots of headaches, because if they don't send in the requested form by a particular deadline, we're cutting off the automatic debit, and the onus is on them to make up the payments, or face reprisal.
Kelly did ask me to look over the letter, and I was flattered for all of five seconds . . until I realized I was one of five other people to whom she gave copies. She made some changes that we suggested, but I noticed on the corrected, final proof, she did not notice or care that she omitted some commas. I know, most people who read this letter won't even notice, but it's GLARING to me. It was both times where there was an appositive statement, frex. "Kelly R., the Chapter 13 Trustee will be blah blah blah," there should be another comma after "Trustee," and there isn't.
Susan had told her to come see me with the letter over some other people, because I "was an English teacher or something like that." Wow.
Speaking of teachers, it's been about a month since I last heard from Mari. I'm getting so fucking tired of this. I suppose she really doesn't want to get together all that much. YOU CANNOT BE THAT BUSY. She's already on the damned computer to type out lessons; she always has her phone with her. It takes two seconds to type out, "Hey, how about such-and-such date?" but it's always when I call her and she's always somewhere else, always outside where I can't hear her so well, always with Pawel (and they fight all the time, and she complains that their relationship is always difficult, and maybe she shouldn't have moved in with him, and now she's stuck), and she says, "We need to get together!" and it sounds like when co-workers leave you and they say, "Let's do lunch, soon!" and you never, ever do because soon is not a concrete timeframe - it's a limp flag to wave.
I've mostly come to terms with February. It's never going to fully heal - that sort of thing never does; we all bear scars from previous battles. The thing that upsets me the most these days is people who are happy - at the part last week, Caroline brought her daughter as well as her husband; I watched them standing together in the corner, portrait of a lovely family, laughing together, and I got a funny twisted feeling in my heart and that all-too-familiar prickly feeling in the back of my throat.
Will I ever have that? I feel like the universe continues to play a cruel trick on me by dangling this carrot of marriage-and-possibly-family.
I keep trying to convince myself that this is not my fault, but in a way, it is.
Because I keep picking the wrong guys. The guys I think are smart, who turn out not so much. The guys I end up loving, who either get bored or are just in love with having someone to take care of them.
The guys who don't trust me, even though I have never done anything to make them suspicious of me.
It's a horrid pattern.