Friday, September 30, 2005
oh happy day
I got a raise! I got a raise! Oh boy oh boy oh boy....
So my not-workplace has become quite the workplace lately; hence, the fewer the posts at this here blog o’mine. It’s been quite fun to have things to do, and to see how quickly the time passes as you do them. Funny how that works.
Wherever I can, and without doing too much of that nervous-nelly, jump-the-gun, over-anticipating obnoxiousness, (I have a rare gift for it) I’ve been attempting to go beyond the call of duty whenever I’m given something to do. Lots of questions at the beginning, hard work in the middle combined with thinking creatively, and finishing up with plenty of follow-up. But that’s not why I got the raise today.
My bosses, both women, have to be two of the finest people I’ve ever worked for. They’re incredibly astute and do their jobs well, but they don’t rub it in anyone’s face. They’re real and friendly and approachable. They get nothing but praise from the other departments they serve. They regularly say thank you and smile. They’re complimentary and communicative. They’re just outstanding employers, and understand the importance of keeping your subordinates happy. But that’s only part of why I got the raise today.
I got the raise because it was negotiated back in May before I agreed to take the job. The salary they were offering was so small that I knew I wouldn’t be able to cover even all my monthly expenses. However, I had the feeling I needed to take this job, that this was where I needed to be. So…3% increase after three months of employment. That was the deal, and they made good on it today. Yippee. I received a nice comment from the boss as she handed me the congratulatory letter: “I sure wish it was more, Mary. We’re all delighted you’re here.”
I mean, come on. How cool is that? What an incredibly nice thing to say! I really wanted to tell her how I don’t deserve it, especially since up until two weeks ago, she’s been paying me to blog, pick my nose, and drink the college stash of sparkling water all day. But, I really need the money guys.
I told my roommate, Peggy, that it probably only amounts to an additional $14.82 per month, but I need it. I’ll be all right. I’m actually doing better than most, and I’m grateful for it. It’s nice to be openly appreciated, it sometimes goes farther than new shoes or extra spending money. Besides, it’s only a couple of months before my next “negotiated” perk comes due...
Christmas Bonus. Holla.
So my not-workplace has become quite the workplace lately; hence, the fewer the posts at this here blog o’mine. It’s been quite fun to have things to do, and to see how quickly the time passes as you do them. Funny how that works.
Wherever I can, and without doing too much of that nervous-nelly, jump-the-gun, over-anticipating obnoxiousness, (I have a rare gift for it) I’ve been attempting to go beyond the call of duty whenever I’m given something to do. Lots of questions at the beginning, hard work in the middle combined with thinking creatively, and finishing up with plenty of follow-up. But that’s not why I got the raise today.
My bosses, both women, have to be two of the finest people I’ve ever worked for. They’re incredibly astute and do their jobs well, but they don’t rub it in anyone’s face. They’re real and friendly and approachable. They get nothing but praise from the other departments they serve. They regularly say thank you and smile. They’re complimentary and communicative. They’re just outstanding employers, and understand the importance of keeping your subordinates happy. But that’s only part of why I got the raise today.
I got the raise because it was negotiated back in May before I agreed to take the job. The salary they were offering was so small that I knew I wouldn’t be able to cover even all my monthly expenses. However, I had the feeling I needed to take this job, that this was where I needed to be. So…3% increase after three months of employment. That was the deal, and they made good on it today. Yippee. I received a nice comment from the boss as she handed me the congratulatory letter: “I sure wish it was more, Mary. We’re all delighted you’re here.”
I mean, come on. How cool is that? What an incredibly nice thing to say! I really wanted to tell her how I don’t deserve it, especially since up until two weeks ago, she’s been paying me to blog, pick my nose, and drink the college stash of sparkling water all day. But, I really need the money guys.
I told my roommate, Peggy, that it probably only amounts to an additional $14.82 per month, but I need it. I’ll be all right. I’m actually doing better than most, and I’m grateful for it. It’s nice to be openly appreciated, it sometimes goes farther than new shoes or extra spending money. Besides, it’s only a couple of months before my next “negotiated” perk comes due...
Christmas Bonus. Holla.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
match made in heaven
I'm standing on a busy cross street, when this pimped ride pulls up blaring masogynistic lyrics. For some reason, the driver decides to stare at me. A lot. For like the whole time he's stopped at the light.
Here's what I'm thinking the whole time while I'm standing there pretending to not notice the staring, strategically turning my head every direction but his:
Dude. My dress is black, boring, and buttoned up to the neckline. My hair is in a bun. Everything about me screams librarian. But maybe you're into that sort of thing.
Cat, baby...this bud's for you.
