Spooooooky….
Happy Halloween! I know I haven’t really been posting much, but I figured I could take some time away from my day to wish you all a wonderful holiday. I wish I could go out and go trick or treating, but I suppose I can stay home and give out candy…in my awesomely wonderful panda hat!! Look, look at it’s awesomeness! Also, please ignore the insanely boring averageness of my face. Just feel honored to be in my presence.
Happy Halloween guys and gals!
I left my job. The one at the drug store. I still work with the animals. Because I like animals. They don’t complain like humans do. I’ve determined that retail is not my thing. Technically my animal job is retail, but I don’t actually work at the register. I take care of the animals and occasionally assist customers looking to adopt or buy things related to pets. It’s hard work and I’m running around a lot, but it’s so much more fun than being a cashier and stocking candy every day.
Really, it just wasn’t working out. The whole situation was bad. My coworkers were bad. My managers were never on the same page. The scheduling was bad. My coworker quit not long before me. You know what she said to me on her last day?
“The only reason I took the job is because I needed the money for college. It’s not worth it. Get out while you still can.”
So I did.
And I feel better. Not great, but a bit less stressed.
It’s nice. I’m not going to get as much money, and I get that. It cool. I’m looking to get trained in a couple different areas in the store anyways, so I’ll get more hours. Until then, I’ll just rely on the boyfriend to support my every need. Because that’s what good girlfriends do.
I went to the store today to buy some apple juice, because I’m sick, and because apple juice. Duh. While walking towards the entrance from my car, I casually nodded at a teenager in a orange vest collecting carts in the parking lot.
“Hey Emily!” he said.
“Hey!” I replied back in shock, unsure. I continued walking, thinking long and hard about who he might be. He knows my name, I thought. Shit. Did I go to school with him? I don’t know. Maybe he thought I was someone else? A different Emily? I’ve never really considered myself to be a memorable person. Huh.
It wasn’t until I had paid for my items and returned to my car that I realized who the mysterious stranger was.
He’s my best friend’s brother. Who I’ve known for nearly six years. Who I helped move. Who I’ve argued with and greeted and watched grow.
Six years.
I’m blaming it on the sickness.
I’m going to go ahead and give you a list of reasons (see: excuses) as to why I haven’t posted in a bit.
1. I’m sick
2. I’ve been gone without internet access
3. I’ve been working
4. I’ve had little to blog about
5. I’m just an overall mess
6. Some other random excuse
They’re all true, though. I am sick. I’ve been sick for the last week and I’m still not better. Sad. It’s rather annoying. Especially at work when I’m ringing up customers and hacking up my lung tissue while bagging their items. And when I talk to them, it ends up coming out as a really hoarse whisper and then I cough some more and hold my chest because it hurts and throw on some hand sanitizer to give the impression that I care about my personal hygiene when I’m sick. I don’t. All I care about is sleep and being able to breathe.
I am so tired. I feel so drained. I was able to go on a short vacation out of town with the boyfriend because we both needed the break, but I just spent the whole time sick and dealing with major heartburn/acid reflux. Oh. It was awful. I hope he gets sick. I need to spread my misery to everyone.
Cough cough. I just spread it to you.
Ha.
A list of things I’d like to achieve by the time I turn 21:
Get an apartment. I’m in the process of looking now, and am going to one of them tomorrow to check out the units.
Buy a chinchilla (or two). The boyfriend and I have been looking and the main thing stopping us is the the apartment issue (and the cost a bit, but that’s something we’re working on).
Buy a dinosaur onesie. Enough said.
Wear said dinosaur onesie. Specifically while barhopping as soon as I turn 21. Or just downtown. In the fall, since I don’t want to sweat to death. Thank goodness my birthday is in September.
Reach a specific weight. Ugh. So much work. Worth it, but the process sucks.
Gain more makeup skills. I’ve gotten so much better, but I want to be the very best, that no one ever was!
Find the courage to rock dark red lipstick. I just recently bought Rimmel Lasting Finish in Bordeaux. The color is gorgeous, and I think it’s the right shade for me, but I’m just not brave enough to wear it.
Buy a little black dress. Possibly wear it with the red lipstick.
Go to a fancy restaurant and treat myself. Maybe while wearing the dinosaur onesie, if I don’t get kicked out for scaring the other customers with my awesomeness.
