Down Again (Call Center Blues)

Not much to say.

Ah ... so the call center I work for is a contractor for many major corporations worldwide, part of why I'm not actually allowed/supposed to mention names here, I guess. They're a good company, though, as far as I can tell.

Well recently I mentioned I lost my old posting. I don't think I mentioned the fact that they transferred me to a brand new contract with a first-time client, but they did. And ... then that client pulled out due to the fact that they were paying our department per-person per-hour, while almost no call volume came our way whatsoever.

It was easy and really pretty awesome, and well ... other than fighting off boredom (I'm good at fighting off boredom), 'no call volume' combines with 'unlimited internet access' to become 'absolutely amazing job posting.'

The free lunches end by the end of October. I'll have to transfer to yet another contract (my third this year, jebas), and ... that's stressful.

I think it's partly because I kind of had become settled. Attached, maybe. Other than the Ren Faire which I signed up for as early as humanly possible, I only missed like one day total ever. I bought a plant for my desk, got a bit settled, all of that. I was expecting to be with the contract until it ended or something better came about (something I'd like to do more than something that pays better; not living alone means I don't have to worry so much about my paycheck), I just ... wasn't expecting the contract to be gone so quickly.

They had nothing but compliments for the company as a whole, it just doesn't make business sense to keep a contract of that nature going when there's no call volume at all.

In practical terms, that means I get to go to another contract and finish training just in time for the Christmas ramp-up (because basically everything ramps up for Christmas, it's America, land of the consumerists.) Not only will it be a new contract with a new desk surrounded by new people and new work obligations with a new company line to toe (and probably different Internet restrictions, I think we're not allowed to use Google) - even assuming I get the offer to transfer - but it will be a veritable deluge of calls and probably mandatory overtime anyway.

Oh, and I created a kind of prototype map based on another map that I enjoy in Minecraft. So that was fun too.

4:04 AM (Error)

Logic not found.

So, this is something that is slowly driving me nuts, and that is, logically, there is no significance to be associated with strings of identical numbers, especially date/time stamps. There just isn't, really. So why does the brain latch onto them? Why does that pop up everywhere as something of significance?

Well, like a lot of other answers given: most writers are human, and most readers are human. Human brains are hard-wired toward pattern recognition and the easiest, most obvious pattern is 11:11 11/11/'11 (which happens once or twice per time zone this year, incidentally, depending on if you use military time or not.)

I latch most often onto a string of 1s, if it was non-obvious. 3:33 too.

Short, thumb-typed post because I'm going to enjoy the weekend with a minimum of stress. Delicious holiday pay and rest. Monday is a normal day off for me but hey, getting paid for nothing is kind of awesome.

Money is also kind of awesome.

Oh, two things: one, is anyone else weirded out by M's description (the yellow hoodie mostly) cropping up in the latest Marble Hornets? I'm aware most of the Mythos regards MH as Not Real But Entertaining And Probably Ruined Your Life, while The Tutorial gets an Is Real And Should Be Your First Stop, but it's still creepy.

Two: expect some gushing in the non-distant future about both Rift and League of Legends. That'd be because they're how I'm currently passing my free time. (My otherwise empty work hours are sort-of dedicated to this cross-stitch pattern I'm working on.)

Lastly, why the title? That's when I started this post, silly! ... It's raining again.

Marker board freewrite

Going up now because I'm thinking about it. Bit early. Bought a marker board for work.

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Not Much To Say

Same crap different day.

Rift is a very fun game. I am pleased.

Don't really have a lot of time. Not a lot going on in my head right now. Security is apparently tightening up again.

Sleepy.

Leave you all with haiku.

Gold rains from the sky
In a very subtle plot
Coins cause concussions

Deceive everyone
With the new wardrobe feature
Mage in miniskirt

Death rains from above
Seeping in from foreign planes
The world in peril

Break A Leg

This is my place. I have a T-shaped hallway, though only the top crossbar and the very bottom of the T are ever meant to be seen. The colors hardly matter, as my vision shows in gray.

The lighting here is predominantly green, save for the comforting red glow of the EXIT sign that hangs overhead.

