Tag: mental health

Week Three (Saturday)

Posted on by Aya DeAniege

I’m feeling a little troubled and want to talk a bit, or write but don’t have anyone at the moment. They’re on normal people time.

I’m on “fuck you and die” time.

Suppose, I could talk to my cousin, since I know he’ll be up but we don’t really have conversations and he’s drunk and you can’t get a word in edgewise.

Today I worked with the woman who violated my privacy. I didn’t yell, I didn’t shout, or give attitude over it. I didn’t even bring it up. I have no idea if she’s realized yet, but I also found myself not caring if she had.

I also realized that I’ve never really, like really paid attention to her. She used to work my current position, but not all the other management positions I’ve worked, just mine, just in this location. She hasn’t expanded beyond the management skillset they taught her, which was probably nothing really, let’s face it. But, because she’s held my position in the past, I have left her alone and it wasn’t until today that I realized that was a mistake.

I cannot account for anything she did. There was one thing, one little group of things which is a task the area has to complete. That got done but… when? Hours before closing, I’m sure.

The thing that I had a strip taken off me for, by the other co-worker? She didn’t start it until after 8:30, at which time I’m almost certain she returned from a half hour break since she said she was going just after 8 and then said she was returning after 8:30. At about 8:15 I walked past her area and saw the lights were out and assumed she was or had been doing the other task on the floor.

It’s retail. You take the items moved by customers and put them back where they belong.

If you’re reading this and you’re one of those people who moves entire shelves of stuff, for the love of god, stop it.

The way our company is set up, there are three areas and one person responsible for fixing an entire third of the store. We all have other things we need to do on top of that responsibility. An entire third of the store, every night, no exceptions.

It takes me two hours to go through the whole thing, but I’m told I’m a special fairy of a fuckin’ princess and no one else can do that. So when I hear someone say, “I’m starting now,” when I ask half an hour before close how that job is going…

It’s a frustration.

But. I’m supposed to leave that area to be and do that area. They know the expectations, I even had the previous person go over the expectation with her to reiterate: it has to be done.

And it didn’t get done.

I’m only saying this as the most glaring example of Aya not doing her fucking job.

Me, I’m Aya. My name is right up at the top of the page.

I should have been paying more attention to her. I just should have, this entire time, I should have. That’s on me.

I’d be all “dumbass” on myself, but I’m still human, I make mistakes.

After we closed, customers kept trying to come in because the doors are broken, so I did announcements, which admittedly we aren’t supposed to do and I almost never do them. I think this is the third time in as many months and the second time was last night when a group of hipsters were wandering up and down the aisles talking loudly as the lights were about to go out overhead.

So, the person in question mosies to the front with what appears to me (but might not be) to be absolutely no get up and go, like she doesn’t care how long she takes. She walks up to the cash and leans on it, putting her butt in the way of customers who have to walk around her to get out of the store as she starts gossiping with the mother of one of the workers.

And I’m like, “Guys, I want to go home.”

And she says, “Oh, you guys. What are you going to do when Christmas comes and you have to be here until ten, cleaning everything.”

“Then we will be here until ten. But right now, I want to go home. I’m exhausted and my bed is calling me and this is day twenty-nine.”

“I’ve done that before. Oh well.”

Then she proceeded to mosie out of the store with the worker’s mother and talk at the doors, keeping them from closing for several minutes.

Which is against policy.

I stood and watched rather than approach her because I knew I was angry and I knew my tone of voice would convey that.

I was upset, she upset me, I’m allowed to have negative emotions toward someone.

Of course, I’m the crazy person who gets upset because she was leaning on the counter rather than working, gossiping and getting in the way of customers, and making my other bodies tonight do her work because (near as I can tell, but again, it might not be the case) she can’t be bothered.

And she dismissed what I was thinking or feeling, how I felt because in the past she’s worked many days straight.

Therefore fuck me.

Oh no, there’s not but or maybe tacked onto the end of that. She is un-empathetic toward my working so many days in a row against my will and against my wishes and protests. She knows, because I’m certain I told her last week, that I had said no, but that it was made out to me like I had no option and that none of the other managers could be bothered to rearrange their schedules.

Yeah… so that’s probably also out and about in teh store.

Fuckin’ stupid Aya.

Soft skills are important, you nitwit.

Swearing at myself makes me feel better, don’t question it too much, just roll with it.

As we left the store, she immediately walked off. That won’t be happening again, each night I will call them back and they will wait with me. The doors didn’t quite want to close but, poof. All of a sudden she had a speed faster than a mosie!

There’s a word for people like that.

Frustrating.

So, I get in the car waiting for me and my cousin is wearing his school dress code so I get super confused, think it’s Friday, and ask him why he was at school so late.

And he starts talking.

At first I was bitterly annoyed, I’m tired, I just got passively aggressively walked over by someone who just a week ago was claiming we were friends. I didn’t want to hear about how someone else had a good day.

But he was excited, and full of energy. And… maybe full of alcohol as well because part of his day was taste testing drinks.

And I just sat there, trying to remember the last time I sounded like that. Just so fucking excited about something. And then I thought about my day, because I was really upset when I got into the car, like on the point of tears because I was tired to the point of tears and then that happened.

And I got to thinking.

Today… wasn’t a bad day. I had an extra body that I don’t usually have. In fact, I had a literal person who I don’t normally work with. And despite how exhausted and worn out I was, she still made me laugh.

Because I asked her to do something and she responded with, “Sure, doll, whatever you want.” with all the assurance of a man twice her age, and I could almost hear her wink at me even though it was said over a radio.

Everything but that person’s (the one who violated my privacy) area looked great. Better than it has in a while. Customers were happy and not mean at all, not rude. Messy as all hell.

Who the hell makes a mountain out of baking supplies, honestly? Don’t you have a phone? Play on that while your girlfriend shops, don’t make more work for us!

This morning, I got some edits done, did some driving practice.

Today was not a bad day.

But because I’m so wrung out already, an unempathetic body brought me right down when she had no right to.

Being made to work for more than a month in a row is not okay, and it is not something to talk down to that person about. I’m doing work a favour by working through this. If I wasn’t there, if I was just my position, if I was the one who talked down to me even, the co-worker or the one who violated my consent, I would not be working through the course of the month.

