I am VALIDATED! AFFIRMED! Bite me, all doubters...

I've whined. I've fussed. I have complained about not being appreciated. So, eat this. It's e-mail pingpong, so start at the bottom and read up. I AM somebody. I AM worth something. I am...overdoing it.

Okay thanks Kiran

----- Original Message -----
From: Vennum
To: PSP
Sent: Wednesday, August 08, 2007 4:34 PM
Subject: Re: tonight
I would advise against the cloning. I come with some unique features, and it's sometimes a good thing to work from home. I tell my kids I can be weird or boring. Lately, they're pushing for boring. Go fig.
Have a good evening, and thank you for the compliment. I'm an information hound, and that's probably my best feature.

wrote:
Okay great. Big Boss Lady and I have had conversations about cloning you, would that be possible.
You were able to start right up and whatever I send you you can pick up. You have no idea how rare that is.
So if you are fine with what you have that is great.
Thanks.
PSP

----- Original Message -----
From: Vennum
To: PSP
Sent: Wednesday, August 08, 2007 3:52 PM
Subject: Re: tonight
I'm very happy with the amount of work I'm getting. If I have time, I seem to always have more that I can take, and that's great with me. I am really enjoying working for ya'll.
Talk to you soon!

wrote:
Hi Kiran,
If you feel like you are not getting enough work let me know and I am sure that I can come up with more.
Thanks,
PSP

Put yer glasses on, I'm locked and loaded...

I am SO justified in having a bitch-fest, so here goes:

Crowding one-half of a sophomore class of 500+ and their parent(s) simultaneously in the stairwells and cafeteria of a high school in 102-degree heat and leaving all the windows/doors open is INSANE. At least have the common decency to make the dollar charge less than the numbers for the heat index. Oh, wait. This is OUR county. Go ahead, raise our taxes, vote yourself a raise, and dry fuck us. We like it.

I like paying for my ungrateful brat's drivers education and then ask for some help cooking dinner in a kitchen that's only five degrees cooler than the 102-degree heat outside. Watch my youngest son suddenly turn into Mr. Belvedere right when Mom needs something miraculous. Dude made me a meal with three components AND required only the use of a microwave. Salad, potato salad, and quesadilla with ham. Of course, he submitted a bill for it later (gratuity included, of course), but he was available through IMs all evening in case of beverage requirements. I got angry at the other kids when they complained about Dude being a suck-up. You know what? That suck-up made me feel better than the other two of you have made me feel all frickin' week. Yeah. He loves me. He shows me every once in a while. The other two of you go do something constructive and leave Dude alone.

Dear Boss: Okay, lady, I always, always, always take the oldest stuff on the tank. ALWAYS. So, today, when I decided to take a nice large file for a doc I never get to do, I get royally bitched at. Fine. Whatever. If you took the time to think, you might have realized that I usually wait for you to upload some of the back work from your slow M.D.s, but, hey, it's me, and therefore you MUST jump to conclusions. I never take work before 3:00 p.m. because of that reason, but, god forbid the one time I do. Been with you for nearly 8 years, chick. Get over yourself. I always get my work done, and if you don't like the fact that every now and again I like to type someone who doesn't sound like Elmer Fudd or like she's talking through a mud puddle in full scuba gear, bite me. I got an ass cheek free for the purpose. Oh, and by ALL means, feel free to cry at me because you're using antiquated programs that no one feels like learning or going back to the stone age to accommodate you. I, however, will keep on plugging away in the archaic program and keep my chisel sharp, because then you can yell at me because what I send you still doesn't align properly because, let's see, 15 years have come and gone between the inception of that word processing program, and most computers move forward with time, not backward. God forbid we update. Not to mention, we can't all have your printer installed on our computers, which is probably the reason why my document looks a bit different over here than it does for you. But, hey, I know where the nearest granite quarry is, so let's just keep plugging, and I'll let you keep hitting me over the head every so often to keep you happy. When you see blood, do I get a raise?