I'm tucked into an invisible corner, writing by glowstick. I have a minimum of costuming, consisting of a plain, tattered, hooded black robe. This, and simple black-and-white face paint, mark me as an actor.

I have no fancy props, not even a nearby animatron.

"Make it scary," they tell me. "Startle them." So, I do.

The first of the two wholly independent spots they expect me to hold is a simple wooden fence, rather broken - one plank missing entirely, another snapped off at the top and hanging by a single screw. A little demonic bust is impaled on a third, and there's nothing especially un-fence-like about the other four. From my hidden corner, I can see partway up the hallway that comes before me. It is utterly barren, save for a door that can no longer be opened, with a large, flat, styrofoam skull nailed to it, some pipe-work that may or may not still function, and two distressed skeletons, hanging by their arms and resting on their knees.

My area is lovingly misnamed a cemetery, for the skulls and shattered tombstones that litter a cold, cement floor only partially obscured by ragged, twisted, clothy blankets, masquerading for a time as rugs and tripping hazards.

Across from the fence is the centerpiece of my area - a massive stone that reads H. Delbruck, while above it hangs Mr. D. himself, sadly without his legs. Atop his tombstone is an inverted V I have been assured is not a spider's leg, but rather a skeleton's arm, the rest of his body too dark to see.

Beside Mr. Delbruck's stone stands my fellow gravekeeper, a withered old man in a bowler hat and a long, muddy coat. His left hand rests eternally on the topmost of his twin belts, and a cigar droops from his lips, teeth bared in a wide, macabre grin.

The wall behind him is obscured by a ropey net. Though I can barely see the pipes behind the netting, I know they extend into the room itself from the hallway.

To the right of H.D.'s tomb stands a sawed-off tree stump, probably plastic, a skull resting atop it. Behind that stands a much-abused Christmas tree, undecorated. It's easy to miss, probably there only to lend an organic feel to that corner. Anything to hide the fact that it's indoors.

To my right stands a "stone" figure, cowled and holding what appears to be a carving of a corpse. Some kind of Death personification, perhaps.

Down the hallway no one else may travel, a line of gravestones stand on the right, while a massive, rubber rat (rats? I hate rats. They drive me crazy - ) lies curled up on the left.

At the very end of the hallway stands another set of tombs, the names impossible to make out. A demonic bust here, too, is found, this one life-sized as though it were trying to claw its way out of the ground. A "tree" rises behind this bust, while on the floor lies a a chain, next to a sadly-headless skeleton.

Between the rat and the demon are the twin archways. One is open, to the left, and it leads out of the haunted house. Fresh air occasionally blows in from that direction. The other is covered by an opaque, shiny black curtain made from five thick sheets of plastic.

I wait in my hidden corner for my first cue.

Somewhat distantly, I can hear Brain-Guy and Hook-Guy from Mom's spot, their cries almost inaudible for the high dentist-drill whine of the chainsaw.

About five minutes, then.

I hear, during a brief lull in the loud ambiance-fueling music, the old-school video projector sound of some kind of air machine whirring to life.

A moaning wail - just part of the music. Giggles punctuated by shrieks is a different part - the human part.

Still waiting.

The Shaking-Man alerts me, with his hydraulic-fueled thrashing.

Two hallways, barely a minute away.

Loud rattles as a group of feet trample a catwalk. It's from the other haunted house; irrelevant to me.

The second high whir of the chainsaw means it's time to stand up, as our fine patrons discuss their most recent experience and just how much they dislike chainsaws.

Their shadows creep across the wall, then the skeletons, until I actually see one.

I've learned to wait to jump out.

The first four dutifully yelp, and dart to the left, through another plastic curtain.

The last two are somewhat more distant, the man holding an obviously intoxicated woman off the ground.

Fun, I think sarcastically.

I do my level best to scare these two, already knowing it's hopeless.

"Look," the man exclaims. "He wants a kiss!" It isn't very obvious in this dress, but I really am a natural female, boobs and all.

The man drags the woman over, presumably for her kiss.

