Working For a Friend

You may recall there was some worry about working for a friend. I was especially worried about working for someone who knew I have learning disabilities.

No need to worry here. Two of my learning disabilities have to do with symbols and visual perception. I suck at understanding what a symbol means. Why can't they just write what it means??

Everyone interprets information best in a specific way. Some people want bullet points, some want pie charts, some want an Excel spreadsheet.

This week GQ (thank you!) (this is what we're calling Gay Crush/Boss now) went away on vacation. He's doing work each day though, and yesterday afternoon called me in a panic. He couldn't find a document he desperately needed.

"Can  you go log into my computer and then call me back?"

There is a tiny part of me that cringes every time someone begins to ask me to do something, because I'm terrified my answer will have to be no. No, I don't know how to do that. No, I don't understand what you're asking. No, I can't figure out how to turn on your computer. (That last one is true - I couldn't find the power button. I felt like a total moron.)

When I called GQ back, he wanted me to look on the desktop of his computer for a document he saved there. There were a LOT of documents there. It's all pictures of pieces of paper, with part of the word that saved them as written underneath that. I couldn't find it. I felt bad telling GQ this. There were so many icons I was sure it was there, and I just wasn't seeing it.

He immediately had me pull up a screen that listed the full name of each document on the desktop, in alphabetical order. I can not even express how much easier this was to read. I zipped through the list top to bottom, then bottom to top, then looked at the documents starting with the letter GQ's missing document should have.

My answer changed from, "I don't see it," to "It's not here." It went from me not being able to find something, to knowing it wasn't there to be found.

I don't know how much GQ knows about learning disabilities. Most people who don't have one themselves just know someone who's dyslexic. Or hyper. While I'm a tiny bit dyslexic, and a bit more hyper, neither of those are my problems. I am so grateful to GQ for instantly understanding that I needed to look at the documents a different way, and knowing how to lead me towards that.

P.S. I found the document. It was saved elsewhere.
P.P.S. For some unknown reason, yesterday was an especially retarded day for me.
Example 1: I was trying to download an app onto the iPad GQ gave me. It took three Google searches, help from one friend by text, and help from one random guy in our office suite.
Example 2: Couldn't find the power button to turn on the computer. Had to ask for help.
Example 3: When looking at a dollar amount that said 80 billion dollars, I interpreted it as "80 hundred million dollars." For some reason, my brain stopped in the millions and could not make the leap to billions. So embarrassing.

I once told my mother that while I wouldn't actively pursue it, I'd be interested to see if getting a traumatic brain injury would alter my learning disabilities for the better. She smiled sadly and told me no, no it would not, and explained why. Unfortunately one of my learning disabilities is memory, so I can't remember her explanation. 

End Days Ending Even More!

Silliyak, thank you.

Last week I had lunch with (three different people, on three different days, and then went to a party on the weekend) the new associate from my old firm. The one from the Midwest. She's at the new firm with Turkey.

As of last Friday, almost two and a half months after working with him, Turkey's new secretary refused to work with him any longer. I am trying to not take too much happiness in this as I fear it's bad karma, but to be honest ... ha ha.

As for me? Gay Crush offered me a job a week and a half after my last day of working for Turkey. Yes. I know. !!! For a month and a half I worked from home while the new office was under construction. I am Gay Crush's first full-time employee ever. I am nervous for him. He literally has to cut his salary in order to pay mine. Luckily though, he is super busy and has a lot of client work. Yesterday he talked about billing out my time. As a legal assistant. Um, okay I guess. If the clients will pay for me to do all the same stuff I usually do as a legal secretary, then why not? (You may be wondering why they would pay if this is what I normally do. The answer is, the clients don't really know I exist yet - they're used to Gay Crush being a solo operation which means they're used to paying for him to do everything they need. So from their point of view, they can either pay $325 an hour for GC to print out and organize multiple contracts, or $100 an hour for me to do it. I'm just saying that at other firms, I do that type of thing for free.)

I am trying hard to get over my gay crush on Gay Crush, because it's not productive to have a gay crush on your boss. He will need a new blog name once I've accomplished that.

Hey, want to hear a story? Once upon a time, back when I worked in New York, I went to my boss and told her I would like more work, that I didn't have enough to do. When coworkers found out I'd done that, they said that was wrong, that one NEVER tells their boss that. I felt sure I'd done the right thing. I wanted more to do. Yeah, it turned out they were right. My boss gave me more, so much more in fact, that it was too much. Granted, she gave me one task that involved being tethered to my desk and one that required walking around the department floor, two things you can't do simultaneously. Maybe she just picked the wrong thing to give me to do as extra work.

