Best Laid Plans: September 2016

September plans:

  • Write 750 words/day, most days; write ALL THE WORDS during 3Day Novel.
  • Projects: Undertow for 3Day Novel, maybe/maybe not continue that after.
  • Write fragments. Post anything fit for human consumption.

Life-related nonsense:

  • Hair: psycho blonde,* considering blue/grey or some combination thereof but the final decision will depend on where I end up getting a job.
  • Still looking for a new job—and getting slightly desperate because
    • We found a new living space.**
  • Fallen behind on classes in that I am waiting until nearly the last day to do my coursework and then staying up until 4am to get most of it done, followed by a self-imposed deathmarch on not nearly enough sleep to finish the rest the next day before it’s past due.

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*That is a Colony 5 reference no one is going to get.
**I’m scared to be moving with very little savings and no safety net to speak of but with the alternatives being stay here for another winter and/or try to delay until the perfect time (that will never happen), I think we can make this work.

Best Laid Plans: August 2016

August plans:

  • Write 750 words/day, most days (something/anything).
  • Projects: Something-something vampires? Maybe?
  • Write fragments. Post anything fit for human consumption.

Life-related nonsense:

  • Hair: currently lavender, on the way to platinum blonde.*
  • Looking for a new job.
  • Found a car.
  • Looking for a new living space.
  • Classes start August 22.

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*Adulting like a real grown-up.

Best Laid Plans: July 2016

(Yes, I’m back to this nonsense again.)

July plans:

  • 500 words/day, most of the remaining 15 days of the month.
  • Project: something/anything.
  • Fragments.* Also something/anything.

Life-related nonsense:

  • Pink hair (ask me if I care**).
  • Looking for a new living space; nothing urgent but I want to find something else soon, definitely before another winter.
  • Signed up for online school, approved for student loans, classes start in August.***

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*Because fuckyeah fragments.
**DON’T CARE.
***I am so fucking scared I’ll fuck it all up again and be damned to call center hell forever—now with new Incapacitating Student Loan Debt™!

SCENE: LIVING SPACE, 8PM

Today it is one week since I quit my job. Right now I am drinking iced coffee and eating fancy chocolate seahorses and watching Markiplier play horror games on YouTube. Like an adult.

DTMFA: the Slow Career-Suicide Version

I used to work at a call center. Imagine a lunatic asylum that’s been left to govern itself with no outside intervention, where everyone behaves at about a junior high maturity level and the objectives you were given at the beginning of the month are rarely the objectives you are evaluated on at the end of the month. It’s like the Stanford prisoner experiment, except without the guards.

That job increased my anxiety and the frequency of my depressive episodes. I went nights without sleeping, because sleep meant I would have to go to work the next day. My writing stalled to an even more sporadic output than I believed was possible, to the point that I questioned whether I could still consider myself a writer. That job gave me nothing good except the paycheck—which was a paycheck I would never be able to live on without roommates, and I am grateful to have had that luxury.

Eventually, the reality penetrated that I couldn’t fix the situation, the best I would be able to do was remove myself from it. During the month when I decided I was going to quit soon and the two weeks when I knew I was leaving but no one else did,* I felt less stress than I’ve felt at any other point in the three years and five months I spent working for the company. Read absolutely everything into that.

I have wanted to post for a long time about my job but every time I started to write something, it sounded petty. Because it was petty. I will continue not posting about my job. The memories, even the good ones, are shot through with all the bitterness and helplessness and rage that I felt while working there, which is unfortunate because there’s at least one book in those memories.

I’m done with that job now. I won’t go back this time: I’m committed to moving forward. I am relieved.

The end. Finally.

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*I saw far too many people fast-walked out of that company after giving notice to feel confident in my ability to work through my notice—and I needed the money—so I didn’t tell anyone I was quitting until I had finished my last day.**
**Note to corporate: this is the bridge you burn when you have a company policy stating managers are not allowed to give references for the people they managed, under threat of disciplinary action.