I growl out, voice already ragged, "No touching!" Naturally, she grabs for me, pouting when I dodge away, still growling.

Eventually they turn away, and inaudibly, I mutter a curse. I don't even like drunks at parties. That's part of why I rarely attend parties.

Time passes, as does another, less obnoxious group.

"Chainsaw, chainsaw!" echoes from the exit, as a group from the other house finishes their trek.

No, really? I think, still a bit annoyed. The man at the exit has a chainsaw that runs on gas, and an angry roar escapes it.

Delighted screams of fear follow.

I hear another roar, then, followed by the a slightly different tempo to the battering, a slightly different tin wall. Yelling, indistinct at this distance, accompanies it. Minute and a half.

A handful of seconds later, there's a bang, and the Shaking-Man begins his inarticulate rant.

Fuck.

You see, I am incapable of teleporting. Even if I could, I can't be two places at once ... and now I need to be. Fifteen feet. I can cross it in five steps, about two seconds.

First scare's more important. Barren hallway. Doll Chick doesn't really have the talent either - there's a reason I didn't mention her earlier; she never does anything. She creeps me out, but for reasons that have nothing to do with actually doing her damn job.

It's a split-second decision, which place I choose, and I lunge out a little early. Still scare them though. It's a group of maybe ten, so I back up a bit, lunge again.

Demonic roar, metal on bone on metal.

In my rush to be there now, I trip over the cloth and nearly faceplant on the rat. I have time, only barely.

I yell something incoherent at the person pushing through the plastic curtain, and he jumps. I lean to the right a bit, so he and his can pass.

Drunk Chick is now behind Tall Guy, and it's satisfying to see her cringe away now.

Half of them tripped on the slight drop, so as they ascend the staircase to freedom, I growl a loud, vindictive, "Watch your step!"

Doubt any of them heard.

"Chainsaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwww!!!"

I hate my job.

Chainsaw Good

I have a small, triangular room.

It's a kind of haven, a sanctuary. It is framed by two countertops. I'd guess each of them is about six feet long, and across from me is a shelving unit. I'd guess that to be maybe three or four feet across. To my left, I see a line of three heads - one of them still has flesh attached, and has been nailed to the counter.

Beyond that stands a man, his face cloaked in shadow, the proportions seeming wrong. I can't see his eyes - he has no eyes. He is dressed casually, with a flannel shirt and a pair of jeans.

Beside him sits a cooler filled with loose body parts, all wrapped in plastic, many of them identifiably human. Across the front of the cooler is scrawled, in big, friendly letters, "Cannibal's Meat Market."

To my right, the counter is more sparse.

I can see a human head, hair still attached, rests on a meat scale, while a skeleton partially obscures a fire extinguisher I have been warned not to use, "unless [I] see flames shooting out of something."

Outside the confines of my small lair, two other figures rest. A man whose brain lies exposed sits naked, save for his briefs, the copious blood that runs down his shoulders and chest, and some medical implements still clinging to his opened scalp.

To Brain Guy's right looms an open archway, covered by shiny black sheets of plastic, and further to Brain Guy's right - my left - a man hangs from a set of three vertical bars by hooks shoved through his back. This man is dressed in greenish rags, cut through and showing bloody wounds. When the flashing strobe light illuminates him properly, I can see that the right side of his face has been pulverized.

In front of the shelving unit hangs another, crimson skeleton, clothed in an apron just like mine - a myriad of faces sewn together. Behind him - or her, is it a her? - are body parts, too ill-lit to see in detail.

Everything is spattered with blood. I'm spattered with blood. Even the chainsaw across my lap was bloodied, until I came and scrubbed the handle at least off.

I sit on a barstool, waiting on my first prey, and behind me, in my corner, stands a special horror just for me: a wildly deformed lunch-lady no one else could possibly notice. I try to ignore her, but it takes some effort.

The "music" in this place is eerie and disorienting, false screems warring with true terror for my attention.

Three raps against a tin wall, and a chorus of gleeful, panicked cries.

I'm on.

