Archive for the ‘D’oh.’ Category


Apart from, you know, not actually getting the job.

June 22, 2009

The worst thing about applying for positions–permanent, temporary, full time, part time, attractive, repellent–is that in doing one’s damnedest to convince the search committee that one is right for the job, one has a way of convincing oneself, which makes the (almost guaranteed) rejection far more of a blow than it would have been otherwise.  Being hoisted by one’s own petard, so to speak.


New Developments!

June 8, 2009

Physical manifestations of my stress and/or self-loathing:

Perpetually clenched fists

Bruxism both sleeping and waking

Relentless headaches (no doubt bruxism-related)

Inadvertently holding my breath.

That’s right, kiddos, I’m forgetting to breathe.

And did I tell ya that the part-time job I was offered fell through because it was grant-dependent, and said grant was denied?  The hits just keep on rollin’.


Just when you think it’s safe to go back in the water…

June 4, 2009

You find out that you’re swimming with the same mental sharks. 

I didn’t write anything last week, because I didn’t know how to type the equivalent of vomiting blood (which is especially bad when you’re swimming with sharks).  This week wasn’t any better.

I’ve been doing this therapy thing for 4 months, and here’s what has come out–repeatedly:

I am never satisfied by what I write.  I only occasionally enjoy the writing process. No matter what I do, I don’t think I will ever get a job.  No matter what I achieve, I always feel underqualified.  I am deeply ashamed to be so old and so unaccomplished.  I was a fool to think that academia is a meritocracy.  I was a fool to think that I could have a really boring but basically satisfying middle-class life.

If I enjoyed the process enough

If I were able to survive financially

If I thought what I did mattered

But I don’t, and I can’t, and it doesn’t.

As soon as I figure out how to, I’m quitting therapy.  It’s only been further evidence that I’m a fucking sucker.



May 4, 2009

Cornu- of pharma-.

That’s me, the pill-popper.  I had three appointments today, two last week, and the meds just keep rollin’ in.  Shall I recap?

For about two years now, I’ve had some elevation of a cardiolipin (which is…?), and an increased risk for blood clots and some sort of pregnancy risk, too, if I had wanted to go that route, so at my last annual lady-business exam in the fall, my MD suggested switching to a non-hormal method of BC.  RB and I had  already been talking about it, and he ended up getting the snip.  I went off BCP in December.

Hormone wackitude ensued:  1. Crazy libido!  2. Massive adolescent-style zit flares!  3. Whippy moods!  4. Different sensitivity to smells (and different smells to be sensitive to)!  5. Previously regulated cycle goes off the tracks!

It’s been several months now, and I’m still dealing with #2, #3, and #4.  Doc sends me to a Derm, who is putting me on Accutane (aka The Big Guns because I am disfigured), which means regular blood and urine tests to make sure my liver doesn’t go to foie gras, and I don’t conceive any horrific fish-babies, and after more than a month of mickey-mousing around to get all the baselines and clearances, I can finally start eating that poison.  (And guess what, the law requires that I use a secondary method of BC, because apparently vasectomy is insufficient! Thx!) 

Plus, thinks Doc, this depression or whatever the fuck is wrong with my brain (we think a little SAD + a little cuckoo chemisty + a shitburger of a situation = broken Wroth)  is traceable to various hormones, and so today suggests that I a) up my meds (so flattering! now I’m crazycakes with extra nut sauce!) b) start taking BCP again, so as to control whatever tidal ebb and flow of brain pudding is making me want to crawl under my bed and die.  Apparently blood clots are not so bad.

That’s three, Three, THREE daily medications, my friends!  And next month, one of them will be 2x a day!  And if future bloodwork shows an increased risk re: the clotting factor thingamajig, then I can look forward to yet another!  If my birthday hadn’t already passed, I’d ask one of you to send me oneathem multi-compartment pill-minders.

If I weren’t 34, with no employment prospects, no assets, and no great hopes for either, I’d try to glam up my routine, Valley of the Dolls-style.    Alas.


People Need to Chill the Fuck Out about Swine Flu.

April 27, 2009

This post has nothing to do with flu, I’m just already sick to death about the fear-mongering going on the MSM and it was either type that here, or yell it out the window of my apartment.


Monday is therapy day, which is yet another reason to dislike it.  If you needed one.  The last two weeks have been especially bad, as I’m realizing that several months into this, I don’t feel one whit closer to feeling more hopeful about my prospects or abilities, neither do I think that I’ve really figured out what it is that I’m afraid of, or concerned about, or whatever it is that puts me on the edge of tears nearly any time I think too much about it, or dare to sit down and look through files.

I do feel like I’ve managed to wall off my school/diss work into a little corner of my life, and mostly ignore it, in favor of the things that are pretty good.  However, that crammed little corner, which is black and bloated with poison, keeps bleeding over into the rest of my life.  Weekly therapy is where I drain that emotional abcess, so to speak, but it hasn’t been healing.  While that is a graphic and gross metaphor, it feels spot on.

I’d rather have swine flu.


Helpful/Not Helpful

April 15, 2009

Helpful:  Getting a lot of kind words and wishes on my birthday.

Not Helpful:  Realizing I’m 34 and still have no career to speak of.

Helpful:  Rhymes-with-smell-shoe-chin.  I’m feeling closer to “normal” than I have in at least a month.

Not Helpful:  Orange Cat’s many medicines.  His eye doesn’t seem to be healing.

Helpful:  Looking over my CV and thinking:  this is okay.

Not Helpful:  Learning that a co-worker of mine (in a different discipline) just landed a job here in the city, even though she’s barely half-done with her rather pedestrian formalist diss, and her contract at our job lasted another year.

Helpful:  I’ve started doing a workout DVD, since that’s sposeda help with mental as well as physical health.

Not Helpful:  Realizing that while my weight is fine, I’m puny and weak and embarrassingly out of shape.  Also:  sore all over.

Helpful:  Blogging at Harpyness.  It’s nice to be able to write something, even if it’s not professionally useful.

Not Helpful:  Blogging at Harpyness.  It’s frustrating to be putting all my writing energy into something that’s not professionally useful.



The Eye of the Tiger

April 7, 2009

I didn’t call the doc yesterday because I was busy with a big presentation and then a big, very expensive vet visit for Orange Cat, who has a very nasty corneal ulcer, and who may need more vet care and more drugs (the 5 things he got yesterday might not be enough?).  I have to call the animal hospital–the one where our beloved Screamy Cat died in October of 2007–and see what sorta money an ophthamologist might squeeze out of us.

So I’m down $400+ (and counting) and the sloths are disappearing into their ever-receding equatorial rainforests.

However, there is an upside:  I’m not thinking about myself, or the diss.  I’m worried about the Orange Boy, who is one of the delights of my life.  Send good thoughts, if you please.