And we'll start it the way I try to preface all the ranting I do internally: with the good stuff first.
Had a wonderful spring break. Went on a cruise with one of my best friends and then almost immediately to Wisconsin to spend the rest of my break with my boyfriend. Managed to get up the next morning and go to work, which is an accomplishment. I came home to a clean room thanks to best friend, who catsat and many other things I wasn't expecting. There were flowers! That was a really lovely surprise. Got a 95 on the midterm for one of my exhausting classes. Did better than most other students (not a 95, but I'm thinking in terms of range, here!) on the midterm in my incredibly exhausting class. Goldie got a car wash yesterday and she looks great. The move is all planned out, I had a really nice weekend, and yesterday I got Chipotle for dinner. Went out for dinner with the aunts and a friend of theirs a few nights ago and there were many drinks and good food and they told the waitress it was my birthday even though it was actually a few days before and we got away with it. So there's plenty of good.
Now for the bad and the ugly.
I like my job a lot, but the people I work with are driving me extra crazy lately. There's a director (unfortunately over our director) in the organization who is a really, really trolly individual. She's been checking our voicemail every once in a while lately. We've been REALLY busy lately; there are field trips, summer field trips, break camps (that's almost over, c'mon, Friday!), and summer camps that we're registering for, and we seem to be getting a lot more birthday and front desk calls as well. So there were messages in there once from two hours before La Monstra checked and she went batshit on our boss's boss, who with considerably more humanity passed it down the hierarchy that we need to be checking voicemails more regularly. Okay. We probably do.
Apparently the way my coworkers and I interpret that is very different. I think it means "Answer the phones, and check the general voicemail for messages several times a day." The women in my office appear to think it means "let it go to voicemail, check it... Iunno, whenever?" And returning calls? Riiiiiiiight. So any day now I expect that we'll get another lecture about returning them.
There's been this seed of discontent for a while, that it feels like they believe I'm breaking them, not working with them. And lately that's only been proven true. Rubbing rock salt and metal shavings in that wound is the fact that they just sort of blinked through my birthday. Our team lead (who I like more) said happy birthday when she came in, the other forgot and called me after I left the office to go to school. Everyone else who knew it was my birthday made a much bigger deal than my officemates. So. I see.
And now let's talk about the rest of this natal commemoration! Birthday wasn't the best. Night-before-Birthday dinner plans (convoluted, with much eggshell stepping) eventually got established and a reservation was made, I drove the aforementioned friend with me, and as we were turning into the parking lot Goldie's sway bar bent really badly. Then dad decided he wanted to go out and look at it. I KNEW the car was going to need to be towed, but, hey, he's my dad. He had me back up a foot or so.
Me: "Dad, I don't think that's a good idea."
Dad: "Just do it, kid."
Swaybar: "BREAKCLUNKSNAPcracklepop!"
It's not like I didn't forsee something bad happening, but I felt like a terrible car mom. Josh got me roadside assistance when we signed up for our phones, so I knew I could get the car towed to the shop where all her work gets done. I thought I could go inside and get through dinner and then take care of setting that up, but nooooo. Parents insisted otherwise. Took 20 minutes to get through hold, being put on hold several times, and the operator asking me to repeat the information. 20 minutes while my guests sat in the restaurant and I stood outside, trying not to cry. The roadside assistance covered the first $50 of towing, so I knew I'd be out a bit but could handle it. As we were finally finishing up the operator said the tow truck would arrive in about 45 minutes, and I said that wouldn't be a problem but I was going inside to have dinner with my family and friends, so if there was any way the ticket could be placed a little later in the queue that would be fine, no rush. He made some bumbling noises-- he was almost a completely useless schmuck-- and about 15 minutes later I got a call from the tow truck driver. This actually ended up working out well, since afterward I could enjoy dinner without worrying about any more interruptions. Mom walked out to the car with me, which was nice, and then when I started to fill out my card information asked what I was doing. AAA could have done it for free, was her point. But mom and dad are AAA members and I am not, and no one volunteered the service (nor did I expect them to). Thankfully this seemed to be quickly got over and $54 later Goldie was on her way to Tuffy. Dinner never seemed as comfortable for my guests as I wanted it to be, but the food and service were great. Our waiter brought out a little dish of defuckinglicious mango ice cream with a candle stuck in the middle. I made a wish. I did not wish for graduate school acceptance, a move I am rueing most ruefully now, over a week later.