It's a small group, four people. I wait for their passing to trigger Brain Guy's agonized, gurgling roar, as, pained, he pulls himself upright and looks around.

Then, I strike.

It doesn't take much - I barely rev the chainsaw up before the group catapults forward through the curtain. Long after they're gone, Hook-Guy is still roaring impotently, thrashing against his restraints. Staccato hydraulic pumping is clearly audible - almost annoying - as I wait for my next cue.

Looking up, I can see something I'd missed before - a shrunken head in a little birdcage. Turning my head to the left, behind the counter of heads I can make out two hanging barrels, spewing odorless smoke and red light.

My next cue comes in the form of a startled yelp hidden almost entirely by panicked thrashing and roaring. The cracks of air come at an even more frantic pace as a man assaults a tin wall.

I see the light from the group leader's bright orange glow stick long before I see him. I stand, legs spread for balance, heavy chainsaw held firmly in my hands. A gap between the shelves and the counter of heads lets me get in close - uncomfortably so, but never touching, not if I can help it. All four of them flee back up the hall, so I wait for them until I can strike again. It's the same group from before, just come a different way, so it's my job even as I play with these poor souls to stay on high alert for a rapping invasion of Brain Guy and Hook Guy's room. It's slow tonight, so no one comes before, one by one, I let my playthings pass.

I can hear their passing through a good deal more of our treacherous maze, but beyond here they become meaningless racket to me, as I wait for my next cue.

I love my job.

A Sense of Darkness

Hell, why not, this is why people keep journals, right?

Tonight is Saturday night. I leave work the same as I always do, a little later than most everyone else, but not terribly so. There's a woman waiting for a ride, so I briefly chat with her. I've been given a kind of honorary ... thing which grants me better parking spaces than most of my coworkers, so I look for the allotted parking space before I leave.

As I reach my car, I am nearly overwhelmed with the sense that I should not take the Interstate. As I mentioned, I tend to listen to my instincts, even if they make no sense. The weather isn't bad; there's no reason to take the other route, but I feel like I should. Pulling out, I turn right, and am torn between two options. For no discernable reason, I turn right, taking the slightly longer path out of the lot, past a stand of trees. Everything looks like the stray limbs of some eldritch horror, but if something was watching me, I could not say. Night driving takes a toll on me, not because it is so dark, but because of the brief flashes of intense light.

There is something off. I am on edge the entire trip home.

When I cross the train tracks, near to my work, I am confronted with a red light, and there is a man in the center of it all, directing traffic. This is unusual. To my right, along the side of the road, there is a vehicle with lights flashing, though I can see no cause for this disruption. It does not hinder me terribly.

It is hard not to see the Tall Man in the many stands of trees, though truly I doubt He was there.

He is after all so busy elsewhere, is He not?

When I enter town proper, there are more flashing lights, and a siren. As I pull up to a red light, a fire truck speeds through, going from right to left across my field of vision.

There is not much else to report; my sense of dread seems to have been unfounded.

Of course, when I finally arrived home, there was a wild, swinging party going on at my neighbor's house, and no parking to be found the entire block. This was unusual only in that their gathering made any noise at all; in months prior, it had been deathly silent in the house located at the epicenter of the lost parking, and only the leaving visitors were any indication of where to lay blame. Tonight I had to use a back alley, and come through the back fence. Every shape seemed ominous until identified. Even the large tree was vaguely threatening.

I have no tolerance for gatherings, even at the best of times. I am not invited to such parties because I have no interest in such parties. I must confess I do not like people very much, and I have grown very tired of having to solve their problems over the course of my employment. Except that I am still in need of revenue, I cannot say that I will be displeased to become free from my tether.

Every day I am forced to think because another person refuses to, I find the façade cracks a little bit more, and I care a little bit less.

I am just so tired of people.

Receipt freewrite

Transcribe to follow. When I get off work.

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Job and Joblessness

... hilarious.

Remember that whole job business I got employed at?

Yeah, so. Through literally no fault of my own, that's no longer a ... thing. As of May 15.

Very depressed over the whole business. Been crying on and off, feelings of worthlessness, that whole jazz.

