Help Yourself

There is a sign outside on of the classrooms here that simply reads: HELP YOURSELF. Now usually, there is a pile of outdated textbooks and journals there. But today there is nothing. Just the sign.

I feel like it is speaking directly to me. Like that road sign in that Steve Martin movie...

Help yourself, Psyche.

Sigh... I'm such a mess. I lost my wallet last night for the second time this year. It's been like I've just been itching to lose it. I take it out of my coat when I use the bathroom so that I can leave my coat in a waiting room or classroom and not worry about the wallet getting stolen. But then I forget to bring the wallet with me out of the bathroom. So far I caught myself and went running back to find my wallet about 3 or 4 times in a week. And yesterday, my luck ran out.

No wallet.

No bankcard.

No ID.

No school ID.

No money.

No husband (he was away at a business event).

And a big presentation in less than half an hour and no way to print out my slides or notes, or the two page hand out I'm supposed to give to the class. So I'm praying for charity. I just don't need this right now.

I'm also fighting a sore throat/cold. I can't get it until Monday though as I have a scheduled assessment in the community to do a cognitive battery (sounds meaner than it is) with a child. I booked mine early so I wouldn't get caught up in trying to schedule around other people needing the tests and camera... so there is NO WAY I am rescheduling this. I don't care if I'm so sick that my arm falls off, I'm doing it!

So no sickies. Pray that someone turns in my wallet today. And hell, just pray for Psyche. She can analyze herself to pieces but she needs to learn to HELP herself.

When You Are This Tired

I don't think I was this tired and in pain when I was working nights at the org. NOTHING could have prepared me for the sheer mindfucking fatigue I am experiencing right now. And the funny thing is, I don't actually think I am THAT busy.

But so much is happening, and has happend, Dear Reader, since I spoke to you last. Omg, how ARE you? How could I have been so selfish?

I am no longer self-conscious about drinking in the middle of the day. Don't get me wrong, it is a strain on my pocketbook. But red wine and I have becomeREALLY good friends ever since shit started breaking crazy in this hood.

Good news? Sure... After only 3 months of asking incessantly for a key to a GD office, I was given a key. The office is full of 8 year old exams and I think I saw a Phyllis Diller's skeleton cracking jokes when I walked in (HAAA!). But there is a desk and a chalkboard. There's a telephone too, but there is no dial tone. It is in the extreme netherregions of the third floor carry-a-flashlight-or-you'll-be-raped hallway. But it is mine (for a month). So I couldn't be happier.

The other week I told my supervisor that I felt disrespected by the department and cried. She actually apologized and got that key (see above).

I have been passed on to the final round of a rather prestigious scholarship. Then asked to apply to ANOTHER scholarship. It's funny that when the head of the department emailed me with one line, "Psyche, call me immediately," I just assumed that I was either in touble or my advisor had died. Who knew that she thinks I'm a genious? Who knew that the department would actually express pride when someone does something well?

GAWD. I'm tired, and I feel fucked in the head. My therapist says that my intense murderous rage fantasies are entirely normal given my situation.

Oh, goody.

Gotta stop. My whole left arm is tingling. Back to the wrist brace.

Oh, and if you are someone who wears UGGS and can't pick up your fucking feet when you walk... watch your back, motherfucker, because my murderous rage fantasies involve you.

You and people who whistle on the subways.
Bitches.

FUCK! I hate this wrist cast!

I can't type a bloody thing with it ion!!!!

Hurts

I Mean, Yes, It Hurst

I

I Mean, Yes, It Hurst

I

I Mean, Yes, It Hurst

I

Yes, It Hurstj

Yes, It Hurstj

Yes, It Hurstj

Yes, It Hurstj

Back From Craptown

Fucking... DUDE...

Jesus fucking crap on a cracker I seriously can't believe what school is fucking doing to me. I can't even find the time to bring you up to date. Must do so slowly, like coming up from deep sea diving... Otherwise you'll all have popped blood vessels (if you're lucky).

But seriously... fucking carpal tunnel goddamned motherfucking syndrome with a side of thoracic outlet syndrome, but insurance is all used up and just JESUS ALAH BUDAH you guys!