…but that’s no reason to get pissy at me when I tell you why they died in the first place.
Especially after you asked me to tell you.
Seriously.
One of the nice things about the pet store I work at is that customers can bring in their water samples to get them tested. Most often this occurs when a fish dies and they want to make sure the water isn’t at fault (thus putting any other fish/aquatic creatures at risk of reaching the same fate). Two people came in to return a couple of fish, and asked me to check their water. Not a problem. I get the return done and ready for the cashier, and start on the water.
“We tested it earlier,” the man tells me, “but we wanted to get it done here too, just in case.”
Easy peasy.
“We also want to get some more fish.”
“Alright, you can let me know as soon as you know which ones you want.”
We discuss the fish.
“I want the gold ones right here,” the woman says.
“The tequila sunrise or the blonde delta?” I ask, unsure as neither of them really qualify as being ‘gold’.
“What’s the difference?”
There’s a tag right on the tank that shows the fish and tells a bit about them, but whatever. Don’t read it. “The sunrises are the yellow and red, and the deltas are the orange with white.”
“Oh, I guess I want the dollar fish.”
Those would be the sunrises. I confirm this with her.
“Yeah, two of those.”
I get all her other fish, and return to grab the last two. I hate catching them, They always swim to the corner where the net won’t quite reach. I manage to get one of them and put it with the other fish.
“Oh, um, is that the one you’re getting for me?”
“Yes?” I answer, unsure. “You wanted the dollar fish, right? The sunrises?”
“I wanted the gold ones.”
“In this tank we have deltas and sunrises.” Seriously. Where was she getting gold from?
“Oh, I guess I want the deltas.”
Well. Fine. Not a huge deal…had I not confirmed what you wanted multiple times prior to this. I put on a smile, let her know it’s not a problem and go about changing the fish out. Poor things. I probably stressed them out a bunch.
Now that that’s finished, the man asks me if I figured out what was wrong with the water. After showing him the results of the test, I explain what the different colors mean.
“Overall, your water is pretty clean. The pH is a little low, but that can be fixed pretty easily. I did notice that your ammonia levels are very high. They’re definitely in the harmful levels, and that’s most likely the cause of the your fishes deaths.”
“Yeah, that’s what we had found out before. We bought some tablets to help.”
“Did they seem to make a difference?”
“No. What should we do about it?”
“Well, I’d recommend getting a liquid instead. Something you can put in the water. How often do you clean your tank?”
“I haven’t for awhile. Maybe every couple weeks.”
“Oh…Well, you should definitely clean it more often. All the build up of waste and grime could have easily brought your ammonia levels up.”
“Well,” he says, suddenly snippy, “I clean it. I have a filter.”
“Yes, but like I said, if you want this to get fixed, it would be best to clean it at least once a week, if not more because of how many fish you have in it. You may want to go ahead and do a complete clean before you put these new fish in. The biggest thing is going to be scrubbing it down and putting in fresh water. That should make a big difference.”
“Hmph, I think I’ll just stick with the tablets.”
And then they left. With four more fish that may not make it through the week. Fuck.
About a week ago I signed up for tickets to see a band I really really like (Cage the Elephant). I found out Sunday evening that I had won them, which is just incredible in itself. I invited my cousin to come with me and she happily agreed. While waiting in line today to confirm the tickets and to get into the show, a woman came out with a bag.
“How many people are in your party?” she asked.
“Two.”
She handed us the bag. “Your seats have been upgraded. Your tickets are clipped to the bag. Have a great time!”
And inside the bag were two front row tickets to the show.
Today was awesome.
Seriously.
Also, we got burgers at 5 Guys. Also awesome.
As some of you may know, I’ve been in the process of finding a job to support myself enough to move out. Luckily enough, I’ve been offered a part time position at a pet store, and another part time position at a drug store. I’m ecstatic. Things are working out nicely.
Yesterday I went in for my drug testing, and confirmed that I would be able to complete both drug tests at the same time.
“Yeah, you can do that. You’ll have to pee up to this line, though, so we have enough samples to send out,” the man at the front desk says to me. I nodded. Cool. “Do you need any water?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks.” I drank cups and cups earlier, and had a coffee on the way over. I was good.
After filling out a form and hearing the instructions on what to do, I gave them my purse and went in the bathroom.
And nothing happened.