Here's what I'm thinking the whole time while I'm standing there pretending to not notice the staring, strategically turning my head every direction but his:
Dude. My dress is black, boring, and buttoned up to the neckline. My hair is in a bun. Everything about me screams librarian. But maybe you're into that sort of thing.
Cat, baby...this bud's for you.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
some serious lazy
So I’m walking towards the elevators when I notice a woman is already standing there waiting. She’s pushed the down arrow button, so I think cool. I don’t have to push the public elevator button crawling with germs and other noxious particles naked to the eye. I stop and talk to a friend at her desk which is en route to said elevators. We chat for probably a whole two minutes, all the while the elevator still hadn’t come.
I finish up the chat, walk the rest of the short walk to the elevator lobby and wait alongside this woman. This woman looked like she’d been waiting for 15 minutes for the crummy elevator. We wait together some more…and some more.
At last, the bell chimes, the light lights, and the doors finally open. We take our custom-sensitive positions inside the elevator; me on the far right, she on the far left.* I push “1”. The woman pushes “13”.
We picked up the elevator on the 14th floor.
This woman waited for 17 minutes to go down ONE floor. And it isn’t as if the door to the stairwell was clear across the building from where she was standing to take the elevator either. Oh no. The door to the stairwell is literally right next to the elevator door.
I could even see taking the elevator to go UP one flight, as walking up stairs tends to be a little more tiring than going down. Going UP one flight in an elevator is still pretty darn lazy, I mean come on now. But oh no. We were going down, kids. One flight down. That is the kind of lazy where you want to pay someone to push on your lungs in 2-second intervals all day so you can keep breathing.
Now all you sympathizers and nifty thinkers out there may say in response “maybe she has physical limitations and that’s why she can’t take the stairs”. And maybe you’re right. But when she exited the elevator, and the doors closed, all I could think was…that is some serious lazy. Because that’s the swift-to-judge kinda gal I am.
* One of these days, I'd like to conduct a social experiment. Only two people in an elevator, me and the other guy. And I stand so close to him that he could feel my breath on his arm. And I'll hum something obnoxious like Bolero. Maybe I'll just stare at him the whole time too. See if he does anything. Okay, so to recap:
stand real close, breathe on his arm, hum Bolero, and stare. Yeah.
I finish up the chat, walk the rest of the short walk to the elevator lobby and wait alongside this woman. This woman looked like she’d been waiting for 15 minutes for the crummy elevator. We wait together some more…and some more.
At last, the bell chimes, the light lights, and the doors finally open. We take our custom-sensitive positions inside the elevator; me on the far right, she on the far left.* I push “1”. The woman pushes “13”.
We picked up the elevator on the 14th floor.
This woman waited for 17 minutes to go down ONE floor. And it isn’t as if the door to the stairwell was clear across the building from where she was standing to take the elevator either. Oh no. The door to the stairwell is literally right next to the elevator door.
I could even see taking the elevator to go UP one flight, as walking up stairs tends to be a little more tiring than going down. Going UP one flight in an elevator is still pretty darn lazy, I mean come on now. But oh no. We were going down, kids. One flight down. That is the kind of lazy where you want to pay someone to push on your lungs in 2-second intervals all day so you can keep breathing.
Now all you sympathizers and nifty thinkers out there may say in response “maybe she has physical limitations and that’s why she can’t take the stairs”. And maybe you’re right. But when she exited the elevator, and the doors closed, all I could think was…that is some serious lazy. Because that’s the swift-to-judge kinda gal I am.
* One of these days, I'd like to conduct a social experiment. Only two people in an elevator, me and the other guy. And I stand so close to him that he could feel my breath on his arm. And I'll hum something obnoxious like Bolero. Maybe I'll just stare at him the whole time too. See if he does anything. Okay, so to recap:
stand real close, breathe on his arm, hum Bolero, and stare. Yeah.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
bed(s)
Last night, I got a new used bed. I’m really not sure if I can fully articulate the profound impact that sentence means to me, to my back, my sagging eyes, my knotted neck, my lethargy level, my work-product, my love life, my fertility, my sun sign, and basically the entire universe itself.
The History of Mary’s Sleeping Surfaces November 2003 – September 19, 2005
Just a Mattress
When I first moved back east, Dad insisted I get a brand new mattress. I appreciated his disdain for buying a used mattress, it being kind of hygienically brow-raising and all. Unfortunately, I followed the advice of dear old dad and purchased JUST the mattress, which is all I was able to afford at the time. I thought, after a few paychecks, I can invest in a box spring and frame, and all will be well. Of course, that never happened.
For the next year, I slept on a twin mattress on the floor. My favorite nights were in January/February, when God sends his annual rebuke on New England and we’ve got the wind chill factor to prove it. Scientific fact: heat rises. Consequence: mattress on the floor transforms into a flat paneled iceberg by 3 a.m. Lilypad in the Spring, Block of Ice in the Winter.
