The Occasional Man

So here we are once again, blessed with both the time and the energy to record our thoughts for the benefit of posterity. I'm printing out payroll reports from our dinosaur accounting program to our dinosaur dot-matrix printer, which takes a while; and I am all caught up with my invoicing (well, I was caught up until somebody just had to bring today's mail in... damn, all that must have given the postman a strain), so I have a few moments to spare.

Things are pretty much the same. I feel a little disconnected from myself, I haven't yet joined the gym nor lost any weight (though I've been slamming vitamin C and green tea, so the bloatedness is going away), I'm still at the cement-pumping place (they practically begged me to stay a little longer, which does my ego no end of good, though it's not doing much for my bank accout). How about some Shopping News?

I got over my eBay issue in a surprising way: I stopped shopping for Marlénè and shopped instead for Robert. So instead of failing my bids for jewels and furs and size-thirteen pumps, I have been winning my bids for blazers and cufflinks and size-eleven loafers. And I've been getting some serious deals! I got two silk-and-cashmere windowpane-plaid sportcoats (one in a wedgewood blue and one in oatmeal) for $30, including shipping; I got a Calvin Klein navy blue blazer for $15; I got three French-cuff dress shirts and two cufflink-and-tie-clip sets for $60; and I got a pair of new-in-the-box Rockport brown suede pennyloafers for $20. I have a pair of gray-and-brown Bass saddle-shoes on bid, too, and am watching a number of auctions for more dress shirts and lots of designer neckties. Yippeee! I'm going to be one stylin' temp!

I never really thought to look for menswear on eBay before. But they have piles and piles of really great stuff, chic Italian suits for under $200, snazzy shoes for less than a quarter of what you'd pay in even a discount store, and all kinds of masculine accessories for super cheap. And they have utter stacks of shirts in my hard-to-find size (17x36/37). I am fortunate that I am pretty much a standard-size, otherwise... my shoes are a straight eleven and my suits are a straight 42-long, and they always fit right off the rack. Pants are a little more difficult, but most 42-longs come with 36-waist pants, and new suits come unhemmed, and it's not that expensive to get pant-legs tailored (usually about $5 a leg to get them hemmed and cuffed).

This heady success on eBay makes me think that the Universe is trying to tell me something: that perhaps the time has come for Miss Marlénè to take the backseat and let Robert drive for a while.

Other things have been happening, too... it's not just eBay that's thwarting my attempts for gowns and furs and jewels: it's everywhere I go. I find really nice menswear things but nothing good in women's. I find jewelry I want to wear with boy-clothes but nothing I want to wear with drag. I even lost a huge chunk of my jewelry collection recently, I lent it to a friend for a photo-shoot and he returned it by a reputable delivery service, but it was misdelivered and we can't find whence or to whom it was incorrectly delivered. And then of course there's my complete lack of desire to even perform, much less squeeze myself into corset and pumps, nor weigh myself down with makeup and wig.

So I feel kind of, well, manly just now. I am enjoying my short nails and my short hair and my shirts and jackets and comfy man-shoes. Socks that matter, ties that go with something, belts that do more than just hold up my pants. It's nice.

I miss my Marlénè moments a little, though. Dressing up is so much fun, performing is fun, getting applause is great, and the feeling of entertaining people is simply wonderful. And I don't intend to give any of it up. I just have to wait for the need to surface again.

In the meantime, I am going to enjoy this change of pace for as long as it lasts. I only hope that my next job, whatever it will be, will allow me to wear some of my snazzy new clothes... the place I've been this last month is not only casual, but the office gets really hot in the afternoon, so dressing up is not only unnecessary, it's uncomfortable. I want my next position to be in a nice new air-conditioned office-building with a snappy dress-code and a lot of interoffice politics to amuse me. Here's hoping!

Who's That Guy?

I don't seem to quite know who or what I am anymore. I am finding much of my identity either in flux or entirely MIA; so much more of it hinged on my old job than I had ever imagined. I feel quite lost right now, and I haven't the tiniest idea what to do about it, or even if there's anything I should or can do about it.

Here are a few examples...

