I've found myself in an odd situation at work recently. I don't have a lot to do.

It feels wrong. Pretty much since the day I started in November there was always lots of work. Lots of applications coming in. Papers to file. Letters to send. Hiring packages to prepare for interviews. Hiring packages to clean up after interviews. Always something coming in for me to store or prepare to send out.

The mail coming to me has practically dried up. Mostly I've been getting returned mail; letters I send out, printed from the statewide system, that candidate haven't updated their addresses. Most come back with a sticker saying the person cannot be found. It's a shame how much money we spend on postage on mail that gets returned. Returned mail I just mark in the system and shove in the file.

This lack of mail bothers me. I have over a half dozen open positions newly posted online. Each position had about 50 letters sent out and I'm not getting any responses. One of the positions is, traditionally, a very popular position that normally receives 10 or more applications in the first three days after posting the position.

I don't know what's going on. My fear is that our mailroom is behind, way behind, and I'll end up with a huge stack of mail on my desk, postmarked two or three weeks ago.

It's not a completely far-fetched idea. Last week I received a piece of mail that was post marked 11 days before the day it crossed my desk. Who's to say that won't happen again and with far more mail?

The biggest problem with not having enough work is the thinking. Thinking leads to posts like yesterdays after hours of building up inside because I spend most of my time thinking about things that apparently "normal" people don't think about.

Being busy, but not that horrible kind that's also boring, is a reason this job is attractive to me. It keeps me from thinking. I'm sure I'll get back there eventually, but it can't be soon enough for me.

Searchin'... Gonna Find Her

Because I am not feeling so mentally stable and the brain doctor is over an hour away, I started looking into finding someone closer who could manage meds, but still specializes in the brain.

First, of course, I checked the brain doctors who are part of my insurance plan. There are none local. I expanded my search then expanded it again and again. Finally, brain doctors were found, but they were all, by then, over an hour away. I checked without my plan and found a few, but when I called a couple of them to find out prices the lines were disconnected. I don't know if they moved or if they've retired, but the internet's information is out of date. Also, I don't really want the one's whose name is linked up with some pretty heavy Christian websites. My brain isn't wired that way.

Next, I thought that maybe I could do what someone I know is doing and see the brain doctor to manage meds, but see a brain whisperer locally because maybe, even though I don't really trust people, it could help me to talk about stuff that I don't want to talk about but would feel like I have to talk about because I'm paying for the listening time. Again I checked with insurance. No one local, but there are a couple over the hill and through the woods and over the river and through some more woods, about 45-45 minutes away from work, when there's no snow. I don't want to put in that kind of time for something that I don't really want to do. There are several brain whisperers who are local, but the one with a website was extremely New Age-y; lots of meditation and spiritual quotes and hummingbirds. I assume the average price would be $100 per visit. I'm not sure about the other brain whisperers and haven't collected phone numbers. How do you start when your choices are not limited by insurance?

One thing for sure, I'm not going to be shoved into some bullshit group therapy again, I can tell you that. Real life group sessions aren't like you see in most TV shows where the hero goes a few times and gets better and moves out. It's more like that old sit com, Dear John, about a divorce group where no one really gets better or leaves and even if they leave, it's only for a little while they're soon back with the exact same problems. Plus, I already don't trust a single potential member of a group session, including the person leading it, who may or may not be a trained mental health professional.

(A little off topic, but I watched the first three episodes of [grav∙i∙ty] last night. I liked the way they showed Lily's loneliness in the first episode. In the next two, though, it seems like these people are "healing" too easily. Maybe it's a post attempt rush of energy and eagerness. I'll have to keep watching to see if it holds. It's also interesting to learn why these people attempted. It's never simple and often seems stupid.)

I can feel my heart beating rapidly and my stomach is churning thinking about everything all at once. Getting better is hard when you don't want to.

Self

Do you recommend movies or books or TV shows or music that you think are horrible to the people you like?

I don't.