Deciding if the weather's actually nice for once to go out to a park, go walking around and such. Day off tomorrow regardless.

Note to Self

Do Not Taunt Cthulhu.

So, I mentioned a while back that I was going to purchase ( X ) contacts, and also that I work at a call center, right?

So, Wednesday I forked over the $170 to buy the contacts as a kind of joke/taunt, because apparently, I don't like life, or living, or continuing to not be dead/insane (perhaps one, then the other?)

Right, so I should also mention here that all calls at my call center are recorded. All of 'em.

So, finally, I set Slendy as my background pic on a whim, since the last person who had my computer was a massive XBox fanboy, specifically Halo, which I don't like enough to want to see every day. Still question the wisdom of that decision every time my screen saver goes batshit fucking insane while I'm out on a lunch break.

So, I come back from lunch on Friday, March 4, and I get pulled pretty much immediately to do a meeting.

When I get back to my desk, I find I've been logged out, so I log back in and take a call. About two minutes in, there's massive audio distortions in the phone line, followed by a disconnect.

This continues for the rest of the day, and for select computers even into today, Saturday, March 5.

Shortly after all this started?

The satelite radio sees fit to play: "I always feel like SOMEBODY'S WATCHIN' MEEEEEEE!" just for emphasis.

All I could manage was a kind of horrified giggle.

Now, I'm willing to chalk this up to the phone people being there and fucking around.

But still.

Creepy ass coincidences freaked me out.

Still no Slender Man SIGHTINGS in Iowa though~

Sensory Overload

So, in an attempt to be somewhat more cheerful than Friday's uh ... BLACK ABYSS of DESPAIR, I decided I'd elaborate on some of the topics mentioned there, especially the sensory thing, which you might have guessed by the title.

Because describing my perception of the world has always been incredibly cheerful before. Yep.

So, TL;DR: I seem to have reasonably acute senses when measured against other people. Kind of. The end.

For anecdotal proof, read on:

I took some psychology classes in college and high school as electives, because the subject interests me. I can't really recall if this happened in college or high school, but one of my psychology teachers set up sensory tests as part of the chapter on the senses. The one I remember vividly involved the sense of taste: the teacher presented four jugs of water and insisted only one of them had a minimal amount of sugar. This was untrue; all four jugs had a different amount of sugar in them. All four of the glasses of water I was presented with tasted different.

So yeah. That's nice.

The hearing ... hm. I've got a couple of stories on that. When I was very young, they put us through a few hearing tests, one of which was off in a kind of in a quiet room. Essentially, the idea was to raise your hand when you heard a beep, depending on which ear you heard it in. Well, I raised my hand when a phone three rooms away rang, despite the noise-canceling headphones I was wearing at the time. This sense hasn't really diminished much at all over time, probably because I don't really think "bleeding ears" is an acceptable decibel level for music to be played at. On a practical level, this is a huge advantage in my current - and previous - lines of work. At the haunted house, it allowed me to filter through the din of all the ambient noise and music to hear where a group of customers was, pretty much throughout the house. At a call center, it helps when a customer is softspoken and can't seem to figure out which part of the phone to speak into.

Sight is ... interesting. As I might have already mentioned, I've got significant visual disturbances that no eye doctor has been able to attribute to actual physical damage. It's probably some kind of disruption in the nervous system. Or alternatively, y'know, crazy person. I also wear corrective lenses as I am nearsighted. That said, up close especially, my eyesight is fairly acute. In addition, I have remarkable night vision, which is both a positive and a negative. On the positive side, we have all the normal benefits of good night vision, plus things like this post, which was written with the aid of a very dim, green, LED bulb placed across the room in otherwise complete darkness. With the aid of a glow stick, I was actually able to write at almost my normal font size, and read with no difficulty. On the negative side, we have a certain amount of photosensitivity: bright lights are uncomfortable, especially oncoming headlights on the road, for example, but also a bright, sunny day can, if I'm not prepared for it, lead to a bright, shiny headache.

