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[katallison]

It is Crisis of Confidence Day here at la casa Kat; I am experiencing a bout of I-suckism that makes Badfic!RayK look like a paragon of self-esteem. I have heard nothing back about the job. (Rational Brain: "Well, these things take time, you know that, just relax." I-Suck Brain: "Oh, shut up. They laughed at my resume, they laughed loud and long, and then they tore it up into little tiny bits.") The story continues to loom in my mind as a monument to tripe. (Rational Brain: "You feel this way every time, and hey, L. thinks it's good!" I-Suck Brain: "I repeat, shut up. Plus, she's just being nice to me.") I am miles and miles behind on stuff at work. (Rational Brain: "You just have to go in and start chipping away at it; slow and steady, one thing at a time." I-Suck Brain: "What part of shut up are you not getting? Plus, any day now they're gonna twig to my massive incompetence and just fire my ass, and then I'll have to go work as a convenience store clerk in Lake Elmo and live in a trailer park.")

This is, actually, not a plea for reassurance, just a quick tour of the monkey house. See the monkeys! Laugh as they jump up and down and screech! Duck out of the way as they fling shit!

Comments

[wickdzoot.livejournal.com]

Hey, that's okay, I have I-Suck-Brain nearly every day, and it combines professional competence (or lack of same) as well as parenting ability/skills/etc (or lack of same).

We can laugh at the monkeys together.

[mimesere.livejournal.com]

If it makes you feel any better, my friend at work saw a bumper sticker that said, "I fling poo" and immediately thought of me.

I honestly didn't know whether or not I was insulted or amused.

[elynross.livejournal.com]

This is, actually, not a plea for reassurance, just a quick tour of the monkey house. See the monkeys! Laugh as they jump up and down and screech! Duck out of the way as they fling shit!

How about if I take it as reassurance for myself? *g* As I know you know, there are so many of us that have these "what if they find out I'm incompetent/realize I've deluded them and I can't write/realize they never really liked me anyway!" feelings. And having come off my own two-week illness, I know that's a real help. Here's hoping some balance arrives on your doorstep soon. And a spoon, to dig with at work. Killa and I are wielding ours, slowly, slowly.

You have adorable monkeys. *g*

[katallison.livejournal.com]

God, if I had parenting to throw into the mix, I'd be in the rubber room--I don't know how you stronger souls handle that. It's bad enough that I wig out about my advisees who've gone on probation or suspension. (As a colleague of mine pointed out, "Right, it's *your* responsibility that that student flunked bio! You went and slashed his tires every week, and *that's* why he missed half the labs! You *bitch*!")

Really, one can only laugh at the monkeys. That, or start the heavy drinking, and it's not even ten a.m. yet.

[katallison.livejournal.com]

I want that bumper sticker! I do!!

God, imagine how it'd cut down on the tailgaters ...

[katallison.livejournal.com]

Hee! Thanks, Ellen. I take comfort in the fact that all the smart competent people I know seem to have these inner crises (even though I know it's logically flawed to think that being insecure means one is smart/competent).

(I-Suck Brain: "You know, I'll bet that Ellen and Killa at least do their dishes! Instead of letting them pile up in huge fetid greasy stacks in the sink!" Me: "Oh, shut up.")

[flambeau.livejournal.com]

Maybe you can train the monkeys to do the dishes. They have to be good for something. (I, otoh, have to actually write it into my schedule - 8.30, do dishes - and force myself into the kitchen with a whip and chair.)

And being insecure doesn't mean you're not smart and competent, either. ;-)

Darling.

[eliade.livejournal.com]

You'll bootstrap yourself off the monkey pile soon, and rightly so. Reassure yourself that it could be worse--you could have *justifiable* reasons for your bout of I-suckism. Take me, for instance. I did barely a lick of work this week. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, it was all I could do to keep my eyes from crossing as I stared into the monitor screen. I think I surfed seven hours out of eight, occasionally thinking, "What if they're collecting my click data right now? What if they tell my manager, who thinks I'm competent, that I spent the entire day reloading LiveJournal and reading Salon? Would they really want to pay me over $100 a day to surf?" But I manfully shouldered those thoughts aside, and continued my clock-watching until I was free to leave the office.

Buck up, little soldier. {g}

[wickdzoot.livejournal.com]

Believe me, the parenting thing is.....

Let's see, it's probably my fault both my kids are pairing off so young; the Boy got married at 22, and the Salamander turned 18 in July and is engaged. Maybe it's my fault because I haven't remarried, or maybe it's my fault because.....

Anyway, you see what I mean. Heavy drinking could be an option, but the hangover would kill me.

[umbo.livejournal.com]

Well, I did laugh, long and loud. Even if you're hearing the voice of the suck-brain, you're still a damned fine writer, writing about it!

[rhi]

This is, actually, not a plea for reassurance, just a quick tour of the monkey house. See the monkeys! Laugh as they jump up and down and screech! Duck out of the way as they fling shit!

