So I go to the unemployment office yesterday, tell the guy at the front desk my whole sob story (boss at my last job touched my boob so I left, hadn't been looking for a new one but now I am and having no luck, &c), which he's very sympathetic to. I learn that I am stuck filing through Virginia for the rest of my god given life, which is a little frustrating, but neither here nor there.
So I fill out the form, la-de-da, look up a couple zip codes, and then the nice man at the front desk sends me back to talk to this fellow in a Hawaiian shirt. Shirt guy doesn't even look up when I sit down. He picks up my sheet and looks it over:
"You didn't put down addresses."
"Oh. Sorry. There wasn't a line for addresses."
"Why did you put "other" here? Did you quit?"
"No, I had to leave."
"Why?"
"I was being sexually harassed."
"But you quit."
"No. I mean, I would have stayed but I wasn't comfortable there. There was a settlement. I have the papers right..."
Before I can even finish he picks up his stupid pen, crosses out other and ticks the "Quit" box.
"Okay, I'll get this sent to Virginia. They're going to have to make a decision since you quit your last job."
"But...but I just..."
"Do you have any questions?"
"Yeah, can I write in the remarks section or something?"
"Sure."
He hands me the paper. By this time I've started to cry and ask if I can take it somewhere else to fill it out.
"Sure. Just drop it off on your way out."
THIS RUINED MY ENTIRE FUCKING DAY. I mean, I'm not talking like, I felt a little grumpy for the rest of the day. I'm talking I spent the next two hours sitting in a coffeeshop with a lump in my throat totally unable to think about my writing, and then when it was finally time to go meet my boy at the hairdresser I ended up, witihin five minuteds of being there, on the floor of the bathroom bawling while he got his hair dyed. By the time we left I was ready to toss my helmet in a garbage can somewhere and ride my scooter as fast as I could into a brick wall. I couldn't make any sense of it. I mean, I'm madly in love, I'm feeling really good about my writing and painting and maybe I can even turn myself into an aspiring Cynthia Rowley now that I'm going to have a space to sew starting next month, I have more friends than I can even handle....now, admitedly, I did decide to take myself off my Prozac about a month ago, but I've been doing great so far. It's been over a year since I've hurt myself, and months since I've wanted to, and I just can't explain how that one little thing just put me lower than I've been in what seems like forever.
Things are much better today. I haven't really been productive, which I feel a tiny bit bad about, just cleaned house a tiny bit and went to Marshalls for some lingerie shopping. But I think things are about to get better. Keep your fingies crossed, please.
So I fill out the form, la-de-da, look up a couple zip codes, and then the nice man at the front desk sends me back to talk to this fellow in a Hawaiian shirt. Shirt guy doesn't even look up when I sit down. He picks up my sheet and looks it over:
"You didn't put down addresses."
"Oh. Sorry. There wasn't a line for addresses."
"Why did you put "other" here? Did you quit?"
"No, I had to leave."
"Why?"
"I was being sexually harassed."
"But you quit."
"No. I mean, I would have stayed but I wasn't comfortable there. There was a settlement. I have the papers right..."
Before I can even finish he picks up his stupid pen, crosses out other and ticks the "Quit" box.
"Okay, I'll get this sent to Virginia. They're going to have to make a decision since you quit your last job."
"But...but I just..."
"Do you have any questions?"
"Yeah, can I write in the remarks section or something?"
"Sure."
He hands me the paper. By this time I've started to cry and ask if I can take it somewhere else to fill it out.
"Sure. Just drop it off on your way out."
THIS RUINED MY ENTIRE FUCKING DAY. I mean, I'm not talking like, I felt a little grumpy for the rest of the day. I'm talking I spent the next two hours sitting in a coffeeshop with a lump in my throat totally unable to think about my writing, and then when it was finally time to go meet my boy at the hairdresser I ended up, witihin five minuteds of being there, on the floor of the bathroom bawling while he got his hair dyed. By the time we left I was ready to toss my helmet in a garbage can somewhere and ride my scooter as fast as I could into a brick wall. I couldn't make any sense of it. I mean, I'm madly in love, I'm feeling really good about my writing and painting and maybe I can even turn myself into an aspiring Cynthia Rowley now that I'm going to have a space to sew starting next month, I have more friends than I can even handle....now, admitedly, I did decide to take myself off my Prozac about a month ago, but I've been doing great so far. It's been over a year since I've hurt myself, and months since I've wanted to, and I just can't explain how that one little thing just put me lower than I've been in what seems like forever.
Things are much better today. I haven't really been productive, which I feel a tiny bit bad about, just cleaned house a tiny bit and went to Marshalls for some lingerie shopping. But I think things are about to get better. Keep your fingies crossed, please.
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
ladymaze:
Oh, sweetie...I'm so sorry you had such a bad day. Sometimes it's the little things, you know? There are days even now when merely thinking about "those days" when I myself was all depressed and on medication and just completely withdrawn from life can send me into a sobbing heap on the floor...one time it happened when I was in the shower, even. The day had just started; nothing bad had even happened yet. But for some reason...BOOM. Sobbing in a ball on the shower floor...the water was getting into my mouth and nose and ears and I didn't even care. It happens to the best of us. Honestly, I think there is some connection between extreme emotions of this sort and creativity. You know what we should do? We should write something together...collaborate, you know? And in the meantime...call me anytime, day or night, if you need to talk. I'm good at stuff like that...I listen, and sometimes I even say somewhat intelligent things.
cruelty:
Wow. This asshole should be fired. If he needs to sit on an imaginary throne and treat others like scum to feel good, then fuck him. I know that doesn't help, but that really pisses me off and it's what I'm thinking. Anyway, it sounds like good stuff is happening all around you - it's a matter of perspective. Easier said than done, though. Sometimes when everything is going right, I can't help but dwell on the one thing that is making my life seemingly miserable. And then I get all neurotic and my life turns into a Woody Allen film... Anyway, you'll be partying hard in a few weeks, so that's something to look forward to!