Monday, April 18, 2005

A Day in the Life of Miserable Stacy


I've only been back to my normal schedule for two days and I'm already completely and utterly miserable.

Let's take a look at a Day in the Life of Stacy:

(Be warned: A Day in the Life of Stacy may cause your eyes to burn in horror, your soul to fill up with despair and you may have a general feeling like you're about to vomit. Don't worry, Stacy Without an E feels like this everyday...)


I wake up before my alarm because I never sleep up until it awakes. I do remember the previous dream though as it quickly seeps out of my memory.

I was on this small, floating raft and I've been sailing for days. I'm barely clothed and skinnier than usual. For the first time in I can't remember, I see land. I jump off my raft and try as I might, the island just will not join me. I do manage to make out figures on the island. Some are from college and they're giving me the finger. Others work with me presently and they're telling me to fuck off.

Suddenly, and without warning, I turn my head back to the ocean to see a small raft with a beautiful raven haired temptress on board. She smiles, then grimaces when she realizes it's me. Then she rams her raft into my head and I drown.

The end.

It's now 9:10am and I'm late.

I'm in the shower now and I'm leaning my weary body against the tub wall. I've already washed and conditioned my hair and cleaned every nook and cranny. Now I'm just enjoying the hot water as I wonder if it can wash away the impending doom I feel toward the remainder of my day.

If I had any brains I'd towel off and climb right back into bed.


I'm obsessing over my hair. Before dialysis, I had a pretty good shag of dark brown goodness on my scalp. Now, especially when it's wet, it's embarrassing. Although I still have a thin layer of hair remaining, dialysis is stealing the rest. I talked to a woman who was a cancer patient and she swears by these products from Nioxin. She said after two months of using them I would be very happy with the results. Or impotent. I'm not really sure which is supposed to come first...


I've been making my own lunch and placing it in a plastic Safeway bag to save money. Steps from the Stacy TruckMobile the bag splits and my PB&J, along with my dignity, spills all over the parking lot. My Lemon yogurt sails under the fence dividing my apartment complex from our neighbors.

"Ya want your yogurt back mister?" asks the young girl who should be in school.

"Yes, thank you."

"Too bad fucker," she spits out as she giggles back to whatever spawn of Satan created her.

Like I said earlier, shoud've stayed in bed.


I finally arrive at work, a little late with a little less lunch, but at least I arrived. As I pass by the conference room, I see a bunch of the cool clique at my work talking. As I pass by the conference room door, their words morph into whispering. One of them rolls their eyes at me while the others look away giggling.

I haven't been invited, for the 457th consecutive time, to go to lunch with my peers.

Most of them are having sex with one another or blazing alcoholics, so I don't believe I'm missing all that much. That gene pool doesn't need my toe dipped in, if you know what I mean.

It's kinda sad because I was invited to lunch once. Just once. All everybody talked about was about all the drama going on here. I was surprised and disappointed how much crap everyone was talking about everyone else.

Sigh...the sequel.


The highlight of my day, lunch by myself. I decided to splurge and tossed my lunch in the fridge, instead treating myself to mexican food at the local Taqueria. I'm such a bore, I order two chicken tacos with cheese. They fill my belly and remind me what it's like to be human, so they go down easy.


We just upgraded our entire on-air system at work, so I'm still trying to figure where all the audio I saved for the last five years went. All the station production, all the little dealies of audio you hear between the songs on the radio (if you still listen to terrestrial radio) seems to be missing on the network. I compose a highly congratulatory and hopeful e-mail to our IT guy. He's also the morning host on the AM station in our cluster. And the boss of that station. So any time I need any help, I have to forward the same e-mail to my boss so I can get something accomplished around here.

Those taco's aren't riding easy in my belly. In fact, they feel like they're protesting their new locale.


I have to be on the air in fifteen minutes and my boss is panicking because our new production for our cash giveaway promotion isn't in the system.

"I'll download it into the system right after the show."

"You don't give a damn about this station, do you?"

"What? Where did that come from? I've been in the hospital for three days, I need a little catch up time here."

"Your attitude is really distressing."

Wow, I didn't know my boss knew the word "distressing". Must be in one of those "How to Be a Manager" books that don't help anyone.

"Did I just step into a Dilbert cartoon? I'm down to twelve minutes and I have to get focused for the show."

"We'll need to talk about this later."

I stand there momentarily, staring into my boss' eyes, wondering what his incredibly hot wife ever saw in him. I'm also trying to use my less than developed telepathy to tell him to get the fuck out of my office.

Hmm. Whatdoyaknow. It worked.

It's showtime.


I've really reached a point in my career where I can do the entire show with one vocal cord tied behind my back. That's a good and bad thing.

