Psychological Warfare, Corporate-style

Just a tidbit for anyone considering running from their bills: You never know when your dirty laundry will end up in someone else’s house.

6 p.m. yesterday - phone rings…

“Hello?”

“Hello. Is this Ms. Dyskinesia?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Ms. D, this is Horrified-sounding-I’ve-only-been-at-this-job-for-a-week Smith with Ford Motor Credit. I was wondering if it would be possible for you to get a message to your neighbors, Dick & Jane Johnson?”

“Ummm, except that I don’t have any idea who they are….”

“Oh. I’m sorry. It says here that they live at AddressNumberAcrossTheStreet?”

“Oh, so that’s their names, huh? They’re fairly new to the neighborhood. I’m a total hermit, but sure, I have seen their physical forms more than once so I do know they exist. So, what can I do ya for?”

“Well, I need to get a message to them to call me at this number. Would you be willing to deliver that message? I mean, I understand if you wouldn’t be comfortable doing that if you don’t know them.”

“Oh, no problem. I live for nothing more than delivering bad news to total strangers that I’ve seen arguing on their lawn like a couple of psychos. Gimme the number, and I’ll get it right to them!”

She did.

I didn’t.

And you know why I didn’t? Because if I have to hear you screaming obscenities at each other as you load the car for your vacation (while your 12-year-old daughter is SITTING ON THE STEPS listening to your idiot selves), I’m not doing you any damn favors anytime soon.

Besides, what’s more fun that watching the repo guy come steal your neighbors’ truck in the middle of the night?

Just how MUCH do you mean that?

My husband and I were discussing a dilemma of mine this evening, something that involves some serious expectations that someone else is thrusting upon me, and those expectations include the word, “guaranteed,” as in I need to be the one guaranteeing that I will do something in particular.

And just how well do we imagine that’s going over with me?  Yeah, about like that.

Finally, on my last utterance of “guarantee,” my husband started laughing at the face I was making because he could see my head nearing the point where it spontaneous combusts, at the mere thought of the word.

 ”Well, damn it, I can’t help it.  I just don’t even want to SAY the damn word —  I’d rather lick haggis.”

That, my friends, is strength of conviction!

The Definition of Insanity

You’re saying it to yourself already aren’t you?

…doing something again and again, expecting a different result.

Yep, that’s the one.

You’d think I’d learn.  After all, as I always say, “Hell, you can teach a monkey to…”  Hmm, of course, now that I think about it, I wonder if you can teach a monkey to STOP doing something.  I’m sure that you could do it with physically painful stimuli but what about emotionally painful?

You see, I have done the same thing over and over and over and over — regrettably, even after I knew that I was doing it and what it has wrought me in my lifetime.  I’m sure that we all do it; I’m certainly not special in this aspect of my tortured psyche by any means.  But, ya know, it’s my blog, so I get to bitch about my stuff.  If you’d like me to bitch about yours, I’d be happy to do that, and for your convenience, I accept PayPal.

I’m an only child.  I have a tendency to, how to put this nicely, “attempt to overachieve,” with some obvious, pathetic need to get something rewarding back out of it from someone else.  It’s a pervasive theme:  work, love, friendships - you name it.  What am I searching for?  Was I not held enough as a kid?  Is there a tiny spot in my brain that just functions as a damn black hole for emotional reassurance?  Do I really need someone else to tell me I’m good enough?  Honestly, for that last one, I don’t think that’s true anymore.  BUT, there’s something still happening there, and boy is it just pissing me right the hell off.  (Btw, dear, that was the abbreviation I couldn’t remember and just down did:  FRTHO.)

I think, on some level at least, part of what it boils down to is that I want to be appreciated.  Therefore, I put myself out there in ways that I’m not even asked to, repeatedly.  After a while, appreciation ends up turning into expectation on the part of the recipient, which I have to admit only seems a natural, albeit still faulty, course of events, and then suddenly, I’ve spent all morning working on something very special for someone I really care about, who is supposed to REALLY care about me, and while I was asked for help, I’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty, giving up my work time to complete it to the point of “just right.”  And do I get so much as a damn thank you out of it?  No.  In point of fact, by the end of the conversation, the person was so irritated about something having nothing to do with me that a real “Goodbye” wasn’t even muttered before the click.

In short?  I am a moron.

I know that I should be thinking differently about this.  I know that I should be saying to myself that the person in question is truly the one with the issue; I mean, how inconsiderate can you get, right?  But, no, while I know all of that, it only serves to make me feel the bigger fool - because I know better.

Fool me once, shame on you.  Fool me twice, shame on me.

Fool me for my whole damn life without me managing to stand up and do anything about it?  I’m an idiot.

…and I once wondered why I might have issues with trust.

Damn it.