Ever since then though, I have never ever made that mistake again in case it turned out the same way. I just screw around online pretending to be busy while waiting for more work.

Working with Gay Crush is different. We had what we called "an interview" but really it was just 15 minutes of sitting down and seriously talking about how it would be to work together. I told him, "I've never worked with a friend before, and as a friend, I've told you things I wouldn't ever tell an employer, and I'm not sure how that will work out ..." Gay Crush nodded and confessed he'd thought the same thing. To which I thought, "Really?! What did you tell me that you consider a secret? I'm so excited! What do I know?"

Basically we agreed that we have a lovely friendship and we are both good people who are direct, and we will simply talk about any issues that come up before they turn into something big. When I made my initial statement I was referring to him knowing about my learning disabilities. So far it's been fine. Last week we had to have computer training for a new program. Together. Over the phone with a third party (in England! with an accent! ask me to say repository!). The training was an hour long, and to be honest after about 35 minutes I was finished. I kept finding myself not paying attention. I worried. What if Gay Crush later got frustrated with me because he'd think I should know something since he knew it and I was with him when he learned it?

But I jotted down questions, and it turned out we had very similar ones, and that we also had the same concerns with the program. I think it's working out fine. Maybe I'm not quite as stupid as I think.

Anyway, yesterday afternoon Gay Crush asked, "I'm keeping you busy enough, right?" and since we're having this super honest relationship, I broke my own rule, and told him, "No." He seemed surprised, and confirmed, "No?!" I smiled gently. "I've kind of been spreading things out. It seems like we're in a holding pattern until I have access to the client network." Um, and until we've ordered folders so I can file all the random paperwork you've tossed at me. Hopefully I didn't just screw myself by being this honest. We shall see.

My Hand Was Eaten By a Giant Snake and I Was Waiting For the Reattachment Surgery

What? That sounds like a hell of a better reason than "I can't think of anything good to sayyyyyyyyy." 

In a nutshell, my life still sucks, but I'm tired of bitching about it, thus leaving me little to talk about.

Did I tell you I went to Mexico for the wedding of Golden Boy and Crazy Girl at the end of April? No? Well. Hi, I went to Mex ... yeah. So anyway.  My mother knew I was some sort of special type of moron way back in elementary school, and she went through different phases regarding it.  Sometimes she tried to pretend I was just like all the other kids, but other times she admitted I couldn't run with the bulls and did things like fussing at the administration to make me foreign language exempt from middle school, on through high school.  

Now, I don't know if my lack of taking Spanish is why I am completely unable to say anything with a proper accent, but I doubt it, since all the French words I know courtesy of years of ballet also come out of my mouth without an accent.  

This means that gracias always sounded like grassy-ass when I said it.  The frustrating thing was that I'd hear it come out of my mouth that way, hear that it was wrong, and still not be able to say it with the correct pronunciation.  Thus, the little foreign language I know, I never used.  You would cringe to hear me say croissant.  Except that I never say it because I'm embarrassed at how it sounds coming out of my mouth. 

I was very worried that the Mexicans I would encounter would sneer at me and make me feel like shit for my shitty attempts at Spanish, and for reverting back to English after the greeting portion of conversations had been completed.  My brother reassured me numerous times that this would not happen.  That Puerto Vallarta is a resort area, that they want you to have fun and be comfortable.  That they all speak English, and if they don't, someone who does will always be close by (this was true also).  

The Golden Boy does not lie.  Everyone was so warm there.  Even the cab driver who fucked me over did it nicely (it was my mistake - I'd been warned to always ask a cab driver how much the ride would cost before getting in the cab, and I didn't think to do that, figuring it would cost the same amount to get back to the hotel as it had cost to get where I was leaving from).  

I pushed myself really hard to always speak in Spanish if I knew the words for what I was trying to say.  They must be used to that in a tourist town, and by the second day I had gotten pretty good at using a combination of Spanish, English and pantomime to get concepts across.  By the third day my grassy-ass had become a real gracias and all of a sudden the accent I could never wrap my tongue around had materialized.  

Which may account for why two weeks ago, when I found myself lost in the Mission and running late, I didn't hesitate to walk up to three men manning a garage sale, greet them and then ask where the street I needed was, all in Spanish.  They answered me in English, which to be honest, is good, since I would not have understood "You're very close, just two or three more blocks that way," in Spanish.  