Identity-Defining Statement #1: I am a writer.
Fiction-wise, I haven't written diddly-squat in months. More importantly, I don't really feel like writing. I don't have the urge, the drive, the afflatus. It's not writer's block, it's writer's indifference. Blog-wise, I not only have very little drive to write, I have very little time in which to write. Working nine hour days with an aggregate hour of commute, having to schedule a ten-hour block in which to get eight hours of sleep, and then needing an hour's prep in the morning and an hour for dinner in the evening, I only have two hours in the day in which to unwind, and I usually end up watching TV. So I don't write. And where does that leave me as a writer?

Identity-Defining Statement #2: I am a drag queen.
I haven't been in drag since September, I didn't really want to do it then, and I hadn't done drag for two months before that. What is surprising is that I really don't miss it. I mean, I feel a certain obligation to go to shows and events, but the very thought of putting on makeup and a wig fills me with a sinking dread and a sour resistance. I simply don't want to do it. I can't buy new clothes and jewelry, and I have discovered that I relied on new clothes and jewelry to inspire my performances. And now I have nowhere to get dressed, so I either have to put on my face in the car (an interesting experience, to say the least) or make use of whatever facilities are available at the venue; I had no idea how much I had come to depend on using the office to get ready for shows. And so I make an excuse, send in an apology, let my nails get into a perfectly disgusting state, let my eyebrows and arm-hair grow wild, and am just not a drag queen. So what am I?

Identity-Defining Statement #3: I drink coffee all the time, all day, every day, whenever I feel like it.
I know this is a pretty weird one, seemingly rather petty; but every day I have to remind myself that drinking too much coffee contributes to the deterioration of my bipolar disorder and that I am happier and healthier sticking to two cups in the morning and maybe one cup at work. And I do feel better now that I've cut down. But when I'm in a restaurant or hanging out somewhere, I am startled to realize that while I don't particularly want coffee at odd times in the day, I have no idea what else to drink. Especially since I'm trying to stay away from sugar as well. I can order decaf, of course, but that is just as weird to me as not ordering coffee at all. It wasn't all that long ago when I was quite vocal in my opinion that decaf is for pussies. Does that now make me a pussy by my own definition? Or does my definition of a pussy have to change? Either way, it's not what it was and I don't know what it is now.

Identity-Defining Statement #4: I Shop, Therefore I Am.
Of course my extended period of unemployment reformed my shopping habits to an extreme degree. And yet when I started working, I went hog-wild purchasing new pants and shirts and ties to flesh out my professional wardrobe (and to wardrobe my increased flesh, more on that later). But I am getting very little joy out of shopping, and am more often being stymied by not getting quite what I want... I see a shirt I really like but it doesn't come in my size, I see shoes I really like but the soles are too hard; further and worse, I have lost every single eBay auction I've bid on in the last two weeks. I haven't been bidding a lot, but everything was something I really wanted, and I was invariably outbid at the last moment. That never used to happen to me... it was always I who outbid others at the last moment. I'm beginning to think that Someone might be trying to tell me something. But in the meantime, while it's a good thing that I am not frivoling my precious few dollars away on jewelry and furs when I really need to be digging myself out of debt, I feel quite disconnected from myself by this consumer impotence.

Identity-Defining Statement #5: I berate myself for being fat, but I'm not REALLY fat.
I have slipped over the border of "a trifle pudgy but still on the slim side and generally passable" and am now dwelling square in the middle of "that's really not very healthy, not even for the huge pink pig that you now resemble." Not only have I had to buy all of my new business-pants in a size-36-waist because I can no longer get into my collection of size-34-waist pants, but I now have an actual, inescapable, and thoroughly disgusting Middle-Age Gut. The waistbands of my pants and my underwear fold over as soon as I put them on, which is not only uncomfortable but also ruins my waistbands. I can't even suck my gut in, and if I try to suck in (such as when passing the cafe where the very cute boy works), I pull three or four muscles in my back; catching reflections of myself in doors and windows is an ego-crushing horror. I weighed two hundred and twenty-five pounds last time I got on the scale, five pounds more than I did the last time I got so disgusted with myself that I was able to go on a diet and exercise regimen in order to get back into shape. Ten of those pounds have come to stay since I left my old job.

***

And here's something that makes all of the above rather more confusing: is it because of my change of job, or because I've started taking Prozac? I mean, the non-writing dates from when I started meds, not from when I left my old job nor when I started my current one. The coffee weirdness is due entirely to my treatment and has absolutely nothing to do with work. The weight-gain is a common side-effect of Prozac; though I am eating a lot more now that I'm working (I eat lunch out every day, and those afternoon snacks have been keeping me sane), I am also getting a good deal more exercise than when I was loafing about the house, so it should balance out a little... but maybe the Prozac is keeping it uneven.

