Category Archives: stress

Top 8 Worst Behavioral Interview Questions

You know you’ve been asked one of the worst interview questions when your interview turns into an outerview to leave. If you’ve ever thought to yourself “I gotta get outta here,” chances are you were confronted by an awkward or ridiculous job interviewer or experience. Here are the top 10 (un)best behavior interview questions.

  1. Tell me about a time where you had to see yourself in 5 years and failed to fire your potential boss but overcame a change despite getting the work done late while multitasking in a workplace with high discrimination.
  2. If you could choose for anyone to be alive or deceased to have lunch with, would you eat with someone alive or deceased?
  3. If you could be a slave to an alien creature, what would you be?
  4. Does it bother you if I continue this interview while standing closely behind you so you can’t see me and I’ll be eating pungent cheese?
  5. Tell me about a time that you didn’t work well with a supervisor. What was the outcome and how would you have changed the outcome if the outcome included you severely injuring the supervisor and covering up the evidence?
  6. Why do you think you will be successful at your job when your career is going down the toilet?
  7. Tell me about a time when you participated in a team, and you were asked to stop hitting on the members, physically or sexually? What measures did you take to ensure that others didn’t snitch on you.
  8. How many years does it take you to do simple tasks? Explain the most difficult situation that is simple for everyone else, but you were not intelligent enough to accomplish the task in a timely manner. How did you bring the bad news to your boss and what company rules did you break to keep your job.

Right to Disease

He will be using his constitutional right to have an incurable disease, to toil, to be weakened by inability.

He is entitled to have poor insurance. As the world turns, he brings his suffering to the hospital for treatment above his income.

He almost dies from the surgery, but lives through the pain and his heavily guarded prison cell called a hospital bed. You can’t take enough pain medicine to stay alive and be comfortable. They won’t give you insurance unless you are in good condition. If you pre-exist, you are a considered a vermin that needs to be expelled from the system. If they can afford human pest control spray, they will use it on you.

Until it is wrong, I have the right to my disease. I, however, do not have any way to fix it without the right tools, assistance, help.

Poor and Busy don’t mix

when you have no time, no money; no life. You can make a lifting at work. Lifing becomes the action of life- a verbing. You can make a life of having little money to satisfy basic needs. Lifing is the most difficult task, but the sweeting pleasure.

I’d shuffle cards til the day I die to get a couple of winnings at gambling. I’d throw my shoe at the stock market. It’s the market that is always a little too fresh for my taste. I’ve got no tastebuds. I’ve haven’t got buds. Or pals. Just google. I love you honey. I married google.com by feeling lucky.

Be the best you can be. That’s what they say. Solitaire confinement is all I get.

No Big Deal

No big deal is still a deal. Its okay if there is no sales tax, and you get your electronics and mp3 player at a discount. I went to the love of my life and had nothing to say in regards to worry. I am just going crazy in my memBRAIN. My life is content driven. I can’t drive. I am bologne to my cheese.

I felt angles of this life dimension

I am sinking into this hopeless bliss. Everything couldn’t be more unsettling. I can’t accomplish a thing without paying a figurative fee to society. I have no interest in my behavior. I don’t realize my facadistic impulses until someone brings them to my attention deficit disorder. I don’t care if my lifespan doesn’t match the posthuman. What have I that will hack my existence? Most of my parts work like when they were new. Devoid direction is my mapless conquest. I am soothed by the unexpected. I claim to live in it with ease; I now put it under reconsideration.

Reconstructing the dream sequence involves going back to sleep and when I say “back to sleep” I mean sleeping back then/not on your back/not returning where you left off. Sleepful content is had when learning happens, when learnedness is applied, and when there the uncontrolled yields a potential quality. This sleep is life to me. But I am also literally tired of sleeping and waking. Let it be one or the other. I now can handle both with equal interest, but trouble through shuffling the deck of nights and days. Tonight might be a face card where I get too much sleep or deuce to depravity.

