when good sites go bad

Like this one.

Most of the time, I want to write about what I’m feeling, what I’m going through, and I know it comes across as probably depressing, or angry, or manic depressive, a bit bipolar.

I’ve never been diagnosed with anything, but that’s because I refuse to go, mostly. I suffer from depression, I know it, but like I said, nothing formal.

I went once to a therapist when I broke down at work and had to take some time off, but all he wanted to do was ask me questions about internet pricing. I wonder if he ever wondered why I didn’t come back, or why I was staring at him with abhorrent disgust on my face.

That’s a guy who should not be practicing psychiatry, not if he thinks an initial session should be to talk about how much bandwidth he might get at his place, rather than what brought me in that day.

So, that’s my experience with therapists. I’m sure there’s better out there, but fuck, who has the time or money?

That’s the thing this new touchy feely existence of ours forgets – it’s offset against the horror of unrelenting capitalism, which leaves us with neither the time nor the funds to be able to engage in any of the things they want to sell us, unless we’re rich.

And ain’t none of us rich, baby.

Target: 900 words
Written: 940 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Unholy Night, Seth Grahame-Smith
Comics: Phonogram 5-6, Phonogram: The Singles Club 1-2 (if I ever need to point to a work of utter pretentiousness, the exact kind of bullshit clever art we should all avoid, this is it - never read fiction written by someone whose interface with music is critical instead of connecting.)
Music: Unsupervised, Mono Puff

fat/skinny

I fear for some women.

Look, I like a thin woman as much as anyone, but there is a point where it’s gone too far and the concern stops being “is she fit and attractive?” to “are you okay?”

“Do you need help?”

The pressure women are under to look perfect is unbearable. Better to be happy than thin; better to be overweight than unhealthy.

Positive body image is wonderful; obesity is still a threat.

I’m fat. Obese, if you believe the Wii Fit I stand on for ‘exercise’ each morning. I have no authority to judge. I care not for fashion. I dress mostly like I’ve been working around the house or lounging around in my sweats (though I rarely wear sweats – I mostly stick to band/beer/superhero t-shirts and board shorts).

I don’t like shoes.

I am not anti-fashion; that would be more like Kurt Cobain. I’m more like non-fashion. I don’t exist in fashion.

I am fashion-pathetic, as well as apathetic.

(A pathetic?)

Anyway, this weather woman looks beyond unhealthy; if it’s not an eating disorder, it’s veganism.

Or meth.

She’s definitely missing something in her diet. She would have been attractive twenty pounds ago; now, she’s more crypt-keeper than svelte.

Anyway, I’m concerned for her. It’s none of my business, obviously, and I’m sure many a folk will cancel me for daring to say so, but I’m just very concerned.

I just want to ask:

“Are you okay?”

Because I’m sure as hell not.

Target: 900 words
Written: 1177 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Sylvie And Bruno, Lewis Carroll
Comics: Phonogram 1-4
Music: Unreleased: From A Basement On A Hill II, Elliott Smith

back to workin’

I got a little ahead of myself for a bit again, with the longer edits, but now, I’m back to having to meet actual targets again.

Hence the bump in target words.

I’ve been trying to build it like a muscle. Every once in a while, bump the target up, increase the reps, the duration, the requirements for the cardio and endurance and lifting power of the thing.

Hell, it’s everything I do.

Slow increase in exercise, in meditation, in the difficulty of the material.

More beautiful desolation. More tragic pathos.

More little nobodies, thinking they’re somebodies.

More me, thinking I’m not nothing.

Feeling empty and alone, the best and worst feeling in the world.

Target: 900 words
Written: 888 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Hilarity Ensues, Tucker Max
Comics: The Magdalena: Seventh Sacrament 1, The Magdalena v4 1-3
Music: Unreleased Album, Screaming Trees (so underrated, these guys - Lanegan's brilliant)

work drama

You’d think a place I left ten years ago wouldn’t have any power over me, but they’re still playing their same games with my wife.

What a fucking joke.

A few years before I left, the owner changed from one brother to another, and unlike the original brother, who was very hands on, and respected work, the new one brought in others to run it for him.

I gather he’s largely absent now, and has left the running of the joint to this incredibly narcissistic piece of shit he brought in who destroyed the whole “work hard, do the right thing” culture in favour of one that emphasizes pettiness and sycophancy.