As time went by, without the support of a box spring, my little mattress became more and more uncomfortable until finally, when my former roommate was moving back to Utah, I ditched the twin iceberg/lilypad for my next sleeping surface…
The Futon Heaven Forgot
Former roommate left her futon for me, and I believed with all my wholesome heart that this would be a huge improvement in sleeping surfaces. She actually had two large futon mattresses, which I could stack on top of each other. Moreover, I was very much looking forward to not being on the ground anymore, and having the sturdy support of an actual FRAME so as to prevent the aforementioned mattresses from losing their shape and wreaking gross negligence on my lower back.
How thrilled was I when I set her up. This big, beautiful futon. Alas…
I don’t know if there has ever been a time before or since when I have done such deliberate and regimented physical harm to myself than sleeping on that damn futon night after night for nine stinkin’ months. The futon made me say damn.
Rock bottom was when I started punching the futon and letting out silent screams around 4 in the morning one night. I took to sleeping on the couch occasionally when I was desperate. I remember thinking how the futon heaven forgot was preparing me for the future sleep deprivation brought about by child rearing. See, I was desperate to find the silver lining here. Just call me Pollyanna. Even Pollyanna would cuss like a sailor if she ever slept on that damn futon. Well, this is assuming that Dr. Chilton was able to restore feeling back in her legs after her terrifying fall from the top floor of Aunt Polly’s mansion, after winning her prized doll at the big bazaare. If she stayed a cripple I suppose it wouldn’t matter that much one way or the other. But I digress…
You know me, I’m just not a complainer. (to quote Cicada: BWAH HAHAHAH!!!)
So it came as a great shock to me, when yesterday morning, after my roommate Peggy found me again sleeping on the couch, that Peggy pretty much made it her personal mission to get me a new bed. It wasn’t because I constantly complain about this, or anything like that. She’s just a really nice girl, that Peggy.
I had contacted a girl in my ward about a month ago after she posted an ad about her twin mattress set she was selling. I told her I’d give her $40 for it. She agreed. And then it sat in her basement for four weeks while I made half-hearted attempts to find a truck to borrow.
So last night, burning with this new mission in her bosom, Captain Peggy contacts this girl, and while I’m busy running errands and fulfilling other obligations, she picks up the bed, straps it to the top of her ’97 Corolla, and delivers it back to our apartment, all by her one-sey. Just to shut me up. Now that's friendship, campers.
I come home from my errands to find a frame, a box spring, and a beautiful twin mattress sitting in my living room. I burst into tears, and with breathy tones I kept uttering softly: “it’s so beautiful…it’s soooo beeauuuuutifuullll!”
Last Night
Heaven. Pure. Bliss.
The History of Mary’s Sleeping Surfaces November 2003 – September 19, 2005
Just a Mattress
When I first moved back east, Dad insisted I get a brand new mattress. I appreciated his disdain for buying a used mattress, it being kind of hygienically brow-raising and all. Unfortunately, I followed the advice of dear old dad and purchased JUST the mattress, which is all I was able to afford at the time. I thought, after a few paychecks, I can invest in a box spring and frame, and all will be well. Of course, that never happened.
For the next year, I slept on a twin mattress on the floor. My favorite nights were in January/February, when God sends his annual rebuke on New England and we’ve got the wind chill factor to prove it. Scientific fact: heat rises. Consequence: mattress on the floor transforms into a flat paneled iceberg by 3 a.m. Lilypad in the Spring, Block of Ice in the Winter.
As time went by, without the support of a box spring, my little mattress became more and more uncomfortable until finally, when my former roommate was moving back to Utah, I ditched the twin iceberg/lilypad for my next sleeping surface…
The Futon Heaven Forgot
Former roommate left her futon for me, and I believed with all my wholesome heart that this would be a huge improvement in sleeping surfaces. She actually had two large futon mattresses, which I could stack on top of each other. Moreover, I was very much looking forward to not being on the ground anymore, and having the sturdy support of an actual FRAME so as to prevent the aforementioned mattresses from losing their shape and wreaking gross negligence on my lower back.
How thrilled was I when I set her up. This big, beautiful futon. Alas…
I don’t know if there has ever been a time before or since when I have done such deliberate and regimented physical harm to myself than sleeping on that damn futon night after night for nine stinkin’ months. The futon made me say damn.
