north-carolina-tarheels

After today’s disaster at work, I got another job at Assurant working on billing/sales with Mike McKeithan (whose a North Carolina native Tarheel fan!). The only issue is training doesn’t start until June 19th and I won’t get my first paycheck until July 14th… Which means a month and a half with no paycheck… Which is gonna be doozy and I’m not confident I can make that work given that I currently only have $1,100 in the bank and my rent is about to be due. Blegh. It’s like one thing after another. What sucks is I love my current job (or current until today) - but I’m not able to do it the way that it needs to be done because I’m not being trained the way that I need to be trained. I mean, I brought it up to my boss today because I knew it needed to be addressed, and we decided mutually that it isn’t going to work… But I’m not happy about it, ya know? I’m doing my job the best way I can with what I’ve been given… The problem is it’s not enough. What I’ve been given is not enough for me to do what I need to do, and he apparently needs someone who can do more with less. It’s frustrating to know you love where you work, the people you work with, and the environment - but not be able to stay because of situational inadequacies. I’m glad that I’m leaving amicably on good terms, but I declined a $15 an hour job with benefits in order to take this position that now I have to leave because of bad timing. And that puts me in a real fucked-up Financial spot that I’m really fucking bitter about.

Then on top of all of that, I’m dealing with the stress of the pre cancer diagnosis. And the doctors are basically telling me that I will inevitably get cervical cancer, it’s just about when. And it hasn’t really sunk in yet that I may not be able to have another kid if I don’t do it now. I want to have a baby. I want one more. And they think I could end up with cancer within the next few years and I don’t know if I want to risk not being able to have another baby. And it’s really upsetting. I mean on one hand it is good news but it’s just free cancer now because that means they can keep an eye on it so it doesn’t become fatal, but it’s still couldn’t pair my chances to have another kid.

*sigh* i need a break. Physically, mentally, emotionally…. And because of this I’m going to have to cancel mine and Jason’s denver trip next week… Which I’ve been looking forward to for months. I just need to catch a break.

I love him. I deny it, but I do, I love you, and perhaps I forever will. But the thing is, I want to forget you, I want to move on, but every time I see or read something that connects to you, even in the slightest bit, all the memories and conversations flood back to me. I remember how you always wanted to be on to the show Survior, you never knew why, you just thought it looked cool. You wanted to be a cancer doctor, despite your huge fear of needles. Once at the hospital your dad got a shot and you fainted, a doctor caught you, preventing you from falling to the ground. Out of the three sports you played, football was your favorite, and following that was lacrosse, and finally basketball. You had a shirt that said “Because my stick is longer than yours” and I laughed taking it the wrong way, but you told me it just referred to the size of the defensive lacrosse stick. You had a dog named Jack, he’s a golden labrodoodle. Your bedroom is all North Carolina themed with Tarheels garb all over it. When we went swimming together you forgot your swim shorts and decided to just wear your gym shorts, they were white, making the water reveal your Mickey Mouse boxers. We danced to “Gangnam Style” by PSY on the way to that Chinese restaurant across the street from your neighborhood. We talked late until our eyelids were practically shut. I could go on forever, but I need to get over you. It’s been four years since our last real encounter, it’s been three years since you broke my heart, it’s been two years since our last real conversation, and it’s been one year since our last shared laugh, and it’s been exactly two hours and fourty-three minutes since I last saw you.
But who’s counting?
—  I need to let go