Good: I'm very comfortable behind the mic and I have everything under control. I'm energetic, occasionally witty and play off my traffic gal pretty well.

Bad: I should either be making thousands of dollars more or working in a bigger market.


My boss calls on the hotline to discuss what happened earlier. I ask him, overly politely, if we could disuss this, oh, after the show.

He splashes a few heated words my way and then hangs up. I glance over to the digital phone recorder to see that it's on and I just recorded the whole conversation.

I begin what I like to call "flash editing", which is editing on the fly as quickly as I can. Content is a little low today due to Paris Hilton being good and Asheee Simpson not embarrassing herself somewhere, so I decide to do a little "Behind the Scenes" segment with out wacky traffic reporter.

This is the best and worst decision I've made all day.

It was pretty damn funny to hear my boss go off on what my problem is, edited for broadcast of course.

The bad part will come later when one of his spy stooges will report on what I've done.

Let's check my "do I really care" needle.

Just as I suspected, it's running on "e".


This happens just about every freakin' day about this time. Somewhere in the vicinity of 5:30-6pm my energy just nosedives. I'm usually pretty charged from spending three hours on the air, but then my will to live just evaporates.

It's time for another dialysis treatment.

This is how Dialysis controls me, much like the Devil manages the lives of others. She drops by just around the time I'm feeling good and enjoying myself and overtakes me like a cold, soaking wet blanket.

It's at this time that Dialysis wins. I will not skip a visit with her; I will not brush her off. She is an evil, twisted, manaical abuser of those with a lack of kidney function, and I hate her for it.


The only saving grace of my treatments lately is I can watch my Netflix movies because no one else brings DVD's. Tonight I've decided to be a masochist and try to sit through dialysis AND my second viewing of "Star Wars: Episode I: The Phantom Menace."

Well, I'm a certified, 100%, all-American geek and I need a recap before standing in line for the last Star Wars.

You may mock me...right here, staring now --->______


It's a solid debate which hurts more, the needles entering my arm, or leaving to their untimely death. Usually the Simpsons is on so that takes a little of the edge off. Tonight I'm not getting off easy because my blood pressure is low AND my pulse has skyrocketed.

They stole too much fluid again.

Kind of like the little girl stole my yogurt earlier.


I toss my latest copy of Entertainment Weekly in the corner and grab my comforter. My bed envelopes me, my best friend in the world. I close my eyes in an attempt to slumber, but my mind never wants to shut off.

How am I ever going to get out of debt???
Will I ever find my true love???
Is my life ever, ever going to improve???
Would anyone notice if I just disappeared???
Is happiness just a figment of my imagination???

Eventually, and thankfully, all my questions and concerns dissolve into the night.

And my last thought for the day, before sleep completely overtakes me, is one that I will remember for weeks to come:

"Too bad fucker."


  1. 1. Your dream: the raven-haired temptress was basically a complete psychopath who had an unhealthy obsession/deluded love for you, though you had never met her. She spied you galavanting with an even more attractive and completely sane temptress-type so foul-raven-haired temptress informed all of your ex-college peers and current douche co-workers that you impregnated her and then threw her down a flight of stairs to induce miscarriage. Then she snapped. Take heed of raven-haired temptresses. Seriously.

    2. Using a small syringe, mix a 'healthy' dose of rat poison into some yogurt and re-enact the dignity-spill every morning until the bait is taken. It is your duty to purge this planet of Satan Spawn, as they seem to be becoming a demographic majority.

    3. Your 'Behind the Scenes' segment sounds like it was entirely glorious. Your boss will have no choice now but to fuck off when he realizes that you just used his spazztitude to charm all of the listeners and that they will eviscerate him should you mysteriously disappear. As an immense fan of your writing, I wish I could hear your radio show.

    512. And a giant, resounding 'yes' to every single one of your questions. Oh wait, um, except the last one...giant resounding 'no' to that one, yup. And, well, I suppose I can't answer an enthusiastic 'yes' to the first question, as it is a 'how', so to that I shall say that your copyrighting of the term "dangetty drat" should take care of that. And I suppose I can't proclaim discoveries of true love. Okay, if you were to disappear, I would most definitely note a lack of blog activity and I would weep profusely.

    This comment is 18 times longer than it is interesting.

  2. I agree with Braleigh. Let's poison the demon seed.

    I'm glad you recognize the inferiority of your coworkers. They're obviously not worth the time if they behave so towards you. Anyone failing to see your divine nature must surely be a complete dolt and unworthy of a second thought.

    Hmm, maybe I should take my own advice, huh?

    I loved the "do I really care needle" thing. I'm thinking I might have to steal that.