What kind of precision can you achieve if you arbitrarily make a compound miter cut (CONFUSE MYSELF)? The final products are invisible to me and is there a good angle or a technique that works or does it even matter? I can help from being a rear-view filmmaker. I don’t need to record my life. Replays aren’t where I can live. Boy am I glad I am not finished with the filmography. Girl am I sad that I can’t focus on the current production. Nobody is the devine director.

Emotions are like magnetic fields, attracting its opposite. The element of reality known as NOW is rhetorical surface tension.

euphemism: grown out of love

It’s a paradox to kill love. Divorce doesn’t do anything. Death doesn’t nullify anything except a marriage certificate. Splitting up doesn’t set anyone free. Grown out of love? Is love some plantable life that can be destroyed? I’d like to think of it as an immortal plant. When it dries from lack of water, it just feels the hurt of dehydration, enduring the abandonment. Disregarded by the sun, it has nothing to see except itself… alone. No longer basking in the comforting warmth that is present everyday. But when the sun is part of your galaxy, you still know it is there when covered by clouds.

she couldn’t understand how you can just not love someone anymore

Communication. Is crucial for understanding. The question is not of love, but how complex intricate abstraction is intercepted between two people. Maybe ideas of hope were mistaken for love.

I love communication; although it falls short of expressing definitively unanimous thoughts, especially when the surface (the fundamental idea[s]) is the perimeter and there lies a voluminous mass of multi-dimension to be explored. It’s the fault of arbitrary division within a continuum. Language has no way of explaining itself outside its system, and to chunk things into categories destroys the nonlinear motives of the mind. Decay, decoy. Relay, recoil. Somehow we get by. Aristotelean methods are survivable.

Laying it on you easy with a euphemism contradictorily shows you are masking a deeper issue, which is harder on the euphem-ee.

I now ponder whether it is possible to love more than one person? But then I go into the communication problem of whether I understand what I say to myself. What is love? Sure, there are probably many varieties. I guess I love everybody. And I already knew that; Questions seem to be more understandable than answers. Why?

feelers, time, and breakups

Instead of antentae, humans got stuck with emotional feelers.

I have a lust and disgust for time. I need more of it, but I’d love to rid myself of it (not in a life-ending way, don’t worry!). My life now exponentially feels fuller and quicker. Time flies when you are having anything, not just fun… Time drags when you don’t think, or when you think of things you are not interested in. I haven’t felt so thoughtful in my entire life. Things are flying: through rain, snow, sleet, hail, fun, letdown, and opportunity.

I’ve lost a lover. He was a rare kind. Time ran me by and I got thrown off my feet. He ended commitments three months after discovering each other on a personal level. A short time, but an endless package of feelings and gatherings to replay for lifetimes. Companions are for life. Couples have breakups. I think I had both whether a couple of people constitute a couple, we up and broke our romance. We have companionship left over. That’s most important… I could use more ships full of company.

I am struck by his decision to hold back on “us.” If it’s a hiatus, things will straighten out together on its own. If it’s the ending punctuation mark on the sentence of love, then both of us must know that a piece of us and our experience will linger stiffened in the past, unchangeable, but retrievable. The ending period doesn’t stop anybody from reading what’s written before it. The authors can revise and append the story of love or they can leave the sentence abandoned- the orphan.

I feel like I have reasons for having feelings, rather than the isolated individual perspective of submersion in apathetic teeter of melancholy and euphoria.

disappointed but grateful
detached but realistic
blank but hopeful
fragmented but understanding
confused but content
empty but growing

I feel a physical manifestation of ambivalence.

Talk is Cost-Effective

If you multiply
the times you said something,
I will divide
the times I heard them.

Shop for the correct words while super-marketing. The cheapness of speaking is not stifled by inflation. Ready for the lips to close? You will be dismayed to hear quotation marks in their place. Roaring airs will spout from sealed mouths like a leaky valve. Sewage. Spewage. For the sake of Pete, put a leash on that clich-(eh).