So a lot of this feeling of displeasure and disconnect can be blamed on the drugs; and I seriously would rather have the displeasure and disconnect than the mania or the depression.

Nevertheless, I have come to a point where I really miss my old job. I didn't realize how much I depended on its peculiar circumstances for my happiness... the flexible short schedule, the ability to do mindless things while blogging or writing (I'm able to write now because I'm doing a great sheaf of data entry that doesn't require any brain-space, so I can think about what I'm going to write while I'm inputting and then write it quickly in between every ten invoices), the use of the space on the weekend, the time alone... and perhaps most importantly, the beautiful sensation of knowing how to do everything.

I am instead embarked upon a new adventure, a very exciting and potentially rewarding adventure; but I really wish I had a more secure sense of self to take on the adventure with me. This is a little scary, a little uncomfortable, and a little sad. I don't know who this new person I'm turning into is, I don't know what he's capable of doing, I don't know whether or not I'm going to like him. We shall just have to see.

In the meantime, I am going to rejoin the gym and at least get rid of this gut. I can't stand it. It makes me cry... hell, darling, it makes me want to puke... and bulimia really isn't the solution (and I can't afford lipo until I get my credit cards cleared up and Grandmother's loans repaid).

So anyway, I'm going back to my data-entry, and leave you with this inspiring sight (it certainly inspires me... those rippling abs, that mythical pelvic definition, the dimples and whatnot... mmmmmmmm):

Cement or Concrete: What's the Difference?

Just one of the many new facts and concepts I've had to absorb these last two weeks, along with "what is slurry" and "what is a skid loader." And I'm learning all these new things at such a dizzying speed that sometimes when I leave the office I just sit in my car staring forward while my brain just turns off. It's a pleasant kind of numbness, though... like the fatigue after a good workout.

Incidentally: cement is an ingredient in concrete, concrete is made of cement and some kind of sand or stone or gravel, and cement cannot be used by itself but the words are frequently used interchangeably; slurry is a mixture of water and some kind of solid, which in the case of concrete is the liquid form that comes out of the concrete-mixer; and a skid loader is one of those shiny yellow machines one sees around construction sites, kind of like a big snow-shovel with a truck behind it.

So anyway, this work experience has been a bit of a surprise. After the first week, I finally understood how the accounting program works and what, exactly, it is that I'm entering into said program. The program is so old that it has to run in a virtual DOS environment, and the entire Accounts Payable/Accounts Recievable system is so byzantine and complicated by this elderly software that if they updated it they wouldn't need a second employee in the office.

But I have picked up the system at a pretty good speed, and they were so impressed that they asked me to stay for another month while they looked for a permanent employee to put in the job. They probably would have just given me the job if I'd indicated any desire to stay... but while I am enjoying the job to a certain extent, it's not what I want to do for the long term... all those straight guys, I just don't feel as comfortable as I'd like (there is a woman who works there, but I've only seen her once in two weeks; and if any of these guys is gay, he's so straight-acting that he might just as well be straight).

The downside of all this is that it's keeping me so busy, I hardly have any time to keep up with my communications... I'm stealing precious grooming time right now to write this, and I actually started writing it on Saturday and never finished. Though I sometimes have enough idle time at the office to read a blog or an email here or there, I really don't have the time to write anything.

So anyway, blog updates will be spotty for the next month... though not as spotty as they've been for the last month, I hope. And Worst Luck is starting to simmer a bit around the edges of my mind, I have great hopes that it'll come boiling over sometime pretty soon. Once I get used to this farm-hand sleep schedule (I actually go to bed at nine p.m. so I can be asleep by ten and get my eight hours in before I have to get up at 6), I hope to be able to make better use of my off-time.

Well, I have to be dashing... shower shave and shine! Have a super day, and I'll try to do the same. And thanks, guys, for sticking with me during this weird transition period... though I haven't been responding to your kind comments and emails, I do appreciate them. Love you!

Just Checking In...

Hey, kids! Forgive the absence, but I got to a point where I couldn't keep up with things for a while there. The ennui and stasis of unemployment really got me down for a while, and I simply didn't have anything to write about. But now I do!

