Someone give me a stinkin idea

i haven’t blogged in so long that my husband is logged in… that never happens. It’s sad really, but between the end of school, my internship, and having nothing relevant to write about (actually no desire to write really) I have let my blog fall into disuse.

Really though, it is a pattern of mine. This is the third blog I have ever kept. I had to get a second one after I hadn’t used the first one in so long I couldn’t remember the email address I used to create the account. I had to get a third blog when I looked at my second blog, realized I had only posted about seven times and that it was over two years ago, and I decided that it was just too pathetic to renew blogging on the same page. Now, blog number three and I prove, yet again, to be faithless writer… sigh.

Old habits die hard and all that I guess.

My [newest] Pet Peeve

I have a new pet peeve. It might not seem like a big deal to anyone else, but to me, my new pet peeve means something. For those of you who don’t know, I am a social work major and in thirty-three days I will be a social worker! Right now, I am in the middle of my MSW. We are studying the DSM and all sorts of “disorders” and “mental illnesses”. The problem I have with all of this new information is the labeling. I hate when clients are labeled “autistic” or “schizophrenic”. It has so much meaning and negative connotation. It makes that person an illness and not a person. Instead of autism being part of the person, the autism is the person. Unacceptable. So please, please don’t do this around me or just be ready for me to say something to you. Thanks.

I Wanna Talk About Me

I just did some research on narcissism which is why I have not blogged in a while. Studies show that since the 1970s narcissistic traits have increased in the American culture. More and more young adults feel an unearned sense of entitlement focused on how “wonderful” they are. Conversation focuses on the individual and not on external people. Our goals become the only ones that matter. There is no sense of common purpose or common drives. These narcissistic traits are enhanced by our social media and social networking. Blog, Twitter, Facebook, MySpace, etc. give a platform for people to create an image for themselves and people get to decide what projection of themselves is created online. This means that people create the best image of themselves, allows the creator to over-inflate self-worth, and there is no one to hold them accountable. The individual can then engage in hundreds of shallow relationships with people they have never met; people who can never say that person is not what they pretend to be.

After researching this for a few days, I started to balk at the thought of blogging. I am using this blog as a way to feed my ego. Every day I check my site stats. I need people to read my blog. I need the validation I feel when people comment on my posts. It makes me feel good when my site stats reach a new record.

And that wasn’t my intent. My intent was to talk about what I think and feel. Add my few thoughts to the world and maybe connect with some people. But how did I think I could achieve this on a blog where much of my readership is unknown to me? And I am not talking about anything relevant. I started talking about politics and philosophy and my dreams. Now I just tell mundane stories about my life. I even, at one point, had a page called “quotes by people better than I” but couldn’t come up with anything. I mean, sure, I could have googled quotes, but they would not have meaning and depth if I understood them. If I had read the quote in context and digested the meaning. So I deleted the one altruistic page I had.

So now I am in a pickle. I love writing. I love blogging. But the self-feeding narcissism is making me self-conscious. I get that some self-love and self-inflation is needed to maintain a healthy level of self-esteem, but at what point does it become narcissistic? And maybe all my self-reflection is just another form of narcissism (hypervigilant narcissism if you must know).

Feedback? (I need some self-inflation)

I can’t be President

I’ve watched the West Wing lately, and I finally figured out why I could never make it in politics.

I couldn’t keep up the hours.

I just will not sacrifice my sleep for the good of the country and if you aren’t willing to wake up at two for the country, then you probably should just take yourself out of the race right now.

I am sorry to all my fans and hopefuls, but, unless I suddenly develop insomnia, I will not be running for your President. Even if I developed insomnia I don’t think you would want me to run if I did develop insomnia, it is often a symptom to a bigger psychological problem.

I don’t need “April Fool’s Day” this year

Have you ever had a bad day? How about a bad week? I will try to take this as lightly as I can, but honestly, this blog is a gripe session for me. Still, because I am posting it, Dear Reader, feel free to laugh at my misery and mishap.

It started off poorly. I was away from my husband all weekend which would not have been quite so bad, but we lost one of our cell phone chargers and so Matt’s phone was dead. Apparently, he also chose not to sleep the whole weekend, which is what led to my bad kick off to Monday.