Just So Tired

Sometimes, the worst thing about going to sleep is knowing that I'll be waking up.

What to Say

When you're afraid of scaring people and being misunderstood you can't really say, or write, all the things that you would like to.

Never Promised

When I was younger, like nearly 1/4th my current age, I was told that I should learn how to type because it was a useful skill. As time went on I kept being told by teachers and other authoritative adults that I should learn how to time. I didn't really care until someone said that when I started working I would only be typing and I'd never have to hand write something ever again.

Being the niave and trusting person I was, especially toward authoritative figures, I took learning how to type to heart and as a promise.

I don't really hate my handwriting, but I don't like it much either. It's chunky and inconssistant. Lines waver even when there are lines to write on. It just doesn't look good.

The problem is, the authoritative adult didn't make a promise and my chunky, inconsistant handwriting shows up all over the place at work.

Another reason life is unfair.

Spring Is Tough

For the last several day I pretty much get to the house and climb into bed. On Saturday I called my dad sometime after five and then headed for the covers. On Sunday Dad dropped me off close to six and I locked up then went to my bed. Monday I got back from work, 4:30ish, jumped into bed, and brushed my teeth around 8:30 when I woke up to pee. Yesterday I forced myself to stay awake until after six-ish because I wanted to make sure the dishwasher got opened so the dishes could actually dry; I texted my mom near eight because, again, time to pee, but I had my teeth brushed well before.

Today looks to be much the same.

I've been feeling this way for a few weeks, but didn't give in to it until recently. Don't know why. (Not that I feel better sleeping 10-12 hours, either.)

It's a spring thing, I guess. I've always felt much worse near the beginning of spring. Maybe it's the allergies, although this year it's been all in my eyes and out of my nose. Maybe not. Last year spring was easier becuase I had a new job to distract myself with. Nothing like that this year though.

My Father's Father

He kept a rubber band around his wallet for as long as I can remember. He said the rubber band made it hard for criminals to steal the wallet and helped keep everything in the wallet. I figured he used the rubber band to keep the wallet together, since he never seemed to buy a new one.

When he learned that you liked to eat something that he really liked to eat he would always have it for you. When you told him that you didn't like a food that he really liked he got very upset.

He never lounged in his pajamas and always came to breakfast dressed for the day.

Once he threatened to hit me, and I feared he would, because my cousins (girls) and I were being too loud late at night.

He spent part of World War II in a labor camp for being a conscientious objector. He had no trouble fighting or using weapons, but he was opposed to war. Most of the other men there with him were simply afraid to fight and one day he simply walked away from the camp. He sent a letter to the FBI letting them know where he would be, but nothing was ever done about it.

While working as a college professor he was the faculty person in charge of the fraternity that had the people who would never be accepted by the other fraternities. Mostly it was made up of black men and Jewish men. When he took the students to get a haircut at a local barber, the barber refused. He told the barber that if the students weren't served at this barber he would charter a bus to the next city to get the haircuts and he would make sure to bring a couple of reporters along with him. Everyone who wanted a haircut that day got a haircut.

He believed in the teachings of BF Skinner, that behavior can be trained into people given reinforcement or punishment. This led to him doing some awful things to some of his children, including using electric shocks because how can you reinforce good behavior if the behavior happens while unconscious.

There were televisions in almost every room of his house and two in the main room. He would have these two on all day long, one for news and one for sports unless there were two sporting events he wanted to watch. Sometimes he would even have the radio on for a third game.

He loved his wife with all his heart, but he took her for granted and didn't really show his appreciation for her.

When he cooked a roast or turkey, before slicing for serving, he would take half the meat and put it in the freezer to make sure he had all the leftovers he wanted. And even dinner ran short the extra wouldn't be pulled out.

He taught us how to make a blue cheese spread that is fantastic and, at the very least, gets made every Christmas for gifts for family and dipping before, during, and after the meal.

On Friday, March 28th, he died leaving behind memories for those who knew him.