See, I signed on with this temp agency, and after some initial mishaps about my assessment interview (I came down with a nasty flu on the day I was scheduled, and it took a week and a half to reconnect), I tested well on all the assessment exams, and was plugged in and set to work right away.

Aside from the relief of knowing that money is coming in shortly, I am also inspired to do some shopping... I haven't shopped in months, and oi did I miss it! But after a brief discussion with my temping agent, I realized I was going to need more items of clothing in the "professional" category... I had plenty of "office casual" and even more of at-home casual, but not so much in the really snazzy-dressy realm. Also I'm still carrying around that extra weight, and I already needed new pants. So I've been buying slacks and dress-shirts and ties wherever I can find them, and it's very soothing and exciting at once.

So now I'm up at the ass-crack of dawn, getting ready to jet off to my fabulous and exciting new assignment! It isn't as glamorous (or well-paying) as I would have liked, I'm doing data entry and filing for a cement pumping concern (who knew cement could be pumped?) out in the industrial wastelands of Berkeley; but it's only for two weeks, it's something different to do, and it will get most of this month's bills paid. Besides, the people are nice (a bunch of very manly men, as one might expect, but quite friendly), and the office is pretty nice, the office-manager is pleasant to work for, and the work itself is fairly easy.

Unfortunately, I have to be there at 8 a.m. and work for eight hours, with an hour lunch in the middle (remember at my last job I worked from tennish to fiveish and ate whenever I felt like it). So I went to bed last night at 9 with a melatonin and a volume of Proust so that I could be asleep by 10, giving myself a good night's sleep before getting up at 6. And here I am awake before the sun is up, and it's very disconcerting.

But now I'm off to shit-shower-and-shave, get myself all dolled up in some Office Casual duds, and get down to the jobsite for another thrilling day of processing invoices! Yay!

I hope you're having a great day, too! Hugs!

Le Sigh

I'm still here. I just don't have anything to say. I feel very, I don't know, quiet. Not unhappy or depressed at all... maybe a little too bored, irritated by my continuing poverty, hurt by so many potential employers' indifference to me, a little bit dissipated by my complete lack of life-structure... but generally okay.

Just thought I'd check in. Talk to you soon! I hope.

Seven, Seven, Seven...

I do believe I've been wallowing. I've barely left the house these last seven days, I've done pretty much nothing in the house. Loaded the dishwasher a couple of times, ran some errands for the Grandmother, but that's about it. But I've watched a lot of television, contributed a little to the message boards, did a little work on my novel, did a little reading, and... and nothing else. I didn't think it was possible to fill up seven whole days with so very little.

I'm having a very hard time motivating myself to do anything. There are things I know I need to be doing... looking for a job being the top of the list, with laundry running a close second... but I just can't seem to make myself move. "Monumental lethargy" is how I'd describe it. But I don't feel bad... I actually feel pretty good; I just feel very still.

Whatever. As always, when I am short of material, I will take a meme from Dana Marie. Since I haven't posted in seven days, I thought it was appropriate.

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Seven Sevens

1) Seven things I plan to do before I die:

• Have a higher balance in my savings account than on my credit card.
• Visit England, France, and Italy.
• Fall in love with someone who is in love with me.
• Have a home of my own.
• Finish writing something that is worth publishing.
• Get published.
• Pay for sex.

2) Seven things I can do:

• Balance anybody's checkbook (except my own).
• Imagine how someone else might feel.
• Remember thousands upon thousands of useless facts.
• Learn things quickly.
• Enjoy beauty.
• Write about things and people and ideas, usually with good spelling and dazzling grammar.
• Tell the difference between a shrimp fork and an oyster fork.

3) Seven things I can't do:

• Understand why anybody would choose to be ignorant.
• Understand why anybody drives slower than they have to.
• Understand sports.
• Eat avocadoes or celery.
• Make myself throw up.
• Give birth.
• Stick my elbow in my ear.

4) Seven things that attract me to a man:

• Looks, of course! I could be all New Agey and say I notice a man's aura, or his eyes or some intangible whatever, but the fact is that the first thing I notice about a man is his face/hair/body/hands/etc.
• An offbeat sense of style.
• Intelligence and diction.
• A sense of humor.
• Vulnerability.
• Strength (which might seem the opposite of the above, but really isn't).
• A deep, rich voice, preferably with a slight sibilance.