Matt said he would be at the bus to pick me up and bring me home. He was not there, but, at some point in the night, he had found the second charger so I figured I could call him and intercept him wherever he was in Chicago. After the first three calls I realized he was not on his way to meet me, but asleep at home. So I jumped a bus and began my trek back to North side Chicago. After thirteen missed alerts and one annoying buzzer, Matt realized he had fallen asleep and felt terrible. I shrugged it off, I was a little disappointed, but no worse for the wear.

I barely had time to shrug off my coat before I had to put it back on again. I briefly met my new dog Dyzio who already liked Matt better than me. I headed out to catch a bus downtown for my 8:15 class but quickly realized I left my wallet at home. So I headed home, grabbed my wallet, and ended up late for class. After walking in late and making a scene, I realized I had a paper due in my next class at 11:30. “Realized” is a bit misleading. I knew this paper was due before the weekend started and almost stayed in Chicago as a result, but decided I could manage to write a paper. Yeah, turns out, I could not manage to write this paper. I did not think it was that big of a deal and I was pretty confident my paper would be done before the next class. It wasn’t.

So I skipped class in hopes of finishing the paper before class ended. I did not succeed in this attempt. Still, I came close and was proud of my work so far. Now this is when my bad day got a little worse. The paper I had due was the first assignment I have ever missed. In my whole college career I have never asked for an extension on any assignment and I have never skipped an assignment. To top it off, this paper is worth 30% of my final grade. Let’s add some more fun to this late paper. My professor doesn’t respond to emails and I had already sent her two. My professor does not accept papers attached to emails, so I did not try (that day) to send it electronically. My professor also does not have a late assignment policy in her syllabus. So I felt pretty bad Monday night, but it was not my worst day ever.

The next day, Tuesday, went pretty well. I was at my internship placement. I was a little nervous about my second year placement because the organization I applied with has not emailed me back for an interview. I cannot ask for other referrals until I am rejected (hopefully I will be accepted) from the one I applied to first. Now the problem is that internship sites fill up very quickly and it is highly competitive. So my anxiety increases a little every time I think about internship placement and the fact that I am currently without one. So with this looming ominously over my head, I run into a member of my cohort who I have class with on Monday. The Monday class I skipped (remember that one?). We talked a bit about the class and she asked the status of my paper. I said I didn’t really know what to do because I was not in class and she didn’t respond to my emails. She told me I should just email a copy to the professor and submit a hard copy to her mailbox, because our professor does not respond to emails. My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. I frantically had Matt send an email I drafted to my professor with the document attached and run a hard copy down to her mailbox because I could not leave my internship. While at my internship, I was delighted to find out that I was fat and mean according to one participant, and, even though I sincerely did not know Chicago Public Library rules, I was intentionally breaking them (I gotta stick it to the man anyway I can). When I got home, I received a one line email back from my professor. It read: we should talk, can you come early to class on Monday? What a great Tuesday.

Wednesday was even better: I woke up sick. I think it was from the stress I was putting myself through with this paper. Now, I take full responsibility for it being late. That is entirely my fault, but the lack of communication from this professor is unreal. She did not write out instructions for the assignment or give us a due date until two weeks before it was due. And for an assignment worth 30% of my grade. She also does not have a late assignment policy and all I can think is how can she not accept it, she did not specify her classroom expectations and criteria. Yet, it is entirely at her discretion and, while I can appeal to the Dean, this woman has my entire grad school GPA in her hands. It is terrifying. So Wednesday I had worried myself into illness. I threw up three times. It was gross. One of those times, it was toast. Have you ever thrown up toast? Weirdest experience ever. It felt so weird coming back up. I think I felt every grain of that piece of toast as it came back up.

So Thursday I still felt terrible. I mean bad. Just as bad as I felt on Wednesday. I went into my internship and just could not focus. I had to be there though. There was so much I had to do and I just needed the office time to complete it. I got sent home which made me feel terrible. So I threw up again. I run an after school group on Thursdays and I couldn’t pull through on my responsibilities. I felt so guilty coming home and putting the group on another intern. Also I had arranged for a friend to come teach a hip hop class and now I wasn’t going to be there for her either. Not to mention, it was Matt’s birthday. I didn’t have time to make him a cake in the middle of being sick and guilty. I am the worst wife ever.