It's not a plea for reassurance; it is reassurance to the rest of us who have similar monkeys of our own. Don't suppose you could ask Fraser to escort them politely off to a back corner where Ray can practice his kick I mean dancesteps on with them? Any number of muses are quite prepared to be helpful in these situations after all. (Since they get more writing time when we're doing well...)

Good luck on the job. I don't think telling you not to worry about the story would do any good, but I will tell you that I've never read a story of yours that wasn't damned good, if not superb. Even the ones in fandoms I don't *watch*, Kat. I'm looking forward to seeing this one, too. Take care, and if nothing else, buy some popcorn to keep that one monkey's mouth full.

(Hmm. Wonder if I should have phrased that last that way around a bunch of slashers? Oh, why not? What's the worst that could happen?)

[elynross.livejournal.com]

(I-Suck Brain: "You know, I'll bet that Ellen and Killa at least do their dishes! Instead of letting them pile up in huge fetid greasy stacks in the sink!" Me: "Oh, shut up.")

Bwaaa-haa-haaaa! Well, Killa does. *g* Me? I have a mother. I dread to think what will happen when she's gone. And I haven't dusted or vacuumed in months, my Xmas tree will probably stay up until March, and you can't get through my living room for all the toys piled in it. The laundry basket in my room is spilling on to the floor, where it meets up with the piles of not-really-dirty clothes I've stripped off and flung, and the piles of read books that haven't any place to go, and the not-read ones I haven't read yet.

I win!

[bethbethbeth.livejournal.com]

(written with my usual apologies in advance.)

"Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray!"

"Huh?"

"Ray, what are you watching?"

"Oh. Um...it's Biography."

"Really?" Fraser sits down on Ray's sofa and peers at the television set. "I thought this week's episode was supposed to feature the lovely and talented writer Kat Allison (who, parenthetically, is rumored to be attempting to break us up, even as I speak)."

"Yeah, that's her."

"Ah. Ray?"

"Yeah, Fraser?"

"What's that in her hand?"

"Shit!"

"Language, Ray."

"No, I mean, it's shit, and she's...duck, Fraser!"

Both men slide to the floor and wait until the brief onslaught ceases. Tentatively, Fraser lifts his head up and looks back at the screen.

"She appears to have...stopped."

"Yeah." Ray sighs, then scoots back up onto the sofa. "Never lasts long."

Fraser stands up and straightens out his tunic. "She...Ray, is it normal to be able to throw something through the television screen?"

Ray chuckles. "Nah. Like you said, she's talented. Come on, sit down and watch the rest of the show. It's going to have a happy ending."

"Unlike..."

"Hey! I thought we'd agreed we weren't going to talk about any WIP's!"

"Understood."

[bethbethbeth.livejournal.com]

(In other words, it's safer to *be* one of the monkeys than just live with them. Of course, it *is* messier...)

[sajj.livejournal.com]

...then I'll have to go work as a convenience store clerk in Lake Elmo and live in a trailer park.")

Doesn't sound half bad. Peaceful. Could get a lot of writing done.

This is, actually, not a plea for reassurance, just a quick tour of the monkey house. See the monkeys! Laugh as they jump up and down and screech! Duck out of the way as they fling shit!

I think my monkeys know yours, they speak the same language. At least you know they're just panicking monkeys scrambling about for some sort of control, and who are full of shit. Waiting to hear about a job is just the thing to set them off. Hope you hear soon, something good.

Re: Darling.

[katallison.livejournal.com]

Ah, but you see, the reason that I'm miles and miles behind with stuff at work is that I spent all last week web-surfing <glancing around nervously to make sure employer is not spying>. I was, like, researching apartments in the town where I'd move if I got this job about which I have not even gotten a call yet! Now *that* is time-wasting with a hey nonny.

What the hell did we ever *do* at work before the internet? Damned if I can remember...

[katallison.livejournal.com]

Shell, you're such a sweetie! Thanks for the kind words.

[katallison.livejournal.com]

I think there is some odd comfort to be found in the realization that we're all bozos on this bus </Firesign Theatre> Thanks so much for the kind words, Rhi!

(Oh, and "the worst that could happen"? Around a bunch of slashers? Hon, you don't want to know....)

[katallison.livejournal.com]

<hooting> Hey, if I'm on Biography, can I be played by Emma Thompson? Huh, huh?

(And, yes, the first rule of WIP Club is you do NOT talk about WIP!)

[katallison.livejournal.com]

You know, it's strange, but I do take a kind of comfort in knowing I could always just go off and be a convenience store clerk somewhere. I have confidence I'll always be able to scrape by, but this being-a-professional thing? *Nerve*-wracking.

Thanks so much for the good wishes! I'm just going to shove the monkeys down in the basement, along with the rabid "You can't write, you fool!" Dobermans, and triple-lock the door, and have myself a peaceful weekend.

Re:

[rhi]

::grinning:: Ah, someone else who knows you can't push on a rope....

(And sure I do, if it'll amuse you.)