mychai's Diaryland Diary

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This entry: a mental Ex-Lax

Good news! I wasn't the first person to be voted out of Diary Survivor 3. I'm not gloating or anything. Just glad.

I'm not threatening to jump out of a window if I lose or anything like that. I just didn't want to be the first chap to be voted off the imaginary island. This isn't saying that I want to be the next person voted off or anything. I'm just saying--

Damn. This whole game is making me paranoid. Time to take a breather.

...

Done.


Gosh. A lot is going on inside my noggin. I don't know where to start. None of it is really all that important, mind you. But I haven't written in here in a while, and I feel I have a bad case of mental constipation.

Let's start with the new job. You know... the cooking job.

Since I didn't set up a score box over the weekend like I promised -- keeping track of all of my work-place injuries that draw blood -- I will tell you.

I now have five -- count'em FIVE -- new injuries on my hands since I started last Wednesday. If you keep a real close account of my life, you would know that I worked only 4 days last week.

And if you are an idiot, that adds up to over one finger slice each day I worked (on average).

But I do have other worries about my job other than cutting off the tips of my fingers. One of the main one is "change."

And I'm not talking about the mere change I get from the tipshare that the chefs receive at the end of the night. I'm more talking about the amount of change I am going through all at once.

See... I am a simple being. Imagine me as a boat -- one of the simple ones: small sides, rough around the edges, no fancy bust of a naked woman hanging off of my bow.

Ok. Maybe not. That analogy will be too hard to keep track of. The basic thing I am getting at is that I like change and different situations... just not all at once. Let's look at the last couple of months, shall we?

After living alone for a long time, I decided to start saving money and finally got a roommate. I've decided that I don't play/live well with others, so this is a major change in my lifestyle. Another major change is that I started seeing someone. Nothing major, really, but still... It is a type of change that puts a little stress on me. There is definite stress coming up in the next few months involving my best friend Lisa. I have a full-time job. I go to school full time.

Then, I up and decided to work an additional 20 hours a week.

I love the work I am doing. I get to cook, experiment, learn, eat great food, and drink lots of free wine. But it is a bit too much change all at once. I feel overwhelmed. I feel like I don't have any JP time. And JP time is very, very important to me.

Just in the last week, I have felt my mind slip dangerously close to a full blown depression. I am using techniques I have learned (and a bit of medicine) which have kept it at bay.

But I am pulled. Should I quit this job so soon, even though I love the work and don't mind all of the blood loss? Or should I stick it out and work all that much and risk a full-blown depressive state similar to my MSMS days? (remind me to tell you that story later)

I know what I should do. I know that my health is most important. But dammit... I love that job. I can't really quit the TV station at this juncture.

Oi. My life is such a cheap soap opera. Every day, a conundrum.


TV things...

Those of you who get HBO... did you see last night's Six Feet Under? I think it was the best one I have seen. Did you get that the dead black dude was Nate's own Grim Reaper?

Ok. Well, not exactly. But I kind of compared last night's episode to a quickie version of "A Christmas Carol."

It was an amazingly powerful episode. I can't wait to see how Dave acts with the news about Nate. And I wonder if Nate will tell Brenda. And yes, I get way too caught up in the shows I watch.

I also watched most of that 9/11 special they had on CBS. It, too, was amazing. The camera work wasn't perfect, the shots weren't perfect, and the editing wasn't polished and wonderful. But you know what? September 11 was a shitty, shitty day. Nothing on that day even fractionally resembled "perfect."

When I was living through 9/11 and saw President Bush cry during his news conference, I thought the same thing last night when I saw the firemen cry: sometimes, it feels good to see your heroes at their weakest moment.

These guys were amazing. I couldn't have done it. No way. No how.


A few more notes before I go take my shower:

The Mandy Story will resume soon. Be patient with that. Going as smoothly as I can handle it. It's a story of a broken heart, remember. It's like that knife cut that keeps feeling funky every time my finger spreads it apart. Oi.

And on the same note... Who are you, Anna Chick, on the message board? How do you know so much about my life? Email me and tell me who you are.

Oh, and one last thing:

Damn you, Samoas! You addictive monster. I crave your toasted coconut on the gooey caramel. DAMN YOU!!!

4:08 p.m. - Mon., Mar. 11, 2002

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