Because none of them are capable of doing what I can do. And that’s really the kick in my pants, isn’t it? The fact that I’m in this situation because I’m reliable and hard working. When not overly tired I’m super stable and don’t gossip or whine or anything.

When I am tired and worn out, I eat a piece of apple pie and a bun and two pieces of chick and then just feel ick because my stomach would now like me to die.

I’m also impulsive, whiny, bitchy, bitter, and can sometimes have mental breakdowns for like an hour before I pick myself up, dust myself off, and act like nothing happened.

However.

I tell people that. In fact, going into school, I told my boss that if I get too tired or worn out, if I don’t get the time off I need, then I will get lippy. Which was the closest word to bitchy and crazy I could use given where we were standing at the time.

I know this about me, I know how I act and I’m not determined to change how I act when I’m tired. Instead, I’m determined not to find myself in those positions. I go to sleep on time, I feed myself, I leave positions that would expect too much of me or relationships that are batshit crazy.

But I never want to change how I act when tired. I’m a human fucking person. We aren’t built to be rational when tired. We don’t have control over our moods when we’re tired, our emotional intelligence drops to that of a two year old and we do things we wouldn’t normally do.

Like cry because someone was a meany head.

What we do have control over is our compassion and empathy toward our fellow humans. And as of tonight, I feel as if these two women who I have now had issues with, are lacking that key component.

Empathy.

Everyone else I work with understands. This is day twenty-nine, I’m tired and I’m not built for this. I didn’t ask for this. I certainly didn’t want this. I went into my school year with a promise for a day off every two weeks.

Then someone quit. And the boss had vacation booked from months before.

I actually can’t list anyone besides those two who have put their noses in the air because They did just fine when they had to work such and such and so on.

So… how does one deal with the un-empathetic when one must see them often and speak with them?

I’m supposed to be bright and open, but not a doormat, so I can’t just go to pretending like nothing happened, as that would make them feel like it’s all right to speak to me like that and I’ve decided it’s not.

I know I’m at the end of what I can sustain. End of rope, or cliff, or road, or whatever metaphor you want to use. I know this is a limit for me. But all they think is I’m some stupid little girl who doesn’t know how the world actually works.

Except, in our country, that’s not how the world actually works. So, you know, there’s that.

Where’s that magic lottery ticket when I need it?

Anyway, I’m not even quite sure what the point was, besides to get the words out of my head so they’d stop swirling around.

Now I’m just left with the question: how do you deal with un-empathetic people without starting a fight, but also without becoming a doormat?

 

Week Three (Day Five)

Posted on by Aya DeAniege

Writing:

How do I put this…? My muses have been tossing about ideas for a new Contracted trilogy?

I know, I’m world and story creating like crazy and not getting on with the writing of anything yet. It’s all the clickity clack from keyboarding school driving me to it, but I’m making and keeping notes on OneNote so that it’s all there and available for when I can write again.

A Kaz/Balor story is started but put off because the content is not work or school safe so I can’t work on it anywhere. Not until either tomorrow or Sunday but I’ve allotted for edits for Crop to get that done.

Have I talked about The Others? It’s almost entirely unedited, which is stated in the first post there. It’s an ongoing project that I update in between other things, or pick away at between classes and such. So, if you’ve got an itch, head on over. Just realize it is m/m.

The idea is to pull it later on to edit and do additions, then publish it as a series. I think I’ve decided I’m writing out as much as I have/can, as far as it goes, then pulling the whole thing and editing it.

But if you do go, you’ll notice I’m not rushing any with that.

Other:

Work moving stuff last night definitely tired me out. I’m not necessarily sore, though. Just… tired.

I went to brush my teeth this morning and had immediate fatigue, so… you know, the writing class is going to be fun since she has us hand-write notes.

We had an accounting quiz yesterday and I looked around after I finished and realized everyone was still writing. Cue me panicking because I must have missed something. If they’re still writing, it must mean I did something wrong, skipped at least one part. So, I checked it again and again, even put the alphabet beside the transactions, worried I had just skipped one.

No, it just happens that I have managed a good understanding of the first two chapters. Because I read them ahead and took my own notes (this is how I learn better) but now I worry because chapter three, I read it and I couldn’t find anything to make a note about. Just, yup, that all makes sense.

Writing, the instructor was sick but assigned some homework in place of her being here because we still have to keep up on work, right? Your boss calls out sick, do you just skip out  home and do nothing?

If  I’m being honest, I’d work from home if I could get away with it.  Well, it sounds like a few people didn’t hand anything in because they didn’t read the full announcement. Oh, geez.

Keyboarding! Keyboarding is the one I constantly feel like I’m struggling with. My hands are starting to move a little better but I still have to make exceptions to their rules. My knuckles don’t move like that and as much as I’ve forced the new motions, the fingers just kind of shoot out and start hitting all the buttons. So, I guess you could say that I’ve adapted the method because of my arthritis. I’m sure my method wouldn’t pass for others, because the damage to the joints is different.

However, my word count and accuracy have begun to go up. Yesterday I did a two-minute timing without a single error, not even one I deleted. Though… it was weird. I did several two-minute timings. I think five in total? On one they kept wanting ‘exam’ someone wrote and exam and didn’t tell this other person when the exam was.

Yeah, for some reason my brain insists there’s an ‘e’ on the end of ‘exam’ but not all the time just every third or fourth time I write exam. My fingers hit the ‘e’ at the end and my brain, reading it out goes, “Yup, that looks right.”

Math, I worry I’m so lost that I think I’ve made it. Like I aimed for the Pacific Ocean and ended up in the Atlantic instead and just can’t tell the difference, that kind of lost. It both seems too easy, and they ask me things that I was never taught in school.

Rounding and estimating, what is this? Math of lazy people?

Yet, I use rounding and estimating when I’m doing math at work, but because I’m in a school setting my brain stutters and I think I must not know how to do it right.

Have I hit them all? No. Computers. I need to pay more active attention but I think he thinks I’m writing in class because now he’s wanting us to focus forward. If I don’t take notes, it doesn’t stick. Writing notes by hand gets it out of my head so I just never remember. But if I type it, thanks to all the writing, my brain logs it all down.

All, like, “Oh, gonna need this in edits, I just know it.”

So on breaks and as he was dismissing us, I scrambled to get notes into my note page to remember it this time. He’s teaching us file sorting. I like to think I’ve got that down. But then I tried to find things in my OneDrive and it seems I bungled something, so I need to revisit my system. Which is fine, it’s new. Sometimes it takes me some time to figure out the easiest way to set up a new system.

