2002-07-22 - 11:47 a.m.
Monday Monday ... Can't trust that day ...

They're about to take my cubicle walls down. I thought they were only doing one department today, not everyone! Agh. Now everyone who goes to the bathrooms at this end of the building will be able to glance over and see exactly what I'm doing. Nauseating idea. I have personal space issues.

Next Monday they plan on taking the desks! That will leave me and my computer terminal on the floor until Thursday, August 1st, which is when they start setting us up in the new building. Uncomfortable, at best. I'll probably be pretty busy during that time, though, finishing packing issues and helping everyone else take their computers down.

It's about 11:30 now. And I thought I had time issues. My supervisor was supposed to meet with me at 10:00 today. I got my notebook ready, my tea, my nerves, all that; then she called and said 10:30. I started taking things off of my cubicle walls and packing them to fill time; it needed to be done anyway. At 11:00, when she still wasn't in her office, I checked and found her in the server room, where she said she hadn't forgotten me, but still wasn't ready, and would call me. Hmmm. I guess it's going to be after lunch.

I did, however, actually manage to call the phone number of the ADD doctor today. He's accepting patients, thank goodness, and the receptionist took down all my info. I guess she has to check with the insurance company before setting up an appointment, but promised to let me know by Wednesday. I feel better having got that out of the way.

So why'd I have the courage to now? Well, because I felt less foolish for believing that I have it. I was at Mom's yesterday and managed to find the box with all of my old report cards in it, and dragged it home with me. All my grade school report cards show much the same thing -- pretty high grades, but continuous marks for "needs improvement" in areas like "paying attention when others are talking" and "makes good use of unstructured time" and suchlike.

So my suspicions have been pretty much confirmed. I still feel like I need the closure of an official diagnosis, though. Just in case I ever need to tell someone about the reason why I have such problems in certain areas, and they get all scoffy, I can say, "Well, Dr. So-and-So says...." I've run into too many "self-diagnosed" folks who never check with doctors, and that's not the way to go, IMHO. It just makes you look like you're scraping for excuses, no matter how legitimate your self-diagnosis is.

Anyway. I'm still all on pins and needles about the six-month eval thing, which I guess I won't find out about until after lunch today. I wish I had already gotten it over with! I'm doing the sweaty-palmed thing over here. I detest drawn-out suspense of the unpleasant sort. Actually, of the pleasant sort, too; if it lasts very long, I start getting snappish. My patience levels are generally pretty small.

Regardless, I'm going to try and make this work a little longer. At least until my first couple of doctor's appointments have gone by. If no raise, though, I'll probably bail in fairly short order; if I do get it, I'll most likely try to stay until I originally said I would, which is next August, about a year from now. Coincidentally, that's about the time that Hildegaard says she'll have enough bills paid off to move out here and get an apartment with me.

I have no idea where the next 12 months are going to take me, but that next-August goal strikes me as a good one. I need to stop living with my brother anyway -- it's not doing either of us any good, and may end up harming our relationship instead of helping. The main bonuses are a roommate I like, shared internet/cable bills, and a very large DVD and game selection (his) to borrow from. We don't actually do all that much together anymore, since he's very very much into the whole EverQuest thing.

So. Yes, I'm less panicky than yesterday. I'm going to write a return letter to the housing people (assholes) and politely up-theirs about their accusations, although I will enclose the check for the amount they asked, in deference to keeping my rental history as clean as possible. And, provided the eval turns out okay, I'll be able to hold my breath and soldier on with the job thing a little longer.

Now that I've made the phone call, at least I have some hope that things will start to get better. Not necessarily with medication, because that still makes me leery, but the diagnosis will be something I can present to my supervisor. Since this company works so heavily with the "disabled" population anyway, maybe I can get some accomodations. Right now I get the old standard "I'm sure you can..." and "if you try..." type of platitudes when I try to talk about the aspects of the job I have difficulty with.

I really hate it when I'm not taken seriously.