Smell is one of the less useful senses for me, and I seem to be more easily overwhelmed by powerful odors than most people. However, since most of the people I know are smokers due to the whole "call center" thing, it's not really like I've got any kind of baseline to work against If possible, I completely avoid the perfume and detergent aisles of any store; they make me lightheaded and dizzy. Smell is also one of the easiest senses to ignore in day-to-day life, and one of the harder senses to measure against any other person's regardless.

Touch is ... well, pain is part of the sense of touch, right?

I can't say I feel much of anything acutely, other than pain. And cold. And pain as a result of intense cold. Painkillers don't really work effectively for anybody in my family, least of all me. I also tend to ignore my body unless it's actually in pain, and even then, if I distract my mind, I don't even often notice there's anything to feel until it's excruciating. I do know I have a completely numb patch on my right leg that sometimes hurts when touched. I suspect nerve damage from an early-life bee sting to be the culprit: I had a bad allergic reaction.

I like to run my hands along walls as I walk.
It helps ground me in reality.

I don't think I'm really outside the parameters of normal human functioning, as far as sensory data goes. I just know that some things, like the gentle clicking whir and beeping of my computer's normal operation (distinct from the fan), is audible and comforting, while the high, shrill noise of a supposedly "off" TV sets my teeth on edge, and most people seem oblivious to these things.

So there. Probably the most boring thing I'll ever write.

Hooray.

You probably should've quit reading this at the TL;DR.

It rained today. We're under a flood watch.
It was so cold the rain became a centimeter-thick sheet of ice on my car.
It hurt so much to scrape it off with my bare hands.

2/15/2011 EXPLODING QUIETLY

My thought patterns are a little bit disturbed right now.

If you want a normal happy blog you might want to check back Monday  

NEVER

HA HA HA

LONELINESS:

You are not alone.

And yet you are alone.

So very alone.

LONELINESS:

You are not alone.

And yet you are alone.

SO VERY ALONE.

SO

INSIGNIFICANT 

I hate

everything

There's a RINGING in my ears

I'm probably going deaf. 

You know you say that but you really do have good hearing. How else do you hear the noises in the walls when all else is quiet? 

The sensory tests ... that call the quality agent couldn't even hear words in, raising your hand because you heard a phone ring in the next room over despite noise-cancelling headphones, your night vision is remarkable. Writing normally, by GLOWSTICK. All four glasses tasted different. Hearing the high whine of an "off" TV. Perceiving that there are worlds on worlds of color.

Oh god.

That drawing.

Any kind of free thought is unsettling. Like that simple pencil drawing on black paper. You got an honorable mention for an hour's work.

 I hate everything.

I try not to think too much.

There is static in my EYES.

Usually I can at least outline the chaos

I bet you $20USD I can't read even half of this in the morning.

my head hurts

everything

hurts

Oh my god.

can we pretend (airplanes) = (shooting stars)?

                                     Getting Paid

                        Raspberry Cheesecake Cookies      BEAR!

Life is pretty good right now really, for me.  HAT! COOKIES!

  Think of 

HAPPY

THOUGHTS

Is this what going mad feels like?

If life is so good why can't I just focus on 

That?! 

I should try to make friends in real life.

Beneath the pleasant happy surface you are FUCKING INSANE

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Everything hurts

nanananananananaBATMAN

I feel so alone especially when there are a          I CAN SEE YOU

lot of people I can't talk to around.                        I CAN SEE YOU

OTHER PEOPLE CAN'T RELATE TO ME IRL.          I CAN SEE YOU

                                                                                 Noises in the walls.

I'M NOT             I          Darkest just before DAWN

PARALYZED     CAN'T     oh my god I think

BUT I SEEM       SEE       I'm actually going

TO BE STRUCK   ANYTHING     insane

BY YOU      So ALONE    can see you. "Going"?