Oh, and Interpersonal Communication. I started reading the book, think I’m about halfway through. Need to read more, obviously. Need to take notes in that class, it’s after lunch and that’s definitely going to be brain death time.

I am trying to interact with my fellow students more. Soft skills, you know?

Work last night, besides the exhaustion, went all right. The co-worker was happy she hasn’t been happy in a long time. She also sported a new look. Looked like half her hair disappeared, since she flattened it. But the happy scared the shit out of me. I’ve had people get happy like that when they’re about to attack me.

I thought it was maybe just my perspective too, until someone else saw her walk by and their eyebrows raised.

“Whole new person this week.”

Hey, if she stays happy and isn’t mean to anyone, whatever and good for her. If she’s planning something, ugh. For about a second, I thought she was gloating and then I realized I didn’t care what she was doing. I was tired, I wasn’t working.

I played my game between school and work. When I started, a man I hadn’t met properly came and acted like the MOD. It took a second for the voice in the back of my head to kick me and remind me of interpersonal communication.

He’s good people. He’s in training for a boss position and I like him. I’ve never met an boss-in-training who I thought was good people. People, yes, but normally they’re just not great people. Oh, I’ve met plenty of bosses who are good people too, including my current one, it’s just I never meet good boss-in-trainings.

He was nice, he tried to help, he communicated, he introduced himself. There’s nothing threatening about him in the least.

Good.

Truth be told, it was his presence that calmed me around the co-worker being happy and the assistant asking (per her job) about the weekend. She says she has to talk to the boss about it, again that’s her job. I told her I wrote it all up and she seemed surprised.

Well, writer. Hypergraphic. Super upset. Also I have a bad memory. I cannot for the life of me remember anything beyond I don’t do my job and her invalidating all of my feelings by blaming me being tired.

Good thing I wrote it down.

At the end of the day, what was said doesn’t matter as much as the outcome. Of me bawling my eyes out and feeling like she was manipulating me into quitting and whatever she took from the conversation.

Which, I have to say, from my view is smug assuredness.

Oh well. There are other jobs. I’m told they’re a dime a dozen.

I can sleep in tomorrow, I’m so flipping excited. Nine more days. Just nine more days.

Week Three (Day Four)

Posted on by Aya DeAniege

Writing first: Suppose I should officially say this as well.

I am looking for a new set of characters within the Contracted world, or a similar sort of story set in another world. I had a flash of one, quite liked it. Then I lost it. Problem being, I can’t remember when, or much beyond his cold eyes. If it could come back to me (but not in school) that would be great.

The forerunner of an idea is barely more than a fragment. For starters, I need names for these countries I’d be dealing with. But Mr. Wrightworth’s country basically takes over old France (it’s mention in Izzy’s story, then again in Will’s that they won) except they aren’t going down quietly and no conquering country is free of sin.

So, upon catching a rebel, probably needing information, they tie her up with this general or something and he’s had a taste for the lifestyle but is also a douche. Thing is, I’m not feeling the ‘fall for the douche and stay’ plot. Maybe there should be a second guy in there.

Huh, maybe that’s why it feels incomplete. I’ll have to consider that.

Still no Crop work. Ugh. So… Saturday morning I’ll be pounding that out, along with Sunday. Putting in edits isn’t really work for me, especially since I can put on a show or movie in the background.

Other stuff:

Work with the co-worker today, well, not really with, around, near, kind of in passing. I’m currently trying to convince my stomach that I’m not dying and my brain that it’s not too bright in here, that everyone else isn’t louder than usual. I can hear them over my music and it’s at the highest volume I can manage without being in pain.

That volume always cuts them out, so I know it’s just because of a me issue, not a them issue.

I hurt and I’m tired. Work is doing a strip and wax, which is where we move all the things except, like, the aisles themselves, and then a crew comes in and strips the wax off the floor and puts down new wax.

Yesterday we had lots of… we didn’t prepare at all. But. I wasn’t the closing manager, I shut up and did it her way. It wasn’t painful until this morning. Oosh.

So, moving all the stuff, the closer walked up and pushed on one of the mobile things and commented on how it wouldn’t move. She’s a foot or more taller than I am and frankly, I think she has more muscle to her. I frowned, set my hands on the mobile and just leaned.

A body in motion will stay in motion. So the trouble is always getting them moving in the first place, but once they’re moving, they’re good. Well, we moved a third of the mobiles together and then I realized we had ten minutes before the end of shift and I didn’t want to stay later when I was already later than usual and hurting. Leg acting up last night, today my back would like me to know I suck.

But, already hurting and want to go home… I left them, walked to the other side and moved a third of the mobiles by myself while they moved the other third. I’m not super strong, I just know about leverage, motion, and that the mobiles have no option but to move. Once you tell them that, they tend to move.

Today we have to move a bunch of what are called bunkers. Sort of like plastic boxes a foot and a half by a foot by two and a half feet… full, mainly. The items vary in weight to feeling empty to… what was that the one year… sixty pounds? Then lift them onto a stack of somehow organized bunkers on another big thing and push the big thing into another area.

(To hear the next morning about how you didn’t do it properly no matter how you line them up)

Look, I get it, putting them back is an inconvenience.

So is moving them when they weigh half as much as you, when the capable bodies around you aren’t moving or helping because they’re ‘tired.’ It won’t wait until tomorrow, or until you’re rested unless you want to stay for another four hours. Just rip the bandaid off.

This all means I’m sore and tired today, but it’s not the exhaustion of last week, I’m not on the point of tears. I almost feel like I’m wrapped up in a blanket, like besides the anxiety, a calm has come over me.

In school, the ‘bad’ grades are coming in. They were 100s at the beginning, now they’ve dropped as low as 70. But this isn’t my total grade, this is individual grades on assignments and the 70 was because of the missed assignment. The others are between 83 and 95, which, as they’ve said a multitude of time, doesn’t matter to employers. I need to hit their passing percentage of 60. My concern is as we advance toward Christmas, life at work sucks.

Could we de-commercialize Christmas? That would make me so happy.

Ain’t no body need the items we sell at 10pm at night.

Or 11pm.

So, I desperately want 100s as buffers.

