Thursday, August 14, 2008

Let the games begin. Again.

OK, so, I'm reviving this mofo because I miss the venue for sharing woes which others might find entertaining or, at the least, to which others might be sympathetic. Or, if neither of those, maybe I can get a shout-out or two like, "Hey, shut the hell up, we're sick of listening to you saying the same things over and over again." Any of those things--cool with me.

Some self-satisfying notes I took on the V train to work today (and yes, I quote my own notebook. Classy):

"There are way too many just like me. I'm overwhelmed with the sheer number of people, of other girls/women/whatever, with the same idealistic dreams and goals, only with exponentially more drive and ambition. No, I take that back--not more ambition, but less fear, more shamelessness, more confidence, something. There are too many beautiful ones, too many who share the passion but excel at sacrificing daily security. How did they become so fearless? How did they manage to let go, to jump out of the plane without a parachute, how are they OK with a daily free-fall? I want that! I want to shuck off these calloused layers of steadfast, stubborn fear; I want to run in the wind of uncertainty and be strengthened by it rather than struck dumb and incapable. How do I begin? How did they all? And should I bother? I feel as if I'm under a boulder, and that boulder is myself. And after two years of psychotherapy, I might be closer to understanding what my mind does to itself and to my intertia, but that doesn't mean I'm any closer to actually different behavior. If anything, the farther I get from the realm of school, the less I excel at being alive.

"Supposedly, I can make other choices, but I feel powerless to do so. I feel as if I've been making the same choice over and over again. I don't want it, though; it just is."

Additionally: My office recently switched insurance from an Oxford plan that does cover a tiny sliver of my therapy to an Oxford plan that covers zero of my therapy, even after submitting reimbursement forms, and this change in plans was also supposed to facilitate cheaper prescriptions. Well, not for good ol' Lyssa and her good ol' SSRI which does not yet have a generic. Nope! My meds are still $50 damn clams per month. I discovered this at Rite Aid today and was shattered, not least of which because I missed a dose last night.

And further! Now, in addition to the tiny ant infestation (that's not a tiny infestation of ants, but an infestation of tiny ants, which are not only in the office kitchen but have also found a way up, around, and into our Poland Spring water cooler [we have to check each glass we pour for critters, lest we consume them]), there is also FRUIT FLY problem in the kitchen! Hooray! The only good news here is that we are moving offices to somewhere in Hell's Kitchen/Fashion District (much farther from my therapy, of course) late next week. Goodbye to this Koreatown not-for-profit slum and it's leaking ceilings and fucked plumbing and way-too-chatty anti-government fanatics down the hall. GOOD RIDDANCE.


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