Dear body: Thank you so much for betraying me once again. Once again, you let me sleep for a glorious three hours. Three! Now, I have no choice to get up and finish this work for a chick who's already NOT happy with me and chance that there will be a typo or two, because I know if I go back to bed, you'd betray me again, and I'd do nothing but sleep. You always do that to me. As soon as I can count on not sleeping, you shut off and decide I need to sleep for eight hours straight or something. Bitch. I want a divorce from my own frickin' body.

Okay, maybe we can blame the sleeplessness on Yahoo! answers and some poor girl whose mom has abandoned her and her sister, and now they have a lice infestation in the house. I hate your mom, babe. I am grateful that there are so many mom types at your service, at least on the Internet, and I think any of us would gladly come over and help you comb the nits from your and your sister's hair. Call DCFS, darling. At least get the help you need. You're 12, baby. Don't take the world on your shoulders. Your mom's a bitch for leaving you, and she needs a good bitch slapping, and you now have a lot of mom types from Yahoo! answers ready to be avenging angels.

God, people. Take responsibility for your actions!

I am so shit fuzzy fuckin' tired. I'm going to screw up for Boss Lady's work, and she's going to yell at me more, or accuse me of letting someone else type it...again. I've never done that. I don't know anyone who COULD type some of this crap for her. That's just it; it's NOT crap, and some of her docs are very, very highly skilled. I wouldn't let FIA touch them with a 10-foot pole, let alone some unskilled schmuck. Paranoia sets in...and not from me!

Maybe it's just because I am really grateful to her, but she thinks I'm not, and she thinks I want to steal her clients, and she thinks I'm taking work to let someone else type. It hurts, because I'm not doing any of those things. Yes, I wanted my own clients, so I went to part time for her. It's just hard to do quality work for her when I keep thinking that she's thinking that I'm letting someone else type my work for me. AAAAAAAAAAARgh. I don't want to quit for her. I really don't, and never have. It's because of her I can do so many things and I've gotten so far in this business, because she has the variety of specialties that makes me marketable. But our relationship is volatile at times, and so I need to keep my options open, which is why I'm really glad all the knowledge I picked up from Boss Lady seems to be what the other company likes. They keep shoveling new docs my way, and it's like, hey, bring it on! I like new stuff.

I mean, I threw hissies on Boss Lady's behalf when FIA wanted to send our biz information to her known clients. FIA used to work for Boss Lady and some bad blood brewed between them, and FIA seriously had the idea of undercutting Boss Lady's rates if she figured them out. I told her flat-out that she was free to pursue them, but I had a six-month no-compete agreement with Boss Lady, and therefore I could not help her type them, even if she went on vacation. Honesty being the best policy, I thought. The problem is...honesty either pisses people off or they don't believe you anyway.

I'm trying to type my Latin Lover oncologist, and I'm more worried about pent-up shit. I type a few lines for Mr. Doc, type here, type for doc, type here...I guess if I can keep myself mad, I'll be able to focus a bit better.

Granny just called. Boo's staying at home...again. Hmm. It's very interesting that Gwen's been saying, "I've got a WHITE family now," to her relations, and suddenly Boo's got more attention from his family. I think it's great. He's seen his mom and siblings a lot more than he has in months. His mom came back over, even, this morning, so maybe they're a little bit cranky that some white chick likes their kid. I don't know, but if it's good for Boo, I'll be the honky bitch honing in on their kid. Maybe it's the fact that I'm raising a family of my own and very willing to take him on, too, and my kids have always been together and they think it's a good example? Maybe. Maybe someone actually believes I'm nice. I think I'm nice. I cuss a lot and type all this shit, but it's so I don't go off on someone. I spew it here so I can take it up with the person calmly and rationally at another time.

Okay, I'm posting this verbose diatribe and working, now. Honest.

Is it just me?

I can't sleep...again...nothing new there, but tonight's a little different. I'm planning plot in my head...again, nothing new there...but it's a tearful part, and I'm bawling about it. I think it's a combination of PMS, the fact that I haven't had a good cry in a while, and needing an outlet. I need to write! I need to read! I need to spend time with the kids! I need to spend time with Stud! I need to do dishes! I need to clean dog hair! I need to work! I need to scrub the tub, vacuum the laundry room floor, go get milk...