The schedule that loads with my days off appear on Sunday. Sweet babies. When the boss gets back, we need to have a sit down conversation.

About more than the co-worker.

I need a day off to myself at least every two weeks. That was what was promised to me at the beginning. I went into this still in my position because that was what was promised. If the promise can’t be met… well.

You’re going to see me cry a lot more.

No, I would have to step down or full on quit. School has to come before work. Anyone would pay me low wages to be walked over, to do the same work. It’s just other companies would be like, “yeah, Aya is in school, we can’t have her work outside her schedule.” or “Yeah, Aya asked for this day off, but what do I care? She’s not as capable as this person I have who’s worked for us for twelve years.”

I wouldn’t have as much to pay down debt, which is key to full on quitting and living off the writing. I’d also have to cut back on what I’m paying in board because I might not be making enough in a paycheck to pay the full board. It’s super irritating to me, but getting through school and into a type of office job would be better for stress, better for my bank account and, depending on the boss, maybe better for writing.

I’ve heard a lot of stories of office workers/desk workers (especially in the almost-secretary position I’m aiming for) to do their own thing between clients. I would love one of those jobs. Writing makes it look like I’m working on something super important too!

I also have to drive sales, obviously. And obviously I’m having a little trouble. I know there are readers out there for me. I know they exist, it’s just finding them. And not finding the people who wouldn’t like my books.

Or…

I could win the lottery. But I hear you have to actually buy a ticket to win?

Week Three (Day Three)

Posted on by Aya DeAniege

Writing first: I’m now considering/dabbling in smutty short stories or novellas from Coffee and Blood. I mean, come on. They’re vampires who sometimes have sex to pass the time.

It’s just that the sex doesn’t fit in with the actual stories they’re telling. Sex happens between stories, or after stories, or the tales of debauchery are kind of shared in an offhand manner, like they’re relating changing a tire or something.

Contract Taken received a five-star review on Goodreads and I’m so flipping happy. I’ve been seeing a lot of unhappy readers leaving ratings and reviews. Other authors say it’s because I put Contract Taken up for free so I’ve drawn a lot of people to me for the price, but those people don’t necessarily like my style. They just read everything that’s free and then leave bad ratings.

I mean, a rating is personal, so I get that. I just wish I could get more people who like the books to leave reviews.

On the plus side: you can tell I don’t pay for reviews. I don’t have five hundred five-star reviews all vaguely glowing about ‘this author’s book.’ Nope, you can tell they read the whole thing. Or didn’t, but come right out and say they didn’t finish.

Everything else:

2iratx.jpg

I actually think in memes when I get uncomfortable. They’re like little comics which can offset my mood and get me thinking about other things. Sometimes they make me giggle a little and completely remove the mood. So, I use them inside my head when and where possible.

I guess I like memes, is what I should say.

The above is in reference to my desire to call in sick to work. As soon as it popped into my head, I realized it probably was high anxiety riddling my system and my body protesting that enough is enough. I get it, I do.

Every little thing this morning started that pre-attack twitter in my chest. From refilling the cat’s water dish to random thoughts.

I did sleep last night, woke in the middle of tensing up, almost-charlie horse in my freaking leg again. Ugh.

Saw that work posted schedule for me and then looked up the full schedule. We’re not really supposed to do that, but there was a weird thing where I’m the closing manager but I’m not scheduled to close… and my hours were ever so slightly shorter than they usually are.

The person who did the schedule, once I looked at the expanded one, put an extra body with me every night. So, yeah, that’s fun.

I see the person who violated my Facebook privacy on Saturday. I have no intention of bringing it up, but I also know that I can’t talk about personal items with this person. She’s proven to be untrustworthy and it’d just be best if I left off and just focused on work with her.

I don’t work with the person who I had the blow up with, I do see the assistant manager. I don’t actually know where she stands on the person in question. However, that’s her doing her job. It’s no one’s business who she supports, but I do not need another strip taken off me.

I suspect that the extra body is either mandated by the boss (who kind of got involved at 3am in her timezone. I thought it was 9am because I reversed the change) because we all know I’m stressed out and tired and my feet are dragging. I’m like a regular manager.

If I could insert that drum and cymbal sound that goes at the end of a bad joke, I’d do so now.

But it’s true, I’ve been told so often in the past that I work faster than others, I make others feel bad, blah, blah, blah. And then when I hurt or I’m sick, or I’m just having a bad day, their response is:

“Now you know how other people feel.”

Yeah, it’s really shitty of your to bring up.

Instead, I normally inform the person once more that I’m hurt/sick/off and that I am not feeling well in any form of the word. That for me, this isn’t normal, this is very abnormal, this is very wrong.

And, uh, school…

I missed an assignment for keyboarding. It will barely lower my mark but I’m really broken up about it. That’s not like me. It’s really not like me. Especially since I do the assignment and I print it off before I leave the class for the day. How?

How do you mess up that system, brain?

How?

The only time I didn’t do it was this past Friday because we had timed typings and it ran late, so I don’t think I even finished the section until that afternoon. But, I printed it off on Monday and handed it in. I’d say I hope, but she’s already posted my mark for that area.

It was small, very, very, small, but I’m upset because let’s say that was an email I missed.

I’d be in super trouble. No, not really, it’s mainly just a sign of how stressed I’ve been, how out of it and overwhelmed. My brain is skipping about and not focusing on what I need it to focus on. So. I need to pay more attention, actually super figure this out.

Which is super annoying.

Yesterday, I started the reading for Interpersonal Communication. We’re reading a selected self-help book, which I loathe by the way. I hate self-help books. I don’t want some wank millionaire preaching to me about how he became a wank millionaire. Because that’s basically what they do: you’re doing this wrong and this wrong and this wrong.

Bitch, please, I knew that before. Stop telling me how to do it wrong, strip all that nonsense out and tell me how to do it right.

I’m reading How to Win Friends and Influence People. So far, it’s the training my company has given us. Good company, have a treat. But only a little one, because your head is bigger than your bank account already.

Except they don’t tell team members that’s what they’re doing. They’ve just been passing this stuff down.

“Use a person’s name. Introduce yourself.”

“WHY WOULD I DO THAT?”

“Because we said so.”

Ugh. Names are the sticky point for me at the moment. I respond to a lot of different names, including ones that don’t belong to me at all, aren’t even similar to my name. No one ever gets my name.