Seminars on who to tell, why to tell, tell you how, tell you now, tell you what, tell you when. Rent the hotels to speak about meeting speakers who rent the hotels that meet renters who speak about hotels that speak meters of rent for speaking about hotels that meet rent for speech. Put some lipstick where your money goes. Talk is cost-effective.

when can I feel

I’d like to
have the capacity
to drive
myself
to you.

I
am just waiting
for the
when
to arrive.

Do we both
require
initiation
before reply?

When can I feel? When never comes, when becomes never, and never comes whenever. Arrows are thrown in a short upward thrusts, as to land where it was. I need to be informed. I am not information. I am looking to be looked upon. Honestly, honesty must spill itself in front of me. I have not dropped all of my belongings yet. Am I holding on to my honesty without showing it beyond my eyes. Candid spontaneity is when. I will start to tell untold information that could have been secrets.

Assembled Disagreement in Polychotomy vs. Where to Buy Side Effects?

Prescribe SSRIs to my Stereo

If you’ve been to a local venue or witnessed your music seen, chances are you have witnessed the sightly claim to independence by individuals conforming to nonconformist societies who feel they are unheard or misinterpreted or act as though there is nobody like them. Take emo for example. A subgenre of music stemming from hardcore, tapering into emotionally heavy music, morphing into cathartic over-dramatization. And where does this come from? A need to feel depressed? A longing for an avenue to express feelings? A way of creating a facade of personal deepness? In any case, emotion gets blown out of proportion, (when the EMOs get out of hand or even if they think they are acting normal) the more emotional than emotional: attention deficit, national deficit, nuclear deficit of the arms race, the infantile attitude of one upsmanship.

Any sub”genre” is hypocrisy against itself. To define by a word is to not explain it. Nothing exists as matter-of-fact if it is a classification. A social construct is all it is. A convenience at times, but equally misleading and distinct from the actual perceived entities they refer to, especially when extended as imperative to social survival imploding into essential survival.

It fuels a self-perpetuated emptiness on both ends of the stick…

The kids wanting the prescription drugs (SSRIs) to legitimize their “depression” diametrically resent the oppression or dependency the medicine may produce. Likewise, the drug companies are partly helping people but also trying to turn a profit. Shove the commercials in our face to ensure us we need medicine. It doesn’t matter if we are actually sick. We all need breast enhancement, perhaps in the future they’ll use surgically inserted benign tumors? We require pills to align ourselves to the status quo, attenuated minds tuned to the 12th root of 2 (like the ever popular equal-temperament musical scale). Go see your dentist about teeth strengthening injections. Talk to your doctor about psuedo-opium for your fear of dying. Sure there might be an ounce of concern for our well being, but the bottom line expects a profit. All in all in all is none. Leftovers of returns.

While doctors and patients feel the efficacy of treating depression through SSRIs is pretty good, treating non-existent disorders is even more powerful. Perhaps this is even more important to maintaining economic progress, as resources become exhausted, and we start closing in on the limit of the function. Most psychotherapeutic drugs act on a wide variety of receptor systems, inhibiting various receptor subtypes. For example quetiapine inhibits 5HT1a, 5HT2, D1, D2, a1, and a2. As the move from typical to atypical anti-psychotics was made, drugs are now trying to be designed to be even more specific. SSRI’s are called selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitors because they selectively inhibit the re-uptake mechanism of serotonin. That is to say that the drug shows a higher affinity for blocking this mechanism and does not alter brain functioning in other ways (at least in theory). While this narrowing down of the action of the drug on the mind may teach us more about the serotonin system; and the brain, the cause of depression (if chemical) is bound to be more complex than a simple serotonin imbalance.

The narrowing down of the drugs action straight to a broadly encompassing depression is just as much of a stretch as the narrowing down of genres to isolate one’s identity. A similar selectivity happens in the emo sub”genre” as songs are often categorized crudely as happy, sad, or angry. Without taking the other emotions into consideration or allowing for paradoxical emotions such as melancholy euphoria. Beware of ordained prophylactics for hyper-diagnosed neuroticism and beware of taxonomy that divides a continuum which itself cannot be equated with its segregated parts. It fails on both ends, or non-ends; as fallacies of Division and Composition.