Oldcontroller's Blog

No, I didn’t get fired. Not yet, anyway. But the boss decided since I am unwilling to balance her personal checkbook, and as she believes that is on a par with monitoring the business accounts, I’m no longer the bookkeeper. She’s cut my hours to afternoons only and I’m parked up front, answering phones and taking rents and filling out repair work orders, and so on.

Oh, I didn’t tell you about all that. Sorry. I was going to. Well, I have a few minutes, so let me try to give you the Readers Digest version.

Last September, when I was hired after being fired from the board office after embarrassing my boss, I was hired at the company where I started work as a Realtor back in 2005. The woman who owns the business is a shouter, and it took her two years to finally chase me out the door then. Anyway, another Realtor working here heard I’d been fired and called to see if I was looking for work. He told me to call the broker, I interviewed and she hired me. I was the bookkeeper for the five business accounts, and when I got here and training began (and there were large holes left in my training which I didn’t realize until something didn’t happen like it was supposed to — thanks, Florence, I love ya but did you really have to do that to me?), I was told I had to look after the boss’ two personal checking accounts.

I was not comfortable with that, and said so. I was told if I wanted to work there I would shut up and do what I was told. So I did, which was a mistake. Did it for about a year. Sort of. What I never did was ask the boss for her personal checkbook so I could balance it.

A few Fridays ago, a few days after I’d started taking Effexor and was feeling very bad, the boss roared into my office — or what used to be my office — threw her checkbook on my desk along with the bank statement and yelled that she’d gotten an overdraft notice and it was my fault because I’d never asked for her checkbook so I could balance it.

Sidebar — The other personal checkbook resides in what used to be my office, so I knew what was going on there. The one she was upset about lives in her purse. End sidebar.

I tried to figure it out, I really did. I felt like hell, but I tried. When I realized I was late for a meeting, I gathered up the checkbook and statement and took it back to her, telling her I had to leave. She shouted that that was fine, she’d do it.

Monday she roared back at me, threw the checkbook and statement at me again, yelled that she’d gotten another overdraft notice.

Here’s one problem, besides her unwillingness to take responsibility for her own financial decisions. She cannot be bothered to take the 30 seconds max it takes to, when she writes a check, annotate it properly. Date, check number, who it’s written to, amount. Her scrawl is illegible. She uses several lines for one entry, and frequently forgets to make entries at all. She’d be better off acquiring a chimpanzee to follow her around and write things down. Without the bank statement it would be impossible to decipher any of it. If it weren’t for the fact that the bank provides copies of the checks, she’d be up the proverbial creek, because she doesn’t know what she’s written checks for, either, and it’s her checkbook.

Balancing her checkbooks is a line that should never have been crossed. The woman who had the job before me, the aforementioned Florence, did it for her. I didn’t want to, believed it was inappropriate. And I still do. There’s no way I have any business in her personal financial information. No way. Can you imagine what would happen if there was a serious disconnect? Who would get blamed? Yeah, the hapless bookkeeper, who just needed a paycheck.

But when I told her I didn’t think it was appropriate, that I didn’t have any business doing her personal checkbook, she shouted that that was fine, she’d do it. And then she cut my hours, and booted me out of my office.

Of course, now she has to monitor the five business accounts in addition to her own checkbooks, keep up with the bills, write and send the payments, etc. etc. etc. She’ll do it, too, because backing off from an untenable position isn’t one of her skills.

By the way — Last week I came in one afternoon and my co-worker told me the boss had parked herself in front of the computer I use in the front office and reviewed the browser history. And shouted about whether I was taking a vacation, because the history was full of links to the airports in the area and hotels. Also restaurants. Why? Because I was adding links to our office website in an effort to increase our web visibility and therefore generate more traffic and therefore maybe generate more business. And you have to check the links before you add them because adding dead links is counterproductive. Do you think she’s asked me why all those URLs were in the history? Nope. But she did spend quite a bit of time writing down every single URL in the history. That she has time for. Balancing her own checkbook, not so much. Anyway, I’m done adding links to the office website. Apparently my help is unwelcome.

So. I’m now in search of a full time job, because 20 hours a week isn’t enough. Have you tried looking for work in this economy? This isn’t my first time in the barrel, and I’ll do what I have to do, but oh my God I don’t want to be here again. I feel so bad, still, the menopause is still kicking my butt. I’ve started Estroven and I’m hoping it will help.

I’m a walking bag of fear. I know things happen for a reason, and God has a plan, and He will put me where He wants me. But I’m so afraid.

Any positive thoughts and/or vibes would be appreciated. Job leads, also. And thanks for listening.

I went to see the doc at the base this morning, following up from the appointment last Tuesday when he put me on Effexor and nearly killed me. Well, okay, not really. Screwed me up in a major way, though. We’ve decided to step back and try a little harder with the natural remedy plan. He said if I decided I needed hormones to call and he’d put me on the lightest dose possible. Which is what he did with the Effexor. We can only hope that if it becomes necessary we won’t end up having a similar result.

He said my reaction to Effexor was extremely rare. Which got me to thinking. If you saw Firefly and Serenity you know about the Pax, and Miranda, and the Reavers. The Reavers were created by use of the Pax, which was intended to create a society of docile submissive subjects the Alliance could easily control. Unfortunately a very small minority of the test subjects, the colonists, reacted not by losing interest in everything including eating and subsequently dying, but by becoming sociopaths on steroids. And it occurred to me — since my mother had the same reaction I did when her doctor put her on antidepressants some years back that I did last week, maybe my mother and I would be one of the very small percentage of humans who’d react to the Pax by becoming Reavers.