As my friend and I walked on she said to me in amazement, "I didn't know you speak Spanish."  I smiled.  "I don't." 

Are You a Litigation Lawyer?

I need help. If you do litigation, work is slow this week and you wouldn't mind helping me out, please leave a comment. Thanks.

I've Banged Into This Before

Some people are really good at solving problems. Some people are really good only at solving problems that don't involve people, like how to make furniture look good in any room, or how to cook lasagna when there's no meat. Some people are really good at solving other people's problems. I'm one of those people.

I can listen to your problem, think about it (or not), and then just know, THIS is how it can be solved. To a small degree this can be transferred to myself, but other people are much easier. People sometimes get excited about solving other people's problems. If you're good at it, it comes naturally, and it's fun. It's very little effort, and for someone who is not successful at many things, it's outrageously rewarding to see someone else's face light up, or to see tons of worry lift from their face.

So I get it. I get the urge to swoop in and fix someone else's life. I've been on the other side of this too, where other people want to swoop in and fix MY life. Which is why I understand how annoying a Swooper can be, and I try not to offer solutions unless someone is open to hearing them.

The problem with swooping in unwanted is that usually you are missing some key pieces of information. Pieces of information that would make that solution ... well, not a viable solution. Like to say to someone who makes the best cupcakes you've ever tasted, "Hey! You should get a bus! That has an OVEN! And you should go around the country making your cupcakes in the bus and selling them! Like an ice cream truck!"

Ignoring the fact that the cupcake-maker doesn't like driving. And doesn't have enough money to buy a truck. And only likes to bake late at night. And has a family. Maybe it's a fun fantasy, maybe the cupcake-maker even gets swept away in your excitement and designs the outside of the bus and comes up with a cute company name. But the reality is that this is not a good idea for this person.

Some problem solvers (and yes, I realize this was more of an idea and less of a problem to be solved, but the two go together) do not want to hear why their ideas will not work. They get angry. "You're just coming up with excuses!" "You don't really care about what you complaining of two seconds ago!" "You're not truly interested in your life changing at all!"

And then you never speak again. Or you do, but the relationship is forever strained. Which is why I try to be careful about how and when I give unsolicited problem-solving advice. I've had people get angry at me for not taking their advice. Often their advice would work for THEM if THEY were in my situation. But it doesn't work for me in my situation. Some times what they suggest to solve your problem is actually a way to solve their problem they haven't even told you about. Sneaky little problem-solver. Yes, I've had that one happen to me too.

I fear I may have a problem-solver quasi-stalking me. I fear I may have brought it upon myself. And now I don't like the road I see us going down, and see this ending badly. Which is a problem, as we're related.

While in New York for my grandpa's funeral, a cousin was staying at the same hotel as my family. We got to talking, and her son is at a school for learning disabled kids. We got to talking some more, and she gave me some potentially very helpful advice about dealing with my own learning disabilities. Which cost a lot of money. Which you may know I do not have now. She is very well off. I have noticed that most people who are very financially secure have a hard time understanding that other people may not be.

Once in a bank in Florida, I went to ask if they would waive the fee they were charging me for not having a minimum amount of money in my account. The bank manager came to talk to me. "Well, can't you just move money in from another account," she asked me. "No. This is all my money." I left the bank with four bank rulers and three bank calendars and the fee waived for six months. (Bank of America, in case you're wondering.) (Yes, I now have an account with them that has no minimum balance.)

I was very appreciative of this cousin's advice for me. I tried to make it clear, without telling her my current pathetic situation, that these are things I will pursue when I am in a more stable place in my life. She even reiterated that waiting until I have health insurance is a good idea.

However. This cousin is, as my friend would say, a little cuckcoopants. It seems now she feels free to comment and assess my entire life. This is not helpful. I do not need this. There is no good to come of you telling me that being a legal secretary is not the right field for me. It's all I know, all I've got experience in, all I'm qualified to do. It's not that I'm scared to do something else, because I don't get that type of fear. It's that aside from being a garbage man, I can't get a job doing anything else that will earn me as much money.

I hate ... well, to be honest I hate keeping my mouth shut. I must admit that there have been times when I've said "Can I say something about this?" to Golden Boy and Crazy Girl, and Crazy Girl has laughed as she's asked, "Can I stop you?" But I also hate having others critique my life, and feeling like I can't defend it, or myself, because in some way they are in a position of power, for whatever reason. Which this cousin is, you will just have to trust me.

