Your music teacher sounds like a person of impeccable sensibility.
The thing they don’t tell you about being a serious writer is that basically every step of the way you will be dogged by crippling insecurity. And I used to think it was a weird idiosyncrasy of artists, until I attended the Chicago Writer’s Conference, which I can best describe as ‘‘speed dating with agents,’’ and it became clear that we are all 100% justified in our insecurity because publication is a brutal, cutthroat fucking business.
We must love this, because it’s objectively horrible.
Hope you hit another one of those high points soon.
Sorry Ninjachick, that is a lot of sucky things to come your way in less than a month. sends virtual chocolate
My minirant is that I have been trying to order something on target.com. First when I tried to log in it told me that my password is incorrect. Actually it’s not, but whatever. I requested the email and reset my password.
Then I tried to pay with my Target card that saves me 5%. It told me that the transaction was denied but didn’t say why. I managed to figure out that when Target sent me my new chip card they changed the number and my target.com account had the old number. Fine, update it for my current card.
The transaction was again denied. I am out of ideas why. Oh well, I guess target.com no longer wants my money.
A friend that I played guitar with would practice Fading Out by strumming at the same rate but with less and less pressure on the strings, and singing more and more quietly until he was just mouthing the words.
Caught a live show of his current band and sure enough, they faded out at the end of their first song! Obviously, he’d taught the whole band, even the drummer, to do it.
I’m really sick of doctors’ offices. My sister got diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos (Hypermobile type) earlier this year. I got diagnosed last month. Since then, everything’s been tests. Taking my blood pressure multiple times a day. Getting an echocardiogram. Getting an MRI. Wondering if I’m psyching myself into things, even though the doctor used my skin as an example of hypermobile-type skin.
I get head rushes multiple times a day, when I tilt my head in certain directions, so the doctor thinks I might have Chiari malformation. My hands hurt all the time. Same with my elbows and shoulders and wrists and ankles. I feel like I’m falling apart.
And PT! So much PT. And they just keep adding shit. “Here are some ankle exercises. Here are some leg exercises. Here are some back exercises. Do all of them every day, multiple times.” Right. Because it’s not like I’m working on my PhD or anything. Oh, wait.
I mean, Christ, I scheduled two days a week to work, and both of them have been filled with doctor-related bullshit for over a month. I’m so sick of it. I miss my friends.
Why don’t you just contact them. On that page, just select ‘Target.com Order Experience’ from the drop down list and it gives the option to chat or call.
Well, we have cable today, after 4 1/2 days. They actually ran a line across the street and taped it down with duct table. They claim that tomorrow, after getting a utility approval, they will bore a hole under the street to run a permanent line.
Stupid Target. Stupid Red Card. Had a return without receipt yesterday (yeah, I know, save your receipts…). Took two different red cards with me, both the new one and the one I used until last month. Also had my debit card for the same bank account the Target card is linked to. The only card I didn’t have was the one with the Hubby’s name on it that’s from the same account. Guess which one we paid with. I offered to read them his card number but they said I needed the physical card.
Hey Target? They’re the same account. Figure out a way to link them so people can get some service please!
20 minutes each way in the car, no lunch, no refund, and had to go back to the store later. Still don’t know where that receipt went
To my life in general: yes, I am aware that there are no MAJOR crises underway at this time.
Still, I do not have enough middle fingers to adequately convey my opinion of you. Being sick of my job wasn’t enough? Poor quality sleep being a constant wasn’t enough? You HAD to throw a car breakdown at me?
To accurately express my mood right now requires more expletives than I think the English language offers.
That little shit adds up fast. And nothing makes it worse than thinking (or having someone tell you) ‘‘it could be worse.’’
No shit? It could always be worse. That’s the amazing horrible thing about life.
Grrr, I hope your punishment is that have that Brass Railing you stole shoved up your ass
For those not wanting to click blindly. Some shitheel decide to get some meth money by ripping the brass railing off some prominent steps at the Union League. A whole lot of damage was done as a result.
Okay, but why are you blaming Grrr!?
Huh. In my case it’s helpful. I would never tell it to another person unless I know they’re like me in that regard (one of my brothers is, the other isn’t), but when ten days ago a guy who hadn’t seen me tried to exit a roundabout through my car and once my brain came back from blank, one of my first thoughts was that childhood admonition of “is anybody bleeding? No? OK, then it’s not serious”.
An advantage of having been in situations where screwing up could mean things like a couple hundred people losing their jobs is that it puts having your car try to imitate a concertina in perspective. Is anybody bleeding? No? OK, then it’s not serious. Let’s get both cars out of the way and do the paperwork (if you use the “voluntary insurance report form” you don’t need to wait for the cops or anything). If there had been someone bleeding then yes, it would have been serious, at least according to my grandma.
Sometimes it helps me to tell it to myself, but not when I’m in the middle of being stressed out. Especially not when I’m depressed. I can’t change being depressed so telling me it could be worse doesn’t really help anything other than make me feel even guiltier than I already was for being depressed.
‘‘It could be worse’’ helps me put my financial situation into perspective. I stress about our budget a lot, but even living well below our means we can afford things that many people can’t. I remember actually being poor which puts it a lot more into perspective.
It helps sometimes to put my childhood into perspective. I took a class on child welfare policy in graduate school which made it crystal clear how lucky I was in that regard. But it certainly doesn’t help when I’m in the middle of a flashback, and if anyone tells me ‘‘it could be worse’’ with regard to my childhood when I am in the middle of expressing how painful it was, they can FOAD.
‘‘It could be worse’’ also helps me when I’m comparing past versions of me or experiences. For example, I was pretty fucked up yesterday due to PTSD, it’s that time of year again. I called off work, ordered pizza and lounged around with my cats. I felt sorry for myself. Then I remembered the year I actually was hospitalized due to all this shit, and I realized not only could it be worse, it had been. If the worst that comes out of an emotional breakdown is I ate a pizza, well, I’m doing pretty well. And actually I do feel a bit better today.
Er, the upshot of all that rambling, I think, is it depends. But most people who tell me ‘‘it could be worse’’ about anything inspire violent thoughts.
Those, I’ll hold them down for you and I know how to dispose of the body. Never piss off a chemist 
Just buried my parakeet. She was a little bitch, used to bite the male in the cage (until he literally flew the coop due to an errantly opened door). Wouldn’t sit with you, wouldn’t show affection, WOULD speak up loudly when I was on the phone.
I got back from a trip and she flew into the kitchen (normally she would never leave my office). Landed on the counter, hopped over and say on my finger. Find out she had turned a new leaf.
This morning? She was fine at dawn, and then dead under my office couch by 9:00.
Harumph.
Hey you, yeah you, the rule is you don’t pull into an intersection if you can’t clear it because of a line of cars stopped for a construction flagger. I don’t care if ‘you don’t want to miss it’ because you’re ‘on your fucking lunch break,’ wanting you to leave 5’ of space so people in the left hand turn lane can, you know, make a left hand turn does not make me an ‘asshole.’ Jackass.
I’m… sorry?
You kid, but that is how I read it until your post. Thanks for clarifying.
Thanks. I liked her cranky attitude, but was really excited last night when she was suddenly being all nice and as cuddly as a parakeet could be. Then she dies.
Grumble. Not gonna get upset over a bird I adopted when a friend was moving. Nope. Not upset in the slightest.