One thing I am not is a fucking sycophant. Others can lick that brown, but I’m only doing that for a woman I’m trying to get off. Some ego-driven prick can go fuck himself.

Anyway, after a couple of years of busting my ass, doing all the work, the right things and watching as others, who had done nothing but kiss up move on past me and take credit for my work and ideas, of watching friends and co-workers, good people who worked hard, get fucked over and stigmatized because they didn’t lick this man-child’s boots, I left.

Unfortunately, my wife stayed.

She’d dropped into a nice space where everyone left her alone to run her team. Hell, I’m not sure they even know what her team does, despite it being kind of critical. This man, to whom she is a direct report, hasn’t talked to her in four years.

FOUR.

YEARS.

Could you imagine having a boss that didn’t bother to speak to you for four years? Well, in this case, it’s a fucking blessing.

Unfortunately, by law, they were required to create a pay equity chart, ensuring they weren’t paying women less than men for the same job and so on (they were, surprise). Mostly, they used it to reward themselves and their sycophants, but in doing so, they left my wife completely off the list, and the team she runs on the same level as the custodians (a huge slap in the face for a highly specialized group of porting experts).

Well, despite the fact that she didn’t want to make waves, because of the quiet little nook they’d found themselves, she was compelled to ask by her team and her own need for a raise, which everyone else seemed to have gotten.

She didn’t do it rudely or aggressively. She just said: hey, my team has questions about their place on the list, can you explain or re-evaluate? Oh, and also, you’ve left me off the list.

She didn’t ask for money or promotion or anything like that. But all the other leaders of specialized teams were listed explicitly; several bumped in pay. She wasn’t even on the list. Maybe it was an oversight.

Well, guess what?

This motherfucker and the other ass-kissing sycophants and petty pricks who made the list decided “HOW DARE SHE”.

I mean, dude. You fucked up. You forgot her on the list. Just put her on the list. Simple oversight. It doesn’t actually even require the bump in pay (though it probably should). Just add her to the list.

Nope.

Vindictive motherfuckers, for having the temerity to point out that they missed her on the list, they’ve gone on a hellbent drive to destroy her and her team, removing people, automating shit and screwing around her hours.

Oh, and that pay equity list? After six weeks of no answer, they came back stating your team is where it’s supposed to be, and despite you being the leader of the team and having explicitly written out a hundred things you do beyond what your team does, we’ve decided that your duties are not sufficiently different enough to require your own classification. Never mind the fact that as leader, her responsibilities are different, that she’s got more responsibility, more accountability and that EVERY OTHER LEADER HAS THEIR OWN DESIGNATION.

Nope.

Fuck you. You’re not on the list.

Everything that’s happened since she reached out has been a product of the vindictiveness of small, insecure men and their tiny… egos, aghast that someone who wasn’t an asskisser dared to question them.

Keep in mind that she didn’t even want to point it out. Her team begged her to say something. I told her she should, because maybe it was just an oversight, not reckoning on the fact that this piece of shit and his cronies were truly this horrible of people.

And she didn’t ask aggressively. She was as demure as she could be, like a timid little mouse begging for the tiniest little piece of cheese, off a block big as a house. Four years of no contact, and the first time she reaches out, they set out to destroy and punish her and her whole team.

For asking the questions they were supposed to ask about placement in the Pay Equity act. Fuck sakes, they requested feedback, specifically if they missed anyone.

That fucking place is the shits, and that man has absolutely destroyed any culture of doing the right thing or being, you know, good people. I’d love to come back one day as a consultant bent on culling the wheat, because ninety percent of upper management would be gone the first day.

Useless, overpaid, insecure pricks who contribute nothing and make everyone else miserable.

Christ, the PTSD from that place is strong; my blood pressure jumps 10-15 points just thinking about it.

What bothers me most of all is the choice being put to her now, and it’s complete shit. Stay silent, play ball, let them abuse her and punish her and her team, or fight back and probably get canned.

And as she’s said, we don’t have that fight in us anymore.

Sure, we could tie that up in legalities for years, but man, who has that kind of time and money? I know the HR guy there; he sculpts dismissals around the fact that they’ll challenge the company’s garbage behaviour in court. He makes the initial offer big enough that fighting back means losing money, for lesser reward. He’s told me this, to my face, back when I was running their tech support.

Let ’em come, he says. We’ll throw so much money at it, drag it out for years. We’ll bankrupt them before they ever see a dime or a decision, and when they get it, it will probably be less. Take that, minorities and other people we’ve bullied and/or screwed over.