Rock bottom was when I started punching the futon and letting out silent screams around 4 in the morning one night. I took to sleeping on the couch occasionally when I was desperate. I remember thinking how the futon heaven forgot was preparing me for the future sleep deprivation brought about by child rearing. See, I was desperate to find the silver lining here. Just call me Pollyanna. Even Pollyanna would cuss like a sailor if she ever slept on that damn futon. Well, this is assuming that Dr. Chilton was able to restore feeling back in her legs after her terrifying fall from the top floor of Aunt Polly’s mansion, after winning her prized doll at the big bazaare. If she stayed a cripple I suppose it wouldn’t matter that much one way or the other. But I digress…
You know me, I’m just not a complainer. (to quote Cicada: BWAH HAHAHAH!!!)
So it came as a great shock to me, when yesterday morning, after my roommate Peggy found me again sleeping on the couch, that Peggy pretty much made it her personal mission to get me a new bed. It wasn’t because I constantly complain about this, or anything like that. She’s just a really nice girl, that Peggy.
I had contacted a girl in my ward about a month ago after she posted an ad about her twin mattress set she was selling. I told her I’d give her $40 for it. She agreed. And then it sat in her basement for four weeks while I made half-hearted attempts to find a truck to borrow.
So last night, burning with this new mission in her bosom, Captain Peggy contacts this girl, and while I’m busy running errands and fulfilling other obligations, she picks up the bed, straps it to the top of her ’97 Corolla, and delivers it back to our apartment, all by her one-sey. Just to shut me up. Now that's friendship, campers.
I come home from my errands to find a frame, a box spring, and a beautiful twin mattress sitting in my living room. I burst into tears, and with breathy tones I kept uttering softly: “it’s so beautiful…it’s soooo beeauuuuutifuullll!”
Last Night
Heaven. Pure. Bliss.
Monday, September 19, 2005
beautiful beulah
Link to Hear Beautiful Beulah
Everyone: you'll have to forgive me. I'm posting this for a specific person who is helping me play a song for a friend on his birthday. You don't have to link to this, although you can if you want.
This song isn't published anywhere, and it's the only way I can have the accompanist hear it and possibly bang it out on the piano.
Everyone: you'll have to forgive me. I'm posting this for a specific person who is helping me play a song for a friend on his birthday. You don't have to link to this, although you can if you want.
This song isn't published anywhere, and it's the only way I can have the accompanist hear it and possibly bang it out on the piano.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
thursday
I’m feeling really antsy today. All week I’ve been kept busy, a welcomed change, here at work. And now that I’ve run out of things to do again, I’m starting to get antsy.
I’m reminded of the well-turned coinage of Sir Bob Wiley. Quote!: “Baby steps to 4 o’clock. Baby steps to 4 o’clooock.” Indeed, baby steps, yes. Truer words were never…yeah.
It’s been a very productive week, I’m feeling almost like a real live legal assistant complete with multiple (more than one) tasks per day. I have created work out of nothing by re-organizing the organized, adding unnecessary embellishment to pre-existing spreadsheets, and migrating my desk lamp from one side of the flat-screen monitor to the other.
I’m reminded of the well-marked observation of Jane Austen, in her book entitled Mansfield Park. Quote!: “Life seems nothing but a quick succession of busy nothings.”
The fact is there are more substantial projects of which I could endeavor. For example, there are several old files that need cleaning up - - but not by me. My boss, the attorney, needs to sort through them before I can do anything further. So, that could be another new project. I could grab one or two files, scribble a note on a post-it that concisely reads: Please Review, and deposit said files in her office. But I suppose I should wait until she has completed her review of the previous two files I gave her last week.
I’m reminded of the well-told phrase of former McLane High band director, Mr. Stephanopoulos. Quote!: “Hey! What’s holdin’ up the delay?!”
I apologize for the redundancy of the theme of the “bored-at-work” theme here on my weblog. Truth be told, I do like the time it gives me to get other things in my life in order, and ample time to research for the play I’m attempting to write. But my lack of work-related stimulus is a source of comedy for me, and I have to write about it because it’s funny. Also, it’s redundant. Funny-redundant comedy. Also. (clear throat.) Well, that was a fun paragraph!
I’d like to take a moment now to thank bloggers everywhere, both whom visit my blog and favor me with such delightful comments (exspecially my homey-blogspammers. holla!), and those who write such whimsical and anecdotal delights on their own blogs for me to read and treasure, for all the enjoyment and time-wasting opportunities they afford. Thank you, bloggers!
I’m reminded of the well-loved adage: “Treat others as you would treat them.”
I’m reminded of the well-turned coinage of Sir Bob Wiley. Quote!: “Baby steps to 4 o’clock. Baby steps to 4 o’clooock.” Indeed, baby steps, yes. Truer words were never…yeah.
It’s been a very productive week, I’m feeling almost like a real live legal assistant complete with multiple (more than one) tasks per day. I have created work out of nothing by re-organizing the organized, adding unnecessary embellishment to pre-existing spreadsheets