step right up and ride the negatron

have you ever just been so mired down in negativity that you can't find your way out?

i feel like i just want to hit the reset button on my brain to get away from the never-ending stream of toxic bile it churns.

i can't seem to shake minor disappointments. i keep taking them apart in my mind and wondering how the ball got dropped.

i want explanations. i want a forum to express that something left me crestfallen or at least mildly curious about how certain simple decisions were made. i want to know what i need to know to make it okay for me when it isn't. i want vindication. i wan't apologies and agreements.

however, being a demanding bitch is one thing -- having your superego deliver a psychological caning at the same time is agony.

"who the hell are you for thinking you deserve everything exactly the way you want it?" my righteous nemesis demands, punctuating the question with a forceful lashing. "don't be such an ungrateful [whip], exacting [whack], persnickety [whap] brat! what stupid [whick], petty [whack] things to obsess about. you should be more thankful [wha-whip]. count your [thwack] blessings! be appreciative for once in your life!"

i can't get away from it. i can't turn it off. it's giving me a headache and a lump in my throat. i can't talk to anyone about it. i can't focus on anything else -- my eyes just go blurry while my mind keeps the cycle of criticism and self-loathing spinning and spinning.

i get a lot of requests for references, either for jobs or continuing education. in large part, those that request a letter of recommendation from me are people that know they've truly been a great help to me, typically over a few years, and so i'm happy to take some time out to give them a glowing review.

and then there are the reference calls. these are usually for people that worked for me for a year or two, did the bare minimum, and after having been stalked and cajoled by me all spring, eventually tell me they would not be working for me again this summer, apparently because they want to work in the mall.

my office phone rings and i answer

caller: hi-ee! my name is amber and i'm calling from skankz clothing store in oakcreek-fieldbrook shopping center.

me: okay.

caller: i'm calling for a reference check on a... suzannah smigthe? i believe she's a current employee of yours?

me: susan smith? no, she is no longer employed by me.

uncomfortable pause

what can i answer for you?

caller: umm... do you know how long she worked for you?

me: she worked for one year.

caller: ...and would you rehire her?

me: hmm. i guess.

caller: you guess?

me: umm. well, i guess she did what was expected of her. she did what the job entailed but didn't proactively exceed any expectations/had a few breakdowns when given criticism/was arrested for drinking beer while sitting on a curb alone outside a taco bell one night.

caller: ohhh... okay. well, thanks for your time!

me: you betcha.

two weeks roll by. my office phone rings and i answer.

caller: hi, i'm caitlin, calling from aunt patty's pretzel pavilion at streamriver-brooklevee mall about susie smith? wondering if you have a minute...

recess, city-style

well, woman the way the time cold i wanna be keepin' you warm
i got the right temperature for shelter you from the storm
oh lord, gal i got the right tactics to turn you on, and girl i...
wanna be the papa, you can be the mom....oh oh!

around the corner from my house is an elementary school. when i sit in my office, inhaling the glorious scent of lilac or honeysuckle, i can always hear the gleeful screams of kids running rampant in a well-worn play yard.

of late, the soundtrack to recess has been the same two songs, played over and over again: "hips don't lie" by shakira and "temperature" by sean paul. it's gotta be at a healthy volume because i can hear [all the shocking lyrics] perfectly. i really want to go over there and see what accompanies the tunes. i envision a sort of bollywoodesque choreographed spectacle -- boys in the required giant baggy jeans and voluminous white t-shirts and girls in tighter versions -- all pulsating rhythmically in time.