On Splitting (1) in Open Diary 2001-2018 (Pre-Prosebox)

Erg. It’s gotten so bad that I dread going to work any more. I couldn’t stop thinking about work over the weekend! In fact, I spent part of my Saturday doing research, and most of Sunday typing up a new “busy work” report that Mr. Peepers is making me do. And when I wasn’t stressing over work, I was either out trying to forget about work, or I was nursing a hangover mixed with a good dose of depression. And that’s not a good thing. Because depression makes me want to sleep and hangovers make me want to sleep and then procrastination kicks in and I end up wallowing in sorrow, self-pity, and a really messy apartment.

Peepers started in on me first thing this morning, and I was having stomach problems and dizzy spells. I’m not kidding. This is not good. He tries so hard to catch me messing up. He looks for any little thing. Today I had a team meeting in which he completely backhandedly insulted me, and I took it like an abused dog. God. I cowered. I hate him so much and want out so badly now that it’s not even worth standing up for myself because I don’t have the energy to fight. This is so disgusting! I feel pathetic right now. It’s like a nightmare. I want to wake up, but I’m sooo sllleeeepppyy.

Best Bud had to call me as I was driving into work this morning to give me a daily affirmation. I spent an hour on the phone with her on Saturday telling her all of the stories. People do not understand until I give them specific details. She told me to document, document, document! She said it’s so obvious what’s going on here and that it’s horrible, and she wants me to quit. She told me to quit without even having something else lined up, but I don’t want to. I’ll take the abuse until I find something else or I get fired. I really wish there was a lay-off going on here. I could use a package right about now.

I suppose I need to start talking about options. I’m not going to worry about the jinx factor in my diary any more. I want to write down my thoughts and feelings, and I don’t want to stifle things just because I worry that I’m going to jinx it by “talking” about it.

I’m talking to someone about a possibility. Someone very influential, who could get me a great job at the snap of his fingers if he wanted to. I’m thrilled at the thought, because this company has been just a shooting star as of late. Stock is going through the roof, and the product is, simply put, cool as shit! I haven’t even had an interview, so I could be jumping the gun here. But I want this so badly I can taste it. I want a major change in my life. I want to get my hands filthy in coolness. And I know I’d be perfect for the job.

There’s one catch: I would have to move out of the country. Indefinitely. Europe, to be a little more specific. I’m not going to get more specific than that until I actually have something more solid lined up. It’s a bit of a scary thought, but it’s also extremely exciting.

And I did say that I need a BIG change in my life, now didn’t I?

More details to follow, I hope. The guy is in Europe right now with my resume in hand, talking with the person I’d be working for (who’s also American). Oh and “the guy” just happens to be the president of this particular division. I really hope this turns into something. Please.

I hope to be updating on the prospects soon.

So what else did I do besides slog through the mire of my depression over the weekend?

Let’s see. Friday, after I finally left work (around 7), I met my gorgeous and younger co-worker at a sushi bar. Let’s call her Pink Princess. She dates sugar-daddy types, and I knew that we were heading to her stomping grounds, so I made sure to get myself in high tolerance-to-annoyances mode. Jeez, I guess I didn’t realize how much cocaine’s come back into vogue. Saw some of her friends at the sushi bar, and they asked us to meet them at this new club. Well, we’d already planned to go there because Princess knows the owner, and she told me the night would be a freebie Cool. Sort of.

No sooner did we walk in when a jittery guy comes up from behind me and asks if he can buy us a drink. We were already being taken care of by Owner Man, but this guy (let’s call him Jitters) is a friend of Owner Man too, so he got a little clingy. Between Jitters, Owner Man and several other “friends” of Princess’s, we were well stocked with French champagne, Cuban cigars, and (I’m positive) access to as much Colombian coke as we could possibly shove up our noses. And the offers were not subtle, either. Owner Man took us to this “private” back room where all kinds of colorful characters were doing who knows what. One by one, Princess greeted them and introduced me to everyone. Drinks and conversation flowed very freely in the sparkly, smoky little back room. I actually enjoyed talking to Princess’s friends. The only drawback was that I had to turn down lots of drugs in the process.

After a while, I got really weary of the excess. I lost Princess. Turns out she’d gone to some guy’s house. Went home and crashed. Hard.

Who knew really expensive champagne would provide such a splitting headache the next morning??

And speaking of split, I must do it with this too-long entry!