Right now we are in the stage where she feels free to critique my life. This does not please me. This does not help me. The info about learning disabilities? Totally going to be helpful in the future. The other stuff? Not so much.

Remember When the Northern State Only Had Two Lanes?

One of the ways I pass the time when I can't sleep is to try to remember how to get places in Florida and New York. Today the issue of the Northern State Parkway came up, and I drew a blank at what exit I lived at in the olden days.

Despite the fact that I now live in San Francisco, after having spent four years in Florida, I still consider myself to be a New Yorker. Which is why it unsettled me to not remember my exit. I decided to see if working up to it would help. What exit was I off the LIE? Okay, got that.

What's my gut instinct answer for the Northern State? Exit ... Shit. WHERE AM I FROM? And can I still claim to be from there if I can't remember my way around?

More importantly, I'm 31 and already suffering from dementia, apparently. What do you think of this idea: if you suffer from an "old people disease" you qualify for Social Security? Ehh?

Pass the Passport, Maybe (Thanks J)

My new boyroommate has done a lot of traveling. Mostly within Central Europe. He was shocked to find out I've never left the country. I'm always shocked to hear that other people have. Guess I have no sense of wanderlust, because a part of me is absolutely baffled at what would inspire someone to go someplace where they won't understand things. Of course, I come from a different place than most, since I want to understand much more than I'm able, whereas I suppose most people find a way to understand anything they want.

Yet a tiny part of me is curious. I think it's from living in San Francisco, a major city. In South Florida, nobody travels. I mean it - you honeymoon in Disney and then take all your vacations in Key West. If you have relatives there, you go to New York once every few years, but you hate how busy and crowded and dirty it is. But in major cities, people go places. Like to other major cities.

I'm tempted. My friend told me to start out slow - go someplace where they speak English, at least. Like London. I might be able to do London. I read British Glamour. I like the song Here Comes the Sun. I ate a scone once. I even know "chips" are really french fries.

Except, remember on The Real World, London how hard it was to figure out the front door of their apartment? And what if I got lost trying to take the Tube somewhere, and the people there were like the kids I went to high school with, and gave me wrong directions? Plus, I don't really like fish all that much.

Okay, not London. What about Paris? Every girl is supposed to want to go to Paris, right? I could be like Sabrina, and come back beautiful. I could acquire a cute, French accent. Supposedly they teach English in the schools there. So what if there are no anti-smoking laws?

Well, here's what I imagine.

1. I would arrive.

2. Day one - would not leave hotel due to not being able to figure out fancy lock on hotel door. Convince myself that's okay, because I can "adjust to time difference" and finish reading airplane book and magazines.

3. Day two - would figure out lock and venture around lobby of hotel. Spend at least four hours people-watching in lobby before going back to room, depressed that I can not understand what anyone is saying. Before going inside room, cry in hallway for half hour at not being able to figure out lock on door from outside. Console myself with thoughts that the people walking by who give me strange looks will never see me again, so it does not matter that I cried in front of them.

4. Days three and four - stay in hotel room, scarred from last time I left. Call my brother and cry about how hard it is to be somewhere I don't understand what's going on around me and how much I hate myself for not being able to learn new languages and learning disabilities really suck.

5. Day five - embarrassed that I'll be leaving soon and will have to face Americans who will ask what I did in foreign country and don't want to have to admit "nothing," force myself to leave hotel. After writing out on two pieces of hotel stationery diagram of door lock, complete with step by step instructions.

6. Walk three blocks to left of hotel. Find cafe. Say, in my best, yet awful and improper French, "I'm sorry, I do not speak French; do you speak English please?" only to have people laugh at me and ignore my request for water. Cry.

7. Try to walk three blocks to my right to get back to hotel, only to find myself in very seedy area, sun has set, and now I am hopelessly lost. Pull out diagram of door lock to see if stationery has hotel phone number, only to realize I can not figure out how to use pay phone. Spend night sitting in a curb. Pigeons poop on my head multiple times. When I get back to my hotel, find I've lost my precious diagram and spend 20 minutes outside door trying to unlock it.

8. Finally get inside and to to take shower to wash off bird poop, which has congealed into my hair overnight. Can't figure out complicated shower, wash hair in sink. Lay on bed and cry myself to sleep.