Friday was not any better. The day started out promising. Matt was planning on going to the Cub’s opening day and I was headed to work, then downtown to work on school work. I got to work and the guilt started again. The group went really well on Thursday and there was a new person there. My heart sank a little; I should have been there for that new person. My to do list for the day and the next week just grew with every passing minute. I do not know how I am going to finish it. I spent an hour and a half working on one task and it is not even finished yet. One task. Not to mention that next week is report card pick up at out agency which means Wednesday and Thursday I will be spending most of my days running from school to school helping parents learn how RCPU works in Chicago. This is not bad, but it means my time in the office working on my to do list is seriously limited. So I left at one, feeling a little dejected and like a failure, and I decided that I was just going home.

So I did– only to discover that my genius plan of the morning was not nearly as brilliant as I thought. Since Matt was going to the Cub’s game, I needed the back-door keys which he usually has. For some reason, instead of making a copy of our keys like normal people, Matt and I just split them to the back entrance of our apartment and the front entrance. I told Matt to leave the back door keys between the back-door and the screen door, and I could pick them up when I got home.

Now I needed these back door keys because of our new dog Dyzio. Dogs have to go out the back in our apartment complex. Matt needed the keys to take the dog out once before he left for the game and then I needed them to take the dog out after I got home.

I then handed him my front door keys and said “here, I won’t need these.” Entirely neglecting the fact that I had to somehow get back into the apartment before I could collect the keys. Matt proceeded to put those keys into his jeans’ pocket. The very jeans which he changed out of before leaving for his game, and he forgot he had my keys in his pocket. My keys were thus locked into the apartment when Matt went out the back door for the Cubs game. Our apartment entrances (front and back) have two secured doors: one to the apartment wing and one to the actual apartment. Since my guilt levels were not quite high enough at this point, I asked Matt to please come home. At 1:45. The game started at 1:20. This might make me the worst person ever. I created this mess with my “smart” plan and now I was asking him to pay for it, and after I didn’t even make him a cake for his birthday. I left no way for me to get past the first secure door in the back or either door in the front. Not to mention the facts that it is raining and my phone is dead. So it is raining outside, I am eaten up by guilt, and now I am locked outside without a cell phone. We called our landlord and he said it would be a $25 fine to get us into our apartment. Well that was just dandy. It was also going to take ten minutes for someone to come by which meant any where from immediately to an hour.

Turns out the guy was there immediately. So he let me in the back door and I tried to explain that I just needed one door unlocked because of my genius plan. But, he was direct from the Eastern European Mafia and so his English was limited to ransom notes and threats (no, that’s terrible, but he really is Eastern European limited English-speaking). I showed him my keys and he said okay and went about his business. It turned out, his business was draining the sewer pipe at the base of our back stairs. It was a pleasant aroma wafting from that direction for the last six hours, hopefully it clears up soon.

While waiting outside in the rain, I decided the first thing I would do once I got into my apartment was go make copies of these gd keys. Once I got into my apartment, the plan seemed less urgent. Matt came home and we just wanted to relax. We were in our apartment, our dog was acting crazy and Matt was really tired. He caught the end of the Cubs game and then we put in the West Wing.

About an hour and a half ago, I asked Matt to go run an unnecessary errand for me. He did, because he is amazing. While running said errand, Matt lost his back door keys. They must have fallen out of his pocket somewhere along the way. After searching for a good hour, we gave up. Maybe they fell into the drain being cleaned at the bottom of our stairs, maybe the homeless man picked them, maybe they just disappeared. No matter what happened to them, we no longer have them. So we put in a call to our landlord, who never answers when we call, left a message, and are waiting to see how much that will cost us.

The worst part about all these “bumps” or mistakes or whatever is that the really bad ones, the ones that make me feel the worst, are situations I created for myself: I didn’t have my paper done, I got sick, I created the key plan, and I unnecessarily sent Matt out. Overall, this week has just been terrible. So, if you made it to the end of this ridiculous post, and you have a problem with me, please, please, please tell me before Saturday at midnight because I cannot stand another week like this one.