I think I'm overwhelmed. Who, me? Mom of 3? Kids starting school in two weeks? Money
crunch? Freaking snake still on the loose? A dead gerbil tonight? Neurotic dog?

STOP.

The only time I can get it all to stop is when I write. So that's what I'm doing. No, not for my characters, but for me. ME. I always think better when I'm typing something. Processing information electronically. I don't know why it works, but it does for me.

I've got this little voice in the back of my head that says, "I want to go home, now," but I AM home. It's my inner child. She pops up now and then when I need to be affirmed for what I am. I think she's been trying to get my attention for a week or so now, and I've been ignoring her, so she's eating all the ice cream. Maybe. You know, that's making sense, though. I've had a real sweet tooth lately.

Huh. So what do I do about it? I can't sleep and dream. I indulged myself by playing FF XII with Junior tonight, which helped a bit, I think. Vacation is out of the question, and I just need...I need. Period. I need. I need me to be me for a few minutes, so that's what I'm doing. I'm being me. I'm smoking a ciggy, drinking my Diet Coke, and just finished off some cookies (again, I think I'll blame my inner child for that). I laid in bed, crying along with my characters, because if it's good enough to make me want to cry with them, maybe it will be in print someday and someone else will cry with them, too.

If you want real problems, though, besides my neurotic ones, go to yahoo answers. My god, the grammar/spelling is atrocious. Who's letting their kids get online to ask questions at 3:00 a.m.? Without supervision? Why is a kid having to ask how to explain to her mom she's just started her period? Why are these kids telling other kids that they need to have sex or their balls will turn blue and fall off? I'm spending some time there while work's downloading, trying to dispel all these freakin' myths! It's sad. It's horribly, horribly sad. People would rather stagger to the computer and ask what they should do after being hit in the head and finding themselves on the floor and don't remember anything for a few seconds. All these young kids who can barely spell are trying to ask questions they should be asking their parents. Who's there for these kids?

Another thing that's bugging me today...I went school supply shopping. Gwen (Granny) asked me to pick up stuff for her grandson, my son's best friend. I've been keeping Boo for her while she works a few hours every day. You see, there are two generations between Gwen and Boo. Gwen is actually his GREAT grandmother. She's had a stroke. She sliced her ulnar nerve clean through while cleaning up glass. TWO generations between her and Boo who don't give a flying fuck about this gorgeous, talented little man. That alone pisses me off. I picked up the supplies, and she knows I don't expect to get paid back. Hey, I was at Wal-Mart. I would've bought just as much except for doubling a few of the items. I usually pick up extras to supply the class later on. Maybe $10. It's Granny. The woman busts butt after a STROKE and the loss of use of two of her fingers on her dominant hand. She's out trying to make life better for Boo the best way she knows how, and, dammit, I'm going to support her for that alone. TWO generations in between, able-bodied folk, his kin, won't contribute to his development, either emotionally or financially. Pisses me off, but whatever.

I'm not positive who the woman was in the house when I dropped Boo off today. Boo gets treated like all my kids. If we go somewhere, I tell them the "I want" limit, or they can have a drink at the Gasmart, and so on. I don't spoil my kids, and he fits right in with the program. So today, I walk in with the school supplies and this woman I don't know says, "Damn. She spoils that little nigger right nice, don't she."

I just kept explaining to Gwen what I couldn't get at Wal-Mart. What the hell is that comment supposed to mean? Since when are school supplies "spoiling" children? When is buying an extra box of ice cream sandwiches, when they're only 99 cents a box, and leaving some at his house spoiling? Is it because I'm white? Is it because I seem to care more than they do?

It pisses me off. He's coming back in the morning, all peppy and full of energy, and he'll butt heads with Dude for a while, because Dude will be far from full of pep and energy. They'll gripe for about 45 minutes, level off, and then neither will want him to leave, but he's going to have to, because I'm going to have to sleep as soon as Gwen gets home. I'm too awake now to go to sleep, and I have work to do, so I'm going to get it done now.