9. Arrive back in the States after being fleeced by a cab in Paris to take me to airport, where I am most proud that I got it down to a solid ten minutes to work the lock on my hotel door. Frantically run to Borders to write down sightseeing places in Paris to lie about to people when they ask where I went while abroad.

It might not be as bad as that, but keep in mind that I don't drink wine or coffee, and don't like cheese. You can survive on Evian for a few days straight, right? And they'll let pb&j sandwiches through customs, right?

All I Want Is Time and Grammar Lessons

Most of the time people are surprised when they find out I don't have a bachelor's degree, and that pleases me. Except, then they expect me to know things. Like grammar. Unfortunately, they don't teach grammar in college. Well, actually they do sometimes, but I tested out of those non-credit classes when I took the college placement test.

I need third-grade grammar. Apparently, I was very busy in third grade - my worst grade of elementary school, made even worse due to it following my best year - and along with map skills and parts of the eye and ear, completely missed learning grammar and parts of speech. During a huge punishment in 7th grade, I managed to teach myself some very basic, elementary if you will, grammar. Like what verbs, nouns and adjectives are.

There was a tv show called the Adventures of Beans Baxter, and it's from that show that I learned what an adverb is. Prepositions and prepositional phrases are still iffy, and I can't stop ending sentences with prepositions.

I'd like to think it's just because I'm sick that I've made a lot of grammatical errors at work this week. But I know that's not the truth. I have no clue how to do those posessive apostophes and all that shit. The partner just told me yesterday that when a last name ends in a Z, you treat it like an S in terms of apostrophes. I did not know that. Do most people know that? How the hell do you learn these things?

Hanukah is a week away, and my family keeps asking what I want. I want to learn grammar - that's what I want. I don't want a book that teaches grammar, because I can't learn that way. I want someone to actually sit down and teach me the things I don't know in a way that I can learn them.

I know people like to give presents that don't require time and effort beyond buying something, or some things. But I have too many things as it is. I need fewer things. In fact, if someone gave me a present of helping me sell or give away some of my things, I'd love that. If I get another vase, I will cry. What I want, is what I need. And what I need, is help with various things. And yoga classes. It's time to bring back the fucking yoga.

Heh - Good Luck

Because really, how the hell was I supposed to realize I'd have to take pictures of anything I write in a mirror ... oh my god can I flip this somehow with the fancy options offered? Please hold while I scramble to investigate this.... okay no.

My only option would be to rotate it, which would not make it any easier to read. So umm.... hi, and also, sorry.

Yeah, in case you haven't figured it out, I've been playing with my Mac today. So far I've gotten a mix CD onto my iPod courtesy of the Mac (and a long phone call with a friend, complete with cursing), and I figured out how to play with the Photobooth feature. Oh, and I downloaded pictures off my digital camera onto iPhoto, but can't figure out how to access them in ANY way. Not to upload them here, not to get them onto Flickr, not how to get them into an email. Which pisses me off because my pictures from Los Angeles are just dying to be shown off. I wrote captions for each picture and everything!

Working on it. Any help is welcome. But be warned, a phone call may be necessary, and I'm both retarded and frustrated, a dangerous combination.

Okay. So. Game time. The first person to comment with what my photobooth picture says gets a prize.