Monday was my actual birthday. Monday I was supposed to hear from graduate school. Monday I did not. I was miserable at work and miserable at school. After school I decided to go to the county tax collector's office to renew my registration, register the Vespa in my name, and get the motorcycle endorsement on my license. I forgot the two pieces of mail I needed for the DL transaction, so I motored home to get those. Got back at 4:01. They won't process a license change if you pull a ticket after 4:00. Okay, been that kinda day and I know they have rules. I waited to take care of the registration stuff.
I have never had a bad experience doing DMV stuff, and until now I haven't understood the bad rap those offices and employees get. But oh. Oh, do I now.
A woman I am convinced graduated summa cum unpleasantus from Beezelbub's Online anti-Charm Academy "helped" me. She was a BITCH. I cannot say it enough. So I got done with what I could do, walked back up to the truck (mom loaned me hers while Goldie was in the shop, another good thing that should have been mentioned at the start of this entry), and had a small, long overdue nervous breakdown. Tried to straighten myself up so I wouldn't look like... I did, I guess, when I paid for parking. Got home. Parked truck. Continued breakdown. Eventually I seized upon a mantra that helped me calm down ("You're going to move to Wisconsin, you're going to live with Josh, and he loves you no matter what"), and I made my way inside. Kerflopped. Considered asking the aunts if we could do Indian birthday dinner another night. And shortly after I decided that wasn't the best idea, one of the aunts knocked on my door.
The other aunt had run out of gas and was stuck. The other car wouldn't start. I began to suspect witchcraft.
We fought traffic to get to the gas station. We fought traffic to get out of the gas station. We made a dangerous U-turn I would never, ever have executed had I been in my right mind. The gas wasn't flowing into the tank. Aunt-I-Am-Actually-Related-To found a stick. We all got home. I explained the cruddy turn of events at the tag agency and that no, I hadn't heard anything from UW-Madison. Dinner went well enough. Poor Josh called later that night and I'm so, so lucky he's still with me. I was so depressed.
Tuesday--! I was still depressed. I was convinced I would never hear from or get into graduate school. And then I got an email.
Waitlisted.
At the time I was so relieved to hear anything, anything from them that I felt much better. The reality of not knowing where I am on that list or if the waitlist is a soft no bugs me a bit, but after talking with Josh (he's a miracle worker), I think I'm alright. I would love to get in this year, but if not I'll have residency established and I have a plan to make myself a very attractive applicant the next go 'round. I'm a little stuck as to what to hope for, honestly. I want in. I don't want the delay of a year in my hazy plans for getting married and having a child in the future. But it really might be better to wait. The only hang up on that is that I'm scared about getting academic letters of recommendation, since I won't have taken a class with my UCF professors in over a year if I'm in the admissions ring again next year. Part of my plan is taking one of the SLIS courses as a non degree seeking student and wowing the tar out of that professor. I guess I could take two. I'm just not sure.
More crap at work, mostly being away from my desk for 9/10 of my shift with no warning or expressed exemption from the expectation that I do everything I have to do at my desk. The girls in my office acting (maybe they're not acting) like they're so sad I'm leaving in May two days after they barely registered that it was my birthday. Major senioritis. Just. don't. wanna. do. any. more. work. I'm doing it, but always after digging in my heels for laziness, justice, and the American Way first. The shower bench that geriatric housemate uses appears to have been permanently moved into the bathroom, so I have to wrestle it out every morning. He keeps leaving the light on, I keep turning it off. Battle of the generations if e'er there was one.
Came home at lunch today and my birthday card from Josh wasn't in the mail. Don't know what I did to irk who with what power, but today's rain has suited the mood of things pretty well. But the rain's also been badly needed. I'm realizing lately that-- if you forget the occasional meltdown-- I'm an optimistic person, but that I don't want to throw my hope into something and look foolish. So I'm not taking anything from it being raining but that it's raining, and that the rain is needed.