I once had a regular customer for six years and she called me Rachel every time she came in. I wore a name tag, I corrected her the first two years and then just gave up and started responding to Rachel.

I don’t use other peoples’ names because it sounds insincere and weird. How often do you hear your name in a conversation? Like, really? When the book was written, I can very well see it, but I feel like we’ve swapped over from using actual names to non-verbal communication surrounding the act. We don’t use someone’s name, we now turn to them, or hesitate and make eye contact.

But the book says to use names, so I’ll try to use names.

I will probably cry the first couple of times. Because that’s my reaction to everything for some silly reason. Overwhelmed? Cry. Upset? Cry. Angry? Cry. Happy? Cry.

Sad? Laugh.

Scared? Laugh.

Sympathetic concern? Laugh.

WTF?

Anyhow, started reading that, listening to music at the same time. Now I’m overwhelmed by sound. I need quiet, not even white noise, I just feel like I need to find a sound proofed room and stay there for an hour or so because sound is starting to frustrate me.

Heaven help the poor soul who chews loudly.

Oh, oh, there’s a term for that. I’m in sensory overload.

Yayyyyyy….

I say sarcastically.

This is the first time I’ve noticed entering sensory overload before I basically have an angry temper tantrum inside my head because someone is chewing too loudly or breathing in my direction but two tables away. I guess that’s a plus, but I don’t have the option of secluding myself somewhere and taking a breather.

I was a bit secluded last night, did some writing and watched a show. My unwind time, basically. Wrapped up in a blanket, cat on either side and just doing what I wanted quietly.

That didn’t help.

I feel like I’m constantly blanking. If it weren’t for that internal personal aide, I’d be so pooched. Even with accounting, they wanted us to write up an income statement. My response?

“A what?”

“An… income statement.”

“What goes on that?”

“What goes on a P+L report?”

“I don’t know! How would I know?”

To which I basically facepalm because I do know. Let me tell you, if that voice was an actual person, they’d lose their patience with me a lot.

Whoa. There’s something called Sensory Processing Disorder? And it sounds like it might be linked to OCD (which hypergraphia is also linked to).

Oh, boy, I just went looking for ways to calm down the sensory overload so I don’t end up in a pouting meltdown, because for some reason it’s one of those things I don’t cry over. Nope, kind of pout like a child. I don’t like that reaction either.

Sullen silence, I think my father used to call it. Because, you know, not allowed to throw an actual tantrum.

Anyhow, school is about to start and I need to focus on not throwing up on the person who sits beside me, who is super quiet all the time.

 

Week Three (Day Two

Posted on by Aya DeAniege

Writing First:

… just drew a total blank.

Uh, right, I finished reading Contract Claimed last night. When I started reading it, I thought it was complete. That is not the case. As I hit that area, I had this flash of a promise I had made to Mr. Wrightworth to go back and expand. The book was originally written for NaNoWriMo 2018, it was the start of my 12-in-12 challenge. Halfway through, I realized my issue, but also that if I didn’t get something down, I’d lose the thread.

So, I’ve got a nice flow and then all of a sudden something like two books got mushed into the later half of Contract Claimed. The plan is now to fix that.

Nate’s story will be the second trilogy out of Contracted, still slated for editing next June or so. Then, once it’s scheduled for editing, I will do additions and the like for Will’s story. I’ll revisit Contract Gifted at some point and expand on that as I had originally planned. Once all that is written and done, Mr. Wrightworth might consider a one-off to wrap up the series (or at least those characters) where his name is finally revealed on the last page of the book.

Because I’m evil, or he is, your choice.

My beta is about a hundred pages into Harvest  and asked if there’s actual sex in the books at all.

Uh oh. We realized I added it during the edits. But, admittedly, Coffee and Blood tends to have less sex than most of my other books.

Possibly because I’m on a bit of a theme, after her comment, a sadist from the old Devil faction appeared and offered to seduce half the Eastern shore of the North American continent.

I should be putting edits into Crop, but my mental health is in the way again. This isn’t even a part I could hire out for. I need to take each edit out of context, judge it, perform the edit, do a check, then decide if the new way even looks good.

Then do a scanned spot check of the surrounding area to see if anything else jumps out at me.

Other stuff:

I spent the trip to school fantasizing about going onto stress leave from work. It’s my understanding doing so qualifies me for Unemployment Insurance. Or maybe it’s employment. I don’t recall, because I’ve never used it before.

What I’ve heard is that if I go on stress leave, tell them I chose to go back to school because I knew work was stressing me out, they might even help pay for the schooling. There’s a special name for it, but they basically help you get the training you need to get a job and get off of their services.

Except, for that to work, I would need to explain to them the situation with my co-worker. She’s the reason I chose to go back to school. She’s also the reason I applied for my manager position, because I had to get as far away from her as possible, even though I knew I would be going back to school.

There’s a, uh, a worksafe program, that might actually be their name. When you report that kind of thing, they do a full on investigation. The company can be fined, the boss could get in trouble.

It’s not her fault. She’s been trying to correct the behaviour. And I don’t really want the company to be fined. Their handbook covers the topic quite well. It could mean termination for the one involved.

I’m not the type to derive any sort of joy from that. I want this person to change and to stop hurting people. If that all happened? She would be bitter and angry and nothing good would come of it.

I’d much rather the ability to go on stress leave and for her to put her nose into the air like she does and say, “I knew it. She was never cut out to be a manager.”

Nine and a half years experience managing for this company in like six different positions.

It’s those little details that really explain my reaction. I don’t just have so much experience with this company. I have moved between different stores and learned different management styles. Different customer bases. Different ways to approach things. I learned that my way does not necessarily always work. I’ve learned the company’s way… typically works.

I’d just like them to stop cutting hours and to add more back in.

It’s… I’m tired of fighting her.

I had trouble talking myself into bed last night. Anxiety hit me like crazy hard and I don’t understand why. I don’t work with her today. I don’t even work. I don’t see her until Thursday and even that is in passing, is my understanding.

This morning, despite dragging my protesting self to bed at nine, I’m more tired than I was last night. I hurt more, probably because I woke tense. I keep giving myself these weird charlie horses in my sleep because I’m so tense during sleep.

My stomach is still on lock down. I never want to eat, having difficulty downing my coffee or talking myself into water. I’ve got this feeling a physical beating is coming and I just want to get it over with already.

