I've only gone for jobs I want to do and be happy doing and I got the result of the last interview.I was was the worst they'd ever talked to.That was harsh feedback to get—I didn't answer the questions and apparently volunteered more useful information on the way out of the door than I did in the room. I felt okay in the process but knew it was a bad sign when they had to cut me off and we ran over time. I failed at the most basic of processes; a job interview.
Articles from Harrangue Man
All the delving and other coalesced into a singularity of stress and the next day I was wiped then had a cook off about childhood. By 8 pm I was done and by 8:30 I was asleep.I "slept" for the next 12 hours with minor wakes for torment and toilet. It was a cascading tumble of past life stressors all competing to hurt me the most. I woke drained and clammy with micro bursts of dream thought still pinging around my skull.
I'm still having occasional goes at my foot skin; I've yet to successfully consciously stop myself from doing it for more than a day.Last night I got off a postage stamp sized layer from the back right heel.
The brown Silkie is on the bottom of the pecking order. If she comes out for food or water she will be bullied by the other five. She tries to get as much to eat and drink while dodging attacks then she hides in the hutch the rest of the time.I know the pecking order is natural for chickens but to see it happening in real time where all off her pen mates alternatively attacked her or chased her away reminded me of my childhood where I was effectively a brown Silkie.
If you've had a mental health injury such as PTSD then it impacts on your ability to do physical things like picking up an object and staying a hold of it. Coffee pods are light and easy to hold but also easy to drop for no reason. The solution? Pinch the pod lightly as you pick it up and slot it in; the pinch will counter your fingers from opening because, fuck you, dexterity.Also, be prepared for startle reflex from the noise of the pod machine.
The battery is incredibly difficult to remove from its sleeve on the BYB, my electeric-assist man trike, and every time I try I seem to hurt myself---just like the infamous cornballer from Arrested Development. It's poorly placed, forcing you to get it over the mud guard and there are no handles or grip points to make it easy.
If your PTSD is up and you suffer hand tremours or finger spring you will drop your shopping. When putting it away try to start will a non-fragile or heavy item first. For me it was a box of ice-creams. I picked it up, one of four items purchased, and my hand said "NO!" and opened up like a flower and dropped it on the floor. The ice-creams were okay; hooray!
I got pre-rain splatter on the way to the shops on my electric-assist man trike and forded on knowing that if it did hit then it was a downhill ride. So it did hit and because it's an electric-assist bike if you use the assistance as it rains then there is a small chance of electrocution.Battery off I pedaled furiously along the straight bit then fanged it downhill as the rain came in.I'm pretty sure that's an Oz word—to fang—which means to go quickly.
You know you're a policy nerd when you're doing an outside wee with one hand whilst holding an iphone playing a live feed of senate estimates in the other and trying to hear it over the sound of your urination slashing onto a dead potted plant.