Journaling About A Work Journal

I like my job. In March, I’ll have been a QC for 6 months.

I am learning a lot about delegation, prioritization, and mediation.

And a lot about covering my own ass.

I have a journal at work. In it I write down my daily executive decision processes. If there is a defect in the product I have passed and it comes back to us (rare), or a protest to my rejection of the product (more often than not),  I do not have any trouble explaining myself, because the journal does it for me.

For example: Last night I passed collars that were slightly off-color to be put onto shirts toward the end of an order so the order could be completed.

One line consistently sent shirts for steaming because of an off-center fold on the shirt body and sleeves.

Another line began “building bad boxes,” with the same problem, sorting out good shirts (of which the other line had none)  from bad shirts.

When another line began to put out shirts that had wrinkles that could have used a little steaming, I passed the shirts on, as the department who does the cleaning, fixing and steaming were already very busy.

I do consult my journal from time to time. I am glad I have it. I am glad I have a job where I can do what I like to do as part of my daily routine.

Quality Assurance

I’ve been working for about a month and a half as a Quality Assurance inspector for American Apparel’s t-shirt sewing shop. I make minimum wage and put in way more effort than I am paid to, but, my nights are busy and go by quickly, so I am not thinking for hours on end about all the bad things that have happened to me. Instead, I am thinking, “Fuck, I have to stop this line and argue with the supervisor again.” Or, “12, 24, 36, 48, 60, 72, 84…” And sometimes, “Six and a half inches, that’s, like, half inch out of tolerance. I gotta’ A6 this shirt.” So, that’s good.

Right now I have to pee.

Dear blog

Three months have gone by and I am no better than I was when this nightmare started. In fact, I’m worse because I am totally broke. I have rationed out my meals so that I eat one pack of 33cent ramen every other day. I buy NOTHING. But, this won’t help come the first of the month, when I do not have enough money to pay the rent.

I apply for work every single day, weekends included. I have not gotten any job offers. I do not want to have to go apply for welfare. I don’t even think I qualify for it, since ex has custody of the kids. Something has to change or I’m on the streets soon.

I meet with family services today. I hope the meeting is short. I hope my ride gets me there on time. I hope the social workers tell me I can talk to my girls again. I hope Helen tells me Josh can take me to drug testing. Wow, I didn’t realize I had so much hope in me today. I hope it gets me through, instead of pulling me down. I hope my hopes aren’t dashed.

After I visit, I have a long day of trying to not text my ex. It’s hard going from going out of my way to tell someone I love them every day for 13 years to not being allowed to talk to them at all. I don’t have anyone to talk to who understands me like he does, and I end up bottling up so much that it comes exploding out twice a day, expressed as massive ‘”I love you” and “I miss you” textathons, with apologies and begging and all that wimpy stuff included, which, according to the internet, isn’t helping our relationship. It’s pushing him away. So, today I have to try to not text him. Even though I’ve already done it.

I miss little things, like, him texting me jokes and funny pictures. I miss him calling and the caller ID reading, “The President.” I miss seeing him off to work and welcoming him home. I miss him thanking me for dinner. I miss him smiling at me from the shower in a romantic invitation to join him.

I miss my kids like crazy, especially in the mornings. I miss helping Lily with her hair. I miss Katie grumbling at me from under the covers when I have to wake her up for school. I miss hearing Mason’s feet hit the floor and his footsteps running down the hall, and seeing him smile brighten his sleepy face when he saw me.

“Good morning my Mason!”

“‘Morning, mom!” *hugs hugs hugs hugs*

“Oh, I love you my boy. I’m so happy to see you!”

“I love you too, mom! Cuddle?” And we’d just sit together for 20 minutes, being happy.

I miss snacktime and homework time and story time and coloring time and park time and going to the store and to the mall and for walks around the block. I miss singing and rhyming and playing with my kids. I miss teaching them and learning from them. I miss sitting in her room and listening to Katie’s stories, and trying to guess the punchline to Lily’s jokes, and marveling at Mason’s shared discoveries and ponderings.

It’s hard to keep things like this to myself. I share these thoughts with Josh. He doesn’t respond to me, but he hasn’t blocked me, either. So, I have hope that he’s not completely given up on me. But, it’s hard, because, sharing thoughts like this with him is just pushing him away, according to the internet.

Why doesn’t anyone respect that I am fighting for my marriage? Why am I just supposed to give up on the most important thing in my life? Why am I discouraged from trying?

I don’t get it, blog.

Roll Initiative

My D&D rogue has a stupid-high initiative modifier. I always go first. So, I can choose to be last.

We had another lock-popping rogue play with us last night. My feelings, or, rather, my rogue’s feelings got hurt. She was jealous.

The night pretty much went like this:

“Raise your hand if you have rolled higher than 20.”

*raises hand*

“Okay, what to you want to do?”

“I pout in the corner.”