Which, admittedly, is probably why I’m a little more focused on Mr. Wrightworth than I should be.

I don’t know. Maybe I should take the time to write that Master-child scene between Kaz and Balor that started playing through my head. It’s only about a chapter long though, so what do I… How do I handle it when it’s done?

Can’t just slap that into the box set, when it comes out, people would expect an extra bit to be Ashley and Kaz.

Admittedly, I could write that as well, but Kaz is super gentle and sweet with Ashley. He’s always had a soft spot for women. Always nicer with them than the men.

So, let’s say I wrote the Kaz and Balor chapter(s) for the sake of my sanity. Then what?

Then what… start an erotica anthology and just talk about these stories I’m writing but never publishing? I think Amazon allows 10k + words. I think. But would that dilute the world? Would those who like the vampires feel like I was pushing the issue, even though Kaz has had Balor tied to that bed on and off for a year?

I don’t know what to do.

Week Three (Day One)

Posted on by Aya DeAniege

A couple of posts have been made private. They involved a co-worker I am having trouble with. Made private because someone showed her how to find my personal facebook and then showed her locked information which only stated I had cried, and apparently when my experience is dismissed and I’m talked over, I cry.

From how she spoke, I felt she believed I had threatened her, like I had come right out and made a physical threat in that one little post. I’m confident and comfortable sharing that post with everyone, but it was under a friends only lock.

The one who showed her my personal information has been removed, but I had to privatize the posts for fear of what she might read between lines that aren’t even there.

As many of you read, there was nothing threatening in the posts. There was nothing threatening because I only threaten people sarcastically and I need to know they know I’m joking before I do so.

I suppose that’s not quite true. I have threatened to hit a man three times my size if he didn’t leave right away. I also threatened to have someone arrested if they laid hands on me again.

And then did so.

The issue, of course, blew up in my face like it always does. Coming from a specific background, I have certain reactions that happen but I’ve worked very hard on them. I no longer black out during ‘discussions,’ but when I realize they aren’t listening, when they are only interested in beating me down, I start crying.

I can’t win and I want to rage or scream or swear, but instead I cry.

Mental health isn’t just one day strapping on your big-girl panties and being better. I try to show that with my characters, so yeah, I suppose I draw on real life because some moments of struggle the characters have are things I’ve had to work through. To me, it makes them more real. I hope readers feel the same way.

The result of yesterday?

I cried like I haven’t cried since I found an ex laying in his own blood, since he screamed at me everything was my fault and then stormed out of our apartment, still bleeding everywhere. I haven’t cried like that since I was on my hands and knees, cleaning up his blood, trying to figure out where I could go, how I could escape.

Oh yeah, there’s a bit of a fucked up past up in here.

I get asked a lot, “why would you put your characters through that?”

“Through what?”

“That, it’s godawful.”

“That’s a Tuesday. Just… give me the book back.”

“Why?”

“That’s not even the problem or the climax or the bad guy, just… just give it back. You’ll have nightmares.”

I’m not saying my life has been godawful, but it’s been… colourful. Character building. In the words of a good friend of mine: Enough has happened that I have fodder for a  million books.

So, when I get like that, I bawl my eyes out. My heart galloped in my chest, it’s rhythm completely out of place. I almost thought I was having a heart attack of some sort.

I’ve made changes to my life to protect myself and help myself that I have been practically normal for a few years. So normal that I forgot there’s a level of crying where your diaphragm starts trying to jump into your throat. That your stomach can heave, and you make that godawful wailing sound even when you’re trying to calm yourself down and your mind is calm but your body is just like, “FUCK IT EVERYTHING NEEDS TO END.”

Not like, end as in dead, just end as if the day. Straight to bed is what needs to happen.

I cried on and off for about four hours. In front of customers, because I’d be helping them and it’d just start again.

The why now seems distant. The why doesn’t matter as much. My reaction bothers me. I want to be able to put my foot down and say, “No. It’s not because I’m tired or stretched thin. It’s because I take issue with your actions.”

After that day, I still went bowling. Now I ache, in a good way. Every time I stand up, I think of Mr. Wrightworth. I started reading Contract Claimed yesterday morning. About halfway through.

I really wish this was longer. If not a trilogy, a duo. Almost inhaled a mouthful of coffee over the brunch scene.

I almost missed an assignment due date because I was so stressed out. Yes, I’m using that word even though the assignment is for Interpersonal Communication and we just learned the word is used too much.

I also clued out on a freaking Computer Test.

Go me.

I know what they are, I just sometimes lapse on their actual names and uses.

 

Week Two (Day Four)

Posted on by Aya DeAniege

I feel weirdly alert today. The little voice in my head suggested it’s because my valerian might not be valerian. Did an internet search, it’s not possible to remove the smell of Valerian entirely. So I opened a capsule… know what didn’t happen?

I was not mauled by cats.

Uh, so, I’m going to pick up some of the stuff I know is valerian and put it on my shelf, but I might not be taking it on my long days. Little worried that could be part of what’s causing the joint pain.

Need to pick up new shoes (again) but hopefully this time they have my shoes in black, like they have every other time I’ve gone in to buy shoes. Ah, well.

This is something like day twenty for me, of thirty-seven or so. I’m halfway through, so I’ve got that going for me, right?

Stomach is upset, nose can’t decide what it’s doing but I’m hanging onto that until I get full on sick. I’d rather be fending off a cold than full on cold. Joints hurt more today than yesterday besides my shoulder.

Last night I got out of the shower, looked down and said, “why do my feet bones hurt? What the fuck is wrong with my body?”

It wasn’t the ache of foot ache or bad shoes. Yeah, intimately familiar with that kind of pain. Unfortunately, it was an echoed ache from my hands, but in my feet. I knew, logically, that feet are basically malformed hands, but it didn’t quite dawn on me that the same joints that exist in my hands are in my feet until last night.

Yay… I say sarcastically.

Next week work is doing a strip-and-wax of the floors and guess who has to move all the stuff for it to happen? Me.

Yay… I say bitterly.

I was given one extra body to accomplish this task… which takes five people two full hours to do and cannot be done while the store is open. I don’t think my joints will magically be better, considering the fact that I am on my feet, moving and using my hands constantly between now and then.