5) Seven things I say the most:

• Anyway.
• Whatever (and its close relation, Whatever).
• I don't want to.
• Leave me alone (actually, I seldom say that out loud, but I say it so much in my head that it counts).
• Get out of my way! (but only in the car)
• Hello! (but never Hel-lo!) Not only do I say this every time I answer a phone or meet a person, I also say it when I see a cute guy.
• I wish...

6) Seven celebrity crushes (with links & pix):

• Tom Welling

• Ian Somerhalder

• Ricky Ullman

(And yes, I know... I'm going straight to hell for sexualizing something so young-looking... but he's so damned cute! And he's not really underage, so relax.)

• Kevin Zegers

• Eric Szmanda

• Brad Pitt (even when he's playing scruffy or crazy, though I do prefer when he's pretty)

• Reichen Lehmkuhl

(and now I discover there were only six sevens in the meme. Some people have no sense of balance and organization! I'll fix that myself with...)

7) Seven brief pieces of advice for posterity:

• Never bathe a cat.
• You can't change the past and you can't control the future.
• Never get into a battle of wills with your own hair... you will lose.
• There's no such thing as "free"... everything has some degree of cost.
• It's better to be pissed off than pissed on (my mother's favorite phrase).
• Never have sex with someone you wouldn't consider marrying (that one came from my dad, and he should know).
• There are no clashing colors, there are only undesired effects.

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I can't believe how long that took. I started this on Tuesday morning and it's now Wednesday morning... twenty-four hours later! And while I can't claim to have been working on it for twenty-four hours solid, I am amazed at how long it did take.

The main problem is that my computer is broken, something unpleasant happened to the power-supply, and I can't afford to have it fixed right now. I have been using the office's laptop, which I really need to return but am hoping to keep on loan for a little while longer, until I can get my desktop computer fixed. In the meantime, I do not have access to my nearly two gigabytes of electronic images. So when I was putting in the pictures above, I had to go hunting for them, I couldn't just get them off my own hard-drive. Big pain in the ass!

So anyway, I am going to go hit the job-boards, take my meds, and start a cleaning project that Grandmother wants done. And get started on my laundry! The Prozac makes me sweat, and I'm going through my t-shirts at hyperspeed.

Hope you're having a splendiferous day!

Prozac Nation

So now I'm a medicated nutwad. I met with my pee-sychiatrist (or Dr. Shrinkamadink as she shall henceforth be dubbed) last week and we discussed my symptoms and possible medications. Her first recommendation was for lithium, but I didn't care for the side-effects; next on the list was Depakote, which has a lot of side-effects, too, and usually needs to be paired with an antidepressant.

I knew side-effects would be pretty much inevitable, but the two mood-stabilizers had possible effects that I'd really hate: weight-gain and sexual dysfunction are common with all of these meds, but hair loss and liver problems can come with lithium and Depakote, so I'd really rather not go there if I can help it. Fat I can live with, but bald and fat? Nothankyouverymuch.

So we talked some more, and finally came to the decision that since my manic phases aren't that bad but my depressive phases are desperately unpleasant, I'd rather start off with a mild antidepressant... and if it flips me into manic, I have a backup of Depakote to stabilize me.

So today is day three of my 10mg Prozac treatment; after seven days, I go up to 20mg. I'm told it will be twenty-eight days before I start seeing results, but I already feel different. I feel kind of wide-awake and cheerful, with more energy than I've had lately... kind of like manic, but without that anxious edge. Also it feels like there's too much blood in my head, a kind of pressure that's a little odd but not uncomfortable. And my teeth itch. And I'm really thirsty, and I have gas. I can't tell if it's all connected to the Prozac, but it's different from before I started, so...

If nothing else, I'll have something interesting to talk about at my next group class. I think the classes and the visits with Dr. Shrinkamadink are going to be more useful than the pills, but I'm glad to have their help; and I'm really glad to be finally gettings somewhere and doing something definite about this condition. The sight of those pills sitting on the table give me a great sense of satisfaction.

In other news... there is no other news. No job prospects, no real progress on Worst Luck, nothing else much going on. I've started an exercise program today (a Pilates video, I only did the warmup part today, I'll add a little more each day), and trying to become more agressive about my job-hunt (though I don't really know where to start), and though I haven't progressed into the story of Worst Luck I have been working on "Chapter 7 Part 2" (editing and reworking, I've only written one further paragraph).

And so that's what's going on with me. How are you? Well, one hopes.