I waited.
Nothing.
Oh God. It’s college all over again. Why are you being shy bladder? You know I don’t care if they hear me. That’s the whole point of this! Arrrrrrgh!
About 10 minutes later, the assistant knocked on the door. “You alright in there?” she asked.
“Um…” I wasn’t sure what to say. “No.”
“You can come out and have some water,” she told me, smiling as I stepped out and washed my hands.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I swear, that never happens.”
She laughed. “I bet that’s what you tell all the girls.”
And it was like all the awkwardness was sucked out of the room. I laughed along and we talked while I drank some more water and someone else took my place to pee awkwardly into a cup.
All went fine after that, but I will never forgive my bladder. Ever. I’ve been betrayed.
Also, the other girl who went in after me applied at the same pet store, and I was oddly excited to possibly bond over this endeavor. Don’t ask me why. I’m a weird person. Seriously. I’m blogging about peeing in cups.
I should get word back next week if I officially got the jobs. I’m so happy.
I officially have one hundred followers, which is just incredible. I never expected to have twenty people interested in my blog, let alone a full one hundred. But does it count when a few of them are related to you or dating you? Does that count? Am I nothing but a fraud??
Nah. I’m taking this as a win.
I started this blog as a form of therapy for myself. I needed to start writing again, and this calms me down when I’m feeling my worst. It’s a nice break. I never expected to have followers or to find so many people I have things in common with. That doesn’t really make sense, now that I think about it, what with the internet being such an all-encompassing place. I was bound to find a few people that I got along with.
I know my subject matter can be a little deep and personal at times, but I find that I’m better at getting my feelings across through writing. It’s something I’ve always been good at. If anyone is ever offended by my subjects, I can’t stop them from getting mad or never coming back to my blog. But I believe that if my troubles can help someone else going through something similar, than I won’t stop blogging about them until I feel I’ve done my part.
This is therapy. It’s a getaway. It’s relaxing and cathartic.
So, this is a giant thank you to all of you. To the people that follow, like, comment, or just lurk. You are all a big part of why I continue to blog and why I want to have a career where I can help people. You all make me realize how little I regret making the decision to start It’s Usually the Quiet Ones.
Thank you all. You’re all wonderful!
One of the worst things I deal with with my depression (excluding the self-hating that never truly goes away) are panic attacks. What’s a panic attack? According to the Mayo clinic, “A panic attack is a sudden episode of intense fear that triggers severe physical reactions when there is no real danger or apparent cause. Panic attacks can be very frightening. When panic attacks occur, you might think you’re losing control, having a heart attack or even dying.”
Fun, right?
The first attack I had happened downtown in broad daylight. I honestly don’t remember it very well. I just remember crying a lot and apologizing to anyone who might’ve seen me.
They happen more often at night, now. I used to only have one or two every year or so, and they only happened during my worst depressive stages. I’d be fine (ish) for the day, and then I’d go to bed. When I was almost asleep, I’d have a mini freakout. I’d curl up. Sometimes I’d cry, but normally I’d hyperventilate to the point of nearly passing out. I’d rock my body and be really twitchy. I’d unconsciously be poking and squeezing and scratching at myself. I really don’t know why. I think I just needed something solid to touch because I was alone.
Sometimes the attacks would only last a couple minutes, and other times they’d go on for over an hour. I had one in my dorm room when my roommate was out that lasted nearly the entire day, off and on. I skipped all my classes that day, and did nothing but cry and sleep and have mini attacks that I prayed no one could hear. I remember biting hard enough to bleed because I didn’t want to make too much noise. Shame, maybe. I don’t know. I don’t think straight during those times. I’m not sure if anyone does.
I’m waiting for the right time to tell some of my friends. I mean, they deserve to know. I see them and we’re planning on staying together for a few nights this month. It’s only a matter of time before I have a breakdown in front of them. One of them told us last year that she has panic attacks sometimes. I almost came clean then, but decided not to. I don’t know. I don’t know. I’ll probably tell them. I don’t want any of them to freak out or blame themselves. And it’s not that I don’t trust them. I do. They’re all wonderful people I’ve known for years. I just don’t know if I can handle being that honest with people I care about.
I don’t want to be judged. I do that to myself enough. I don’t need others doing it as well.
I don’t know.
It's Usually the Quiet Ones 