My boss said she had given me someone else and you know, she could have not. I’m almost certain that was sarcasm, not a ‘threat’ in any manner as she and I have both been expected to do the same task with fewer bodies before. Having the body doesn’t change the fact that I have nothing extra to give and that kind of work needs a lot of extra and energy, pep and cheerleading because everyone is tired very quickly and they all think the company should just curl up under a rock and die already. It’s a lot to expect of people you’re paying minimum wage to.

Oh. Then there’s the week after. Yeah…

The next Wednesday, I do my driving test.

Yay… I say sarcastically/anxiously.

Oh, and the head honcho of the country for our company is visiting. At first, I shrugged and said whatever, I dun care. He won’t be there when…

Oh, wait. Fuck.

He’s visiting us last in the day and expects to arrive about the time I walk in with my grumpy, stupid face. After my driving test, which I’m trying to put into a frame of mind like I already have my license so I don’t stress as much, but can you imagine that meeting if I don’t get it?

Me. Thirty-three days in, just failed my driving test, have a bunch of homework to do because mid-terms are about to start, and he’s visiting, oh but I also hurt still from the strip-and-wax because that takes about a week for me to recover and it’ll have happened just shy of a week before?

Dear lord…

But, as I said. I’m more than halfway through my thirty-seven day straight. So, I’ve got that going for me.

Right?

Week Two (Day Three)

Posted on by Aya DeAniege

Oh, no.

I feel that manic thrum through my bones, like the clickety clack of keys is my very heartbeat.

Hypergraphia wouldn’t be a disorder if it didn’t interfere with your quality of life or hinder you in some way, I suppose.

I don’t have the time or energy for this nonsense. I noticed the change during keyboarding, which frankly I love. Sure, it tends to hurt my hands a bit to learn the new method, but she allows us to use headphones and to try to cut out the clacking and the anxiety it causes me, I play music in the background. I get to be in my separate little world for a little while. It’s almost like a break for me, so I hope she never asks about the music because I feel like I desperately need it and I know it’s only for one semester.

Anyhow… My wordcount changed from 40/wpm to 62wpm and The Last Prophet started cycling at the back of my mind, it’s on the backburner for additions and slight changes to things, but this was the sort of skittering I recognized as soon as my fingers started flying over the keyboards.

Dear Lord, I’m screwed.

There are a couple of options, of course. The first is to devote the time between school and work to writing. That could be cathartic but if one person at work comments on my speed, I’m liable to snarl at them and then say or do something else that is very nasty.

If interrupted during one of my episodes, I either grunt because I didn’t actually notice, or I start snarling because someone is trying to take my bone from me.

Because there’s a mania to it, my energy level feels like it’s gone up. But it’s also connected to my attention. Guess what I can’t pay attention to? Anything else.

And yet at the same time, it won’t leave me alone. I can’t just ignore the words that are trying to get out. That’s not how this works.

But, as I said. If hypergrapia didn’t interfere with your life or make things more difficult for you, they wouldn’t call it a disorder. It’d be a blessing or just another skill. Like being good at math or something.

I don’t have the time for this, but I am trying to redirect that manic energy into school and just staying on my feet. I almost feel alert for the first time in a week or so, which is both insane and beautiful at the same time.

Week Two (Day Two)

Posted on by Aya DeAniege

It took until I reached school for me to recognize that weird heaviness all over. My joints are aching, on top of more pain, and I’m already sick. Yesterday my nose started running after lunch so I could very well be sick and tired, and in more pain now.

I should have suspected when I had an internal argument with myself this morning over shoes and my backpack. I wore the backpack as I put on my shoes, normally I take the backpack off and kneel to put on my shoes, you know, like a normal person. The idea of kneeling made me whiny and the idea of taking off the backpack only to put it back on again made me call the inner voice who argued with me a very nasty name.

Normal people don’t have full on conversations with themselves, I realize, but I do. Especially when stressed or annoyed. Heck, the voice even helps me remember things, it’s like my personal Siri or Cortana.

Anyhow, I’m supposed to be imputing edits for Crop this morning but I think I need to do some self-care to get through this day. Then, when I get home, I need to medicate with a couple different things and go to bed early, hoping I’ll sleep the night through. At this point, it’s the only help I’ll have.

In a month, though, another option becomes legal. I wouldn’t have to take ibuprofen for the swelling, Valerian to keep me in a deep sleep, and St. John’s Wort to take away the brittle edge that pain puts me in. I can stop at a dispensary, buy a little something, have a puff (quite literally one puff) and then sleep the whole night away.

It’d even have the added benefit of replacing anything I take for anxiety or insomnia for about three days. Replacing such side effects as agitation (how exactly does an anti-anxiety helper cause agitation?), insomnia, and all sorts of medication conflicts with dry mouth, the munchies, and sleepiness.

All without breaking my brain, writing, or mood, so I’m super excited about that.

So, obviously, not working on Crop today. Instead, I ended up reading The Last Prophet on the trip to school. I think I want to expand on this a bit. I think the wrap up doesn’t have to end like a movie does, I think we can do wrap up in the book and not write a separate novella about Sweetheart. Well, not about her outcome. I think I need to add more about P.P. Marky.

A prophet who became a rapper and exists in the modern day, obviously conflicting with the title of the book. I kind of want to hug Marky, as his songs make it onto the radio and later on Abby recalls one and uses his prophecy to save them. Prophets aren’t supposed to be able to cross the thresholds of other prophets, so that could maybe be where her title comes in? I dunno.

I’m looking forward to expanding on this.

The cover artist contacted me a few days ago and I responded. She had been on vacation and then sick. Woops. I checked for a blog or news page, I must have missed it. Completely my fault that I didn’t give it another week, but it’s ingrained in me to follow up. A cover will eventually be in the works, when she is recovered and goes through her messages and puts me on the schedule.

The Last Prophet has distracted me from my pain today, and my frustration and emotions over the past couple of days. I’ve found myself opening the file between classes to read more. This is a good thing, especially for me.

The only trouble being, I requested a wrap with the cover artist. The e-book cover is free, I would pay for the wrap. But the poor woman needs to know about how many pages the book would be, and I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it and I might be able to add another 80k words to The Last Prophet. It’s going to be a beastie, but there are other things I want to add and explore and delve into. Everything is just a flash, and partway through I asked myself: why? Why is it a flash? Why can’t there be a couple of chapters extra? Why can’t David take lunch with Sweetheart so we learn about her, but also to show their relationship instead of having him just tell Richard? Why don’t we learn about Abby and her parents? Why does she just casually mention her father is dead, when there’s a magical force behind that?