Random Frustrations - Bulleted For Your Pleasure

• So far I have turned down two job offers, interviewed for two other jobs that would be perfect, been rejected for one, and am waiting to hear if I am being asked back for second interviews for the last. I am frustrated to not be working. I keep forgetting my plan to "do one fun and one productive thing each day" and that's pissing me off.
• Technical difficulties are difficult. My power cord falls out a lot. I spend more time than I should repositioning it just so. My laptop is in heart failure, and each time I turn it off, I'm not sure I'll be able to turn it on next time. There's an operation I could try that involves taking out the motherboard, but I don't have a small enough scalpel, nor did I do a rotation in this speciality. I'd buy a new laptop, but I'm trying to hold out until I have a steady paycheck.
• Starting today Trixie is driving cross-country for about a week, and left her smelly foods in the fridge.
• I am disappointed in the fact that not everyone seems to know what my parents spent years trying to drum into my thick skull - that not everything is black or white. I'm sure they didn't mean it, but I always got the impression from my parents when they were yelling at me that any asshole would know what they were saying. That I was way behind everyone else. Even though I'm 30, I still get surprised when I realize my peers don't seem to know what I thought were very basic lessons. I am disappointed at seeing people get dismissed in their entirety simply for having different opinions.
• People who don't e-mail me back. No, not you - you're good. But you, well, that's a different story*. When, in an effort to help you, people go out of their way to articulate their feelings about a subject that you've made clear is worrying you, it would be nice to respond. Just saying. Even just a quick, "Thanks, you've given me a lot to think about" would suffice.
• Shitty blogs. Yeah that's right - even though I may not be commenting, I'm reading. Between people having so much ad-shit on their blog that it takes MINUTES to load, people writing about crap that's uninteresting to me, and blog posts that make me sad at how cut-throat people are being, I think I should take a reading break. Maybe for a while I'll just stick to Newsweek and published authors with physical books.
• Speaking of Newsweek, I could have a gorilla live in my apartment, right? There's room for a family of them, isn't there? If I were a trillionnaire, I'd totally find some way to buy the land where those gorillas live and then protect it so they can live peacefully.
• Even though it seems to be a Vice President's job is to stay alive in case the President is unavailable to "serve" their country, I bet we could give the American people a different impression of what VP's do if Hillary were President and Barrack were VP. I am hesitant to vote for him for President now, but if he'd put in a tour as VP, then I'd definitely feel better about it.
• Lack of closet space. That's right, I'm frustrated by it. Surely I just need to rearrange and then I'll find space, but right now in the corner behind my bedroom door, three bath towels are piled on top of a box that a fan is in, and that's pissing me off.
• Know what else is pissing me off? That my list of Shit To Buy When I Have a Paycheck is growing so long.
• You know why all these things are pissing me off? I'll tell you.
  1. Because they're all being realized at the same time.
  2. Because some are out of my control.
  3. Probably not doing fucking yoga anymore contributes to my frustration aslo.
• Lack of Fucking Yoga. Why? Because my 90 days ended and I haven't gone in to ask what sort of deal they'll give me for more yoga. Why? No good reason, only lame excuses.
• You know what else annoys me? Cutesy spellings for random words for absolutely no reason other than to try to appear cute and Kre8ive. I hate reading blogs where people try to drop a cute version of a word in and I'm reading the sentence three times in a row trying to figure out what the fuck they're trying to say.
• My stupidity. I may be on a vacation from work, but my stupidity never takes a hike. It's always with me, like [insert some witty phrase here].

*Soon after posting this, I was e-mailed back. You don't need to worry it was you.

To Thine Own Self, Be True

I’ve been out of work a lot. I’ve been fired a lot. Once, when I was a little kid, I was in the backseat of my dad’s car, and I saw a woman crying as she drove in the lane next to us. I was surprised, enthralled, and confused. I wanted to know why she was crying. At such a young age, I couldn’t imagine why a grownup was crying while driving.

Years later as I drove home crying from the job I’d just been fired from, I thought of that woman and understood.

Whether or not it was intended, what I have approached the world with is an attitude that I should take any job I get offered. “Work isn’t fun, that’s why it’s called ‘work’ and not ‘play’.” - Mr. Yogurt.

Ever since 1994, when I took my first college course, I’ve never considered what I’d like to do. I’ve only considered what I can do. Of course I didn’t grow up wanting to be a secretary; nobody does. Everything that I would want to do requires college. And my mind doesn’t really work that way. Just like K-12, in college I was given grades as gifts. I had almost no homework. My idea of studying for a test was cracking open the book and reading through it on my lunch hour the day of the test. College was a joke to me. I’m not, and never have been, impressed with my diploma. Some people frame theirs and hang it in their office. I gave mine to my mother two moves ago – I’m not even sure if she has it. If it’s been thrown out, I don’t really care. If I ever have to prove that I did graduate, I can get that proof from the college. Perhaps if I’d had to work harder at college, or had learned more there, I’d have more respect for my diploma. But I didn’t, so I don’t.

Sometimes being a legal secretary is hard. But it’s never rocket science. Ever. Could a high school kid do my job? Yes, a smart one with excellent social skills. There are days where all I’m doing is typing what I’m reading, for hours on end. For so long that the muscles in my wrists are twitching. Really. Not rocket science.

I’ve had, and been fired from, enough jobs that I know how I work best. I know what helps me to avoid getting fired. There’s a lot to hide when you have learning disabilities. So I need any law firm I work at to have a solid IT Department. A word processing department is helpful too. Despite the fact that I use computers all day, I’m not a computer person. And the truth is, I don’t give a shit. I am uninterested in learning.