So if it wears black clothing, dyes its hair black, is deathly pale, and cries a lot, is it a pathetic emo kid? I think it is. Stupid whiny bitch.
 99% of everything is SHIT                                                                           shutupshutup
So tense. Keep clenching my fist. And jaw.                  shutupshutup
              emphasize everything
Had a bit of a freak-out last night when I got home. Shaking and jittery.
"I'm having a panic attack!" Maybe it's the caffeine?
Is there anybody out there 'coz it's gettin' harder and harder to BREATHE.
Shaking cold                                trying to ... BUFFERING ... 
       BOOM                  .youarenotprepared.                  Dare you to read this.
ramming always works (with a bat)                     Assume it IS just    Then assume
                                                                                       an ARG               even one "Masky"
                                                                                                   takes it as srs as you do. Never sleep again.
If Mom died I'd fall apart. "Daddy" wonder what that's like. 

OHGODOHGODOH
GODOHGODOHGOD                         
OHGODOHGODOH                             Think of something else
                         GOD                          ANYTHING ELSE

Do you really think you could survive?
So when is the flood coming?


DON'T                The                  lol                f
NEED              rap has              plants          o
ANY              eaten my            grow              r   Red Robes
THING           Pandora    c        better           g         HANDS ARE SMALL
OR                   PAN         o             to             e          NOT YOURS
ANY                DOR         l         DEATH       t              MY OWN
ONE                     A         d         METAL       the              IDIOT
                        EAT YOU                               world        I hate you
OF                      Insignificant           what           More out of space than empty space
HIGHER       Little Blue Planet           am       Set the world on fire
PURPOSE                                              I?
       There is no one to answer.   Have always felt like I'm being watched
I don't feel safe.                 PARANOIA IS BAD OKAY. 
I don't feel safe in my house right now.            Shaking
I can see the light flickering every so often.         Cold            Automatic writing
I walked in tonight and I went straight for my sword.                        Shaking
                                          HANDS ARE SHAKING COLD              Cold

Sleeping with the light on again.
Blood red.
I DON'T FEEL SAFE

 MONSTER

INHUMAN 

YOU'RE NOT SPECIAL

YOU LIKE TO PRETEND YOU'RE SOMETHING SPECIAL BUT YOU'RE NOT
SELF-
IMPORTANT          YOU PEOPLE ARE ALL SO DAMN 
    FUCK 
EVERYTHING

Mom claims to have spoken to a psychic I never met who claimed that she was descended from some kind of red-robed ... folk. Powerful folk. But she's protected. BLOCKED. An angel guardian and an island of blissful ignorance. I am not protected. I don't think.
 I feel sometimes like there is something waiting beyond sight, waiting for me to drop my guard.

COLDCOLD
COLDCOLD
COLD
COLDCOLD
COLD

CAN'T SLEEP

So Cold

I think I'm really going mad.

Winter Driving

Whoever came up with this idea should have been shot.

It is 7:45 when I leave my house, snow shovel in hand, to greet the day. It isn't actually that cold, but the snow has been falling continuously since last night. Mom is helping me dig out both of our cars.

Speed is of the essence: we both have to get to work this morning. On the radio, I heard that all the area schools have shut down for the day, but that hardly matters to our employers - or our wallets. Our street has not bee plowed, so Mom warns me that I should just take it slow. Going too quickly is an easy guarantee that something will go wrong.

I should have listened.

I can feel myself losing control before it happens, first a little, then a lot. I end up sideways across both lanes of traffic over a small curve in the road, and I felt my tail end plow sideways through a snowbank.

I am lucky; I am still on the road, and I did not hit anyone. I get myself straightened out before someone hits me.

"I can see the road."

It has become my Survival Mantra and a happy lie. I can see two strips of pavement where others have come before me - until I find myself following a vague black shape. It kicks up a cloud of snow so thick I cannot see the road - or anything else, for that matter.

It is a tense drive. The road wasn't especially well-maintained, and my job is actually in the next town over.

It is an incredible relief to see buildings again, and I find myself laughing when I see on a bank sign how early I am.

When I finally get myself parked, I call Mom to let her know I'm okay.

I have no idea how I'm going to get home: the sun will be down before I am allowed to leave.

Quick Announcement

Hey all!

Due to my new case of Being Employed IRL, I am going to be swapping to a Monday-Wednesday-Friday update schedule! Thanks for understanding!