Why doesn’t she call her mother when she awakens?

There are so many other things that need to go into this. And you know what? If it winds up being so freaking long, I can always break it into books like I do all the others. Let’s face it, if I took my trilogies, I could probably work them into one book quite cleanly, besides maybe Contracted because of the time jumps and changes between books.

I feel like I have the bones of The Last Prophet, basically. They’re good bones, they’ll work very well, but they don’t have as much flesh on them as I’d like. So, I’m going to take my time and do what I will with the book. I’m going to turn it into my vision instead of pushing the first copy out in the world.

I seem to be moving away from erotica and romance more, but my bio does say “whatever takes her fancy” and “when she finds a world she loves, she dabbles endlessly.”

Sure, The Last Prophet could go under its own pen name for high fantasy or something, but … no. This is me, this is how I write. I know there are people who insist an author must write only one genre, but that’s just not how I can work. It’s not how most of us work, and few seem to realize that. They hear about Stephen King switching from horror to the dark fantasy genre and they were scandalized and thought he was an exception to the rule.

I like to think of it as authors switch genres as much as readers do. Just because I love Robin Hobb, doesn’t mean I read her exclusively. Nor do I stick to her genre for reading. I also love Anne Bishop, Anne McCaffery, Anne Rice, and Stephen King when I’m in the mood. I’ve picked up single books from some weird scifi/fantasy hard boiled detective something before. I enjoyed it and put it down and never picked up another.

My writing is the same way. So, despite a four day debate about switching The Last Prophet to another pen name, I’ve decided to keep it under Aya DeAniege. And, yeah, it’s the same pen name that published erotica and plans to again. The same pen name that dabbles in vampires, witches, werewolves, and angels. Both in sexual and non-sexual context.

I suppose, with my love of the book, I should save up royalties and pay for an actual editor for this one. But at the length I’m looking at it would be $3-5000 to edit it.

If my writing paid that kind of money, I wouldn’t need a student loan, heck, I wouldn’t need a job. When I felt like this, I could take a long, hot bath with a glass of wine and a good book, then sleep the day away.

I have a vision for The Last Prophet, and it’s keeping me sane and just a little stable.

Now it’s just a matter of how to get what I want.

Week Two

Posted on by Aya DeAniege

Writing update first: the read edit of Crop is done, there’s just imputing (Really? imput-ing only has one t?)

Annnd I somehow just took a screenshot of my computer when I tried to hit the bracket. This is my brain now.

Putting edits into Crop are starting today or tomorrow. My beta has Harvest so once the edits for Crop are put in, I will be starting the read edit of that. I also need a day with a clear head to look at the cover of Harvest so I can figure out what’s going on there.

Waiting on a cover for Awakened which is actually being called The Last Prophet.

If I could stop hitting shift+I when I’m trying to italic, that’d be great.

I know where the keys are. Even drunk and sick, I can find the keys.

But last week when I said I’ve worked months in a row, I forgot to take into account that both school and work are basically customer service and dealing with people constantly. I could write, edit, market, and graphic design for months on end, working long hours the entire time, but that’s not so much dealing with people.

Working until October 7th might actually kill my brain.

Example: yesterday I took a pen and tried to put it in a breast pocket. Neither did I have a breast pocket, but I’ve never used one before.

Classes are about the same. I need to start my book project for Interpersonal Communication. Get it done as soon as possible.

Driving lessons are almost done. I find out today when my test is. One slight issue: it might happen during a Math test. Cue me swearing.

This week, I was definitely dead on my feet by Saturday. I just had nothing left to give, to the point that when my boss said, “I’m so tired, thank goodness I have tomorrow off,” it caused me to start crying uncontrollable two minutes later when I went on break. I’m that kind of tired.

I don’t think I could do this if I was living alone.

My aunt has a dishwasher (and I live with them) so I wound up asking if I could use it going forward.

With work Saturday morning and then a driving lesson that night, my plan had been to go home, have dinner, shower, do dishes, and have just enough time to make it to the lesson. Dishes don’t get done when I school and work, there’s no time in my day.

Well, when I was picked up Saturday, my aunt said, “by the way… I did your dishes.”

Sweet, baby Jesus.

I had enough time to take a little nap before the lesson. Sunday morning, I felt a bit more like myself. By the time I arrived at work, I was exhausted again. It drains me to know it’s just always there now. Forever and ever and ever…

If someone could gift me winning lottery numbers that would be great. I don’t want the grand prize. One of the lesser, but not piddly prizes would work too. Something four times my old salary would be perfect.

On Sunday. feeling a little more like myself, I looked over my options and started figuring out what I need to do to keep me sane for the next twenty or so days.

My current binge show can go on my tv instead of the computer. The couch is more comfortable, especially if I fall asleep. The cats like it too. They can all get up with me. And my laptop can play my game better than my desktop, so it’s an escape for me. I can also play upstairs on Mondays and Tuesdays so I can socialize a little and feel like I’m not just in the basement.

Then there’s the food. I put pork chops and sweet potatoes in the slow cooked with chicken broth and it smelled divine. Until I dished it out, then it smelled a bit like vomit. I think it’s the pork. It’s not bad or anything, I just always have this weird reaction to smelling pork.

So, don’t do that again.

I might buy a tough beef roast next and do that in the slow cooker then add beans and some other veggies right at the end. That should taste good.

I keep having to remind myself, there is more food. I’m not as broke as before. Especially since my food budget is still kind of the same but I don’t eat alone as much. So, if pork and sweet potato make me regret putting them in my mouth, I can freeze it all and pull one out once a week.

I did wind up opening a bottle of wine. A glass of wine and an hour of my game Saturday night very likely helped me rebalance for Sunday, but I actually opened the wine when I discovered I wouldn’t have Sunday off like I was supposed to.

Did you know wine can go bad if not drunk in a certain time? Yeah, Google says it’s not just a myth created by functioning alcoholics. So, I’ve got about half a bottle of wine that I’m not sure I would, or could, use in cooking.

During typing today, I forgot where the ‘C’ key was. Then my mind suggested the helpful: there is no ‘C’ key. I’d venture the need for more coffee, but I’m still in the middle of one.