Where’s the justice in that?

Is this what the Pay Equity Act was meant to do, Canadian government? To allow pieces of garbage another outlet to punish those they don’t like, to bully and silence them into subservience, with the threat of ruining their lives consistently hanging over their heads in the petty, tiny hands of a insecure egotist whose narcissism and need for constant validation overruns everything he does?

There is no justice in this world unless pieces of shit like that are held accountable for their godawful behaviour, and can no longer use their positions of power to silence good, hardworking people just trying to get by.

It’s fucking criminal.

Target: 800 words
Written: 2276 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Hail To The Chin: Further Confessions Of A B Movie Actor, Ash Williams
Comics: Untold Tales Of I Hate Fairyland v2 5, I Hate Fairyland v2 11-13
Music: The Rolling Stones Rock 'N' Roll Circus, The Stones et al

rondeau

Here we go, Rondeau Joe’s.

I’ve managed to lose a few pounds of late, so why the fuck not?

Let’s undo all the hard work.

The restraint.

There are days where I wonder why we are punished to live.

There are days where an end would be preferable to continuation.

There are days.

But then, there’s food and that allows me to combine enjoyment and a death wish, so I guess we’re all good.

Target: 800 words
Written: 976 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: White Hot Truth, Danielle Laporte
Comics: Untold Tales Of I Hate Fairyland 11-14
Music: Random Pranks, Gnarkill

off the wagon

Not in the alcoholic, drug way, but in the fuck me, I can’t get a thing done way.

Exhaustion is in; focus is out.

Universe, save me from myself. Save me from trials and tribulations.

Save me.

Save me.

Save me.

If you can’t tell, I’m working on a motif.

Target: 800 words
Written: 1371 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Grimm's Fairy Tales, Grimmies
Comics: Image! 7-9, I Hate Fairyland v2 1
Music: Unknown Live Things, Sonic Youth

storm’s a-coming

Picture that in Jasper’s voice from The Simpsons. There’s a big one coming tonight, which means no sleep again when Sofi loses her shit.

I need sleep. Desperately.

I’m so tired.

So tired of everything. And everyone.

Target: 800 words
Written: 559 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Grimm's Fairy Tales, Grimms
Comics: Twig 4-5, Image! 5-6
Music: Live Things, Rolling Stones (so much Stones)

brian wilson

Possibly the most brilliant song ever written.

Let that sink in.

There’s unexpected depth there, in addition to being very catchy. The interplay between the upset, relatively mindless work of the Beach Boys and the severe depression and mental illness of Brian Wilson?

Captured in song?

Brilliant.

Good Canadian Boys as well.

We love them.

Target: 800 words
Written: 660 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Grimm's Fairy Tales, Grimms
Comics: Twig 2-3, Image! 3-4
Music: Live Things I Found On My Computer, Red Hot Chili Peppers

blood pressure

I’ve been tracking my blood pressure for a bit now, trying to figure out if I’m about to have a stroke or an aneurysm or heart attack or something fun like that.

I’ve started noticing a rise whenever I’m in the office. I’m not eating differently, not really, so that’s not really a factor. If anything, because there’s more walking involved, I’m getting more exercise.

Is there an inherent level of stress involved in any work that isn’t soul work that automatically puts our health at risk?

I think we’d be hard pressed to say no.

Motherfuckers.

Target: 800 words
Written: 734 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: 'Salem's Lot, Stephen King
Comics: Middlewest 3-6
Music: Again With The Live Stuff, Iggy Pop

in office days

They are the worst. There’s really no reason to be there. All it does is raise my tension levels, trigger my natural introvert’s social anxiety and make me work slower and worse.

I will not understand the reasons they want us to go in more often; the reason given was “camaraderie”, but fuck that. I’m not trading the peace and focus of quietude at home for a fucking high five from a co-worker.

Seriously. That was used as an example of why it’s worth coming into the office.

A fucking.

High.

Five.

Fuck that shit, Treasury Board. You’re either drunk, incompetent or power hungry.

None of these things qualify you for making decisions about other people’s lives.

If anything, they disqualify you.

Time to replace the leadership, methinks.

Target: 800 words
Written: 1230 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: 'Salem's Lot, Stephen King
Comics: I Hate Fairyland 19-20, Middlewest 1-2
Music: Live Shit, Green Day