This is the sort of stupid stuff I think about.

Anyway, I’m feeling about 1000% better now than I did only a few days ago. Thank God. I don’t ever want to feel like that again.

Next objective — figure out what I need to do to keep the hot flashes, cold chills and mood swings from taking over again.

Also next, when I get to it, what’s been going on at work with my boss. I think she might be losing her mind also, but rather than it affecting just her, it’s affecting everybody. Maybe “losing her mind” is a bit strong, but she’s improved from “ascerbic” and “abrasive” to “abusive.” A step up, I guess. Good times.

The past few weeks have been interesting. And by “interesting” I mean miserable. I’ve learned a few things about menopause that no one ever told me. I’ve had conversations with my mother that have proven enlightening, even if she can’t actually do anything to help me.

Menopause means you lose your mind. Not kidding. The hormonal fluctuations, the hot flashes, the cold chills, the anxiety so intense you’re certain something horrible is about to happen, the fear, the loss of perspective. And mood swings. “Mood swings” is such a nice, tidy little term. It doesn’t even begin to describe the reality. I had a complete meltdown on my husband a few Sundays ago. There was no reason for it. I can’t even remember what we were talking about. It ended with him having to take a gun away from me. I am not making that up.

Last Tuesday I had an appointment to see a doctor at the base. I got caught up to by their staff, who had determined I hadn’t had a pap smear in a few years and needed another one. Much as I would have rather passed on the whole idea, I know I’m overdue so I went in. And while I was there I figured I’d talk to him about the symptoms I’ve been having, see if there was anything that could be done.

Sidebar — My mom was very clear I needed hormones. Turns out she’s been on estrogen supplements for 42 years. Which astounded me, because I’d always heard they were only safe for a short period. My mom did say the doctor tried to take her off of them, and she went off of them for a bit, then showed up at his office and announced that unless he wanted her to “clear out the entire front office” he’d put her back on them. Which he did. End sidebar.

The doc, who was very nice, said he has a three-step process for hormonal symptoms. First, the natural remedies. As I’ve already been trying that and it doesn’t seem to be working, he said we’d try an anti-depressant. He put me on Effexor. He prescribed the lowest dosage, said it would be 4 to 6 weeks before I’d see any effects. I started taking it that morning.

I noticed a change immediately. On the plus side, the hot flashes and cold chills were much lower in intensity. The minus side is considerably longer, and with each day things got worse.

My anxiety not only did not decrease, it increased. There’s this weird disconnected feeling, like I’m not really here.

I have no interest in eating. I can feel myself getting hungry but the thought of food makes me sick. I’ve had to force myself to eat, and there’s no joy in it at all. People who know me would be astounded — eating is one of my favorite activities. But on this med I can’t stand the thought of food.

I also can’t stand conflict or stress. Today my boss yelled at me because I wouldn’t balance her personal checkbook. I don’t think I should be doing that, have told her before, but she thinks I should do her business and personal accounts both because she’s all about speed and that means not keeping track of what she writes checks for, and then of course it’s my fault when she gets overdraft notices because — get this — I didn’t ask for her personal checkbook so I could balance it. I told her I didn’t think I should do that, she yelled that the woman who had the job before me did it, I said I wasn’t her. When she hired me I was clear I had to ride herd over the business accounts, but personal stuff? Huh uh. So she shouted and grabbed her checkbook and stomped back to her office shouting the entire way. I gathered up the rent checks I needed to run through the scanner, went back to my office and cried my eyes out for 15 minutes. She didn’t speak to me the rest of the day. I tried to talk to her about bills that need to be paid, business expenses, but she managed to avoid me.

I can’t concentrate. I can’t stay on task. I can’t go on like this. And this past weekend, the chores I needed to do, I did — well, most of them. Saturday was grocery shopping, buying dog and cat food and wheat litter for Otis. Sunday was yard work. But it was all a monumental effort, because all I wanted to do was sleep. My husband was working all weekend so when I was home I was alone, except for the critters. I was alone with my thoughts, and they were not pleasant. Not quite suicidal, but not pleasant.

I called the hospital this morning, talked to the nice lady at the appointment desk who had a nurse call me. The nurse checked with the doctor, and told me to stop taking the pills. Too late for today, but no more pills. I do hope tomorrow I feel better, because I start a music theory class tomorrow, and then I have dance class. Right now neither of them seem appealing, and I clearly remember very recently being excited about both.

I have an appointment to see the doc Wednesday morning, and maybe we can come up with a better solution. Even if it’s not hormones. I can’t do the anti-depressant thing, obviously.

Keep your fingers crossed that once this damn stuff is out of my system I feel like me again. I don’t know who I feel like now, but it sucks. It’s terrible. I hate it here.

I mentioned some time ago that my mom was diagnosed with basal cell carcinoma on her face. And that she’d decided not to do anything about it. And that she told me only after my uncle spilled the beans, and I told her what I thought about her decision.

She had the one on her lip removed. Her lip was a bit swollen for awhile, and is now healing. They didn’t take the whole lower half of her face, which was what she was afraid of. There are two more spots to be removed which are scheduled to be done in October. My uncle e-mailed me and told me that not only was the surgery not as bad as she feared, a few days later you couldn’t even tell anything had been done.

Also, she’s enjoying very much her satellite radio (Sirius’ efforts to prevent its arrival and activation notwithstanding — what a crowd of idiots they are), and the digital frame loaded with old photos. I still need to scan more in so I can send her a thumb drive with more photos on them.

So it was a very successful visit. And she is, according to my uncle, doing a lot better emotionally. Hooray!