I know, great attitude. But it’s the truth. Not something to advertise in an interview, but my own personal truth. I just don’t care about computers. Some people would love the opportunity to take a computer apart and see how it works and why it works the way it does. I would love the opportunity to take apart a person’s mind, explore their background and life, and see why they work the way they do.

Last week I accepted a temp-to-perm job at a law firm. Everything was rushed, and I had a few hesitations about it, but went anyway. One of the hardest things for me to deal with was the hours – having to be at work at 8:30 a.m.

Never mind that high school started at 7:30 a.m. Never mind that when I worked in Manhattan I had to leave the house at 6:50 a.m. This is now, and now I’m not good at being out of the house by 8 a.m. I simply can’t move fast in the early morning. There were a lot of other problems at the firm I worked at last week, and on Thursday night, after talking to a friend, I decided I couldn’t stay there. And that’s the whole point of temping – for the company to see if they like you and for you to see if you’d like to work with them permanently.

Except, I always just considered the first part. Because my goal was always to try to get them to hire me. Screw whether or not I liked them – I’ve never felt I was in the position to choose. Beggars can’t be choosers and all that. I have always just taken whatever I could scrounge up for myself. But I’m tired of living that way. Because what always happens is that I eventually get fired. I could have taken this temp job. But with the years of experience that I have behind me, I could see what would eventually happen. Either I’d get fired, or quit. This firm is not organized, and they do patchwork, rather than preventative medicine (i.e., only fixing problems when attorneys scream, rather than spot-checking and making sure everything works). Even when problems are pointed out, the firm still doesn’t fix them. On Thursday I spent four hours unable to work because the IT Department decided to reinstall a program on my computer (during the workday!). On Friday my computer was no better than it had been Thursday morning.

And that’s not what I want. It’s not how I like to work. This was a very difficult decision for me – to walk away from a job. It seems crazy. I’m not one of those people who have great luck, who people fall all over themselves to be around, who has some amazing skill that not many others have. Any asshole can do what I do. So I’m scared. And hoping to hell I’ve made the right decision.

This weekend I spent time on the phone with the recruiter who placed me at this firm. Numerous times I had to tell her, “This is just not the right environment for me.” You could tell I was ruining her weekend. She kept telling me she was just concerned because I’d already been out of work for so long. Umm… it hasn’t been two months yet. I’ve been out of work in the past for almost a year. That’s “so long.” This? This is just … nothing. Of course I say that with the safety of unemployment and months worth of savings.

This morning I interviewed at a different place, one that had a dungeon-esque quality to it. Local counsel at an insurance company. Can you say DULL? There were two people aside from me at the interview, and I was the least socially awkward of the group. There were a lot of long silences. One of those two people is leaving, and maybe she’ll take the awkwardness with her when she goes, but maybe not. They offered me a job, which I’m not taking. Being true to yourself is hard when it means turning down money.

And Then I Cried

I may have mildly touched on this before, or not – I can’t remember. But, I have a huge doctor phobia.

Not for other people, just for myself. I’m fascinated by medicine, believe in its healing powers, ask great medical questions, and can be an excellent source of support to others facing their own medical crisis. If you’re considering surgery, I’m the person you want in the surgeon’s office with you holding your hand. But when it comes to me? Fuck no. This will be my first doctor's visit this year. In 2006, I went to an eye doctor, and a clinic connected with a medical school when I was having trouble breathing. In 2005, I also went to an eye doctor, who fired me (because I asked too many questions, not understanding the health insurance).

I come from a background of logic, psychology and analyzing, so of course I’ve wondered where this comes from. The answer is, a combination of places.

1. You know how when you’re little, and about to get a shot and a doctor tells you it will barely hurt? Yeah those doctors are fucking liars – it hurts a LOT. I think I combined the emotional hurt of having been lied to with the physical pain.

2. Different people have different levels of tolerance and I think I used to have a low pain tolerance. These days? I’d whip off my shirt for a spinal tap if you offered me $1,000 and a highly skilled neurologist.

3. When I was 18 and couldn’t walk, one of the many tests done on me was an EMG. It was the most painful thing I’ve ever felt in my entire life. The whole experience was awful. Want to hear why? Okay!

The doctor was over an hour late for the appointment. Busy tending to a medical emergency? Nope, just late coming back from a leisurely lunch. Bitch. This was a very big deal, being an hour late. Because I was in constant, excruciating pain, I lived and died by my heavy pain killers, taken religiously every four hours. Being an hour behind schedule meant that I might not get my pain killer on time. Considering the fact that sometimes my pain killers didn’t even TOUCH my pain, let alone push it away for four hours, you can see why I would be anxious about missing them.

Okay so she’s late. Whatever. I’ve never met this woman before in my life, and my dad takes me into the exam room. The doctor tells me to get on the exam table. Okay lady? I CAN’T WALK. Not only can’t I walk (hence the stretcher I rolled in on), I can’t stand. She didn’t believe me.”Stand her up,” she told my dad. Even HE told her I couldn’t do that. We knew this – my father had tried to hold me upright, and not only did I scream uncontrollably in pain, but I also crumbled to the floor, partially because I’d lost all muscle tone, and partially from the pain.

My father got me on the exam table somehow. And then, I’m not sure how it came to be, but I was alone in the room with the doctor. She was talking to me, and I got a bad feeling. I didn’t really know exactly what an EMG was – when my other doctor said he was going to send me for one and I asked, he brushed me off, saying she’d explain it to me. So I asked her, and she brushed me off too.

In that moment, had I been able to walk, I’d have run out of there. Hell, had I been able to get off the table I’d have army-crawled out of there. I immediately asked her to get my father. I used the word “please.” AND SHE SAID NO. She told me not to be difficult, and that, “You seem like a good, god-fearing child.” Okay bitch, I’m JEWISH. I was not raised to fear God. And can’t “good, god-fearing children” get scared and want support? For those of you wondering, the doctor was Indian.

An EMG is so painful, that I equate it with Nazi torture (on a lower level). It hurt me so badly, that when the doctor asked me to confirm that it was just one leg I was having a problem with, I LIED AND SAID YES. I will never have an EMG again, unless I am knocked out for it. It’s so painful that even after it’s over, there are aftershocks. Literally, shocks.

Speaking of shock, I am shocked to find this site, which basically says that it's not as bad as people think it will be. It was so much worse than the spinal tap. However, in all fairness I will say that the neurologist who performed the spinal explained it to me in such great detail that to this day I think if I watched one, I'd feel ready to do one on somebody else. If you ask my parents, they'll tell you that I kept saying after it was over, "It was exactly like she said it would be!"

I have been told the procedure for an EMG has been changed since 1995. I don’t trust that. Anyway.

So yesterday I decided that since I’ll be health insuranceless soon, I should get my health in order. With Nice Partner out of town for depositions, it was the perfect time to spend an afternoon making phone calls. There are some things that my learning disabilities don’t touch. The issue just doesn’t arise. Doctors and health insurance unfortunately don’t fall into that category.

Ever since I got slammed with a huge medical bill in Florida, for going to a cardiologist who wasn’t covered by insurance, I’m always very careful about who I’ll go to. Aside from my doctor phobias, there's another reason I seldom go to the doctor - I get lost easily. Just this afternoon my roommate gave me an address with the cross-streets. I looked it up on the map, hopped on the bus, and proceeded to get so lost that I ultimately had to take a cab, only to find out the place was around the corner from the hair salon I use.

You might think I should just take a cab any time I'm going somewhere, but I spend $45 on a fast pass dammit, and I want to get my money's worth! Plus, if I don't try, I'll never learn (my mother is beaming right now, because I wrote that).

I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that I had to ask the health insurance representative if she’d mind if I conferenced in my brother to help us, because she couldn’t help me, and I needed help. My brother found two doctors that sounded good. I wound up with an appointment for next Monday with a doctor in Union Square who went to Stanford undergrad and to medical school at UCLA. This is new for me. Has anyone else been able to get a first appointment so quickly? I assumed that they’d have no openings before July 4th.

After hanging up the phone with my brother to tell him that his hard work (okay hard for me, not so hard for other people) resulted in an appointment, I really wanted to cry. And take a nap. I know I’ll cry the morning of my doctor’s appointment. And possibly while I’m meeting with the doctor. And then, one last time, with relief when it’s all over. When I got back to my desk (I had gone into an empty office to privately deal with this doctor shit, knowing my tendency to cry) and resumed working, my left hand was actually shaking.

I’m never jealous of my friends who are in relationships. Except when I realize they always have somebody who would hold their hand at the doctor’s office if they needed it.

Honestly, if I didn’t know that I could get through a spinal tap so gracefully, I’d really hate myself over this fear of doctors crap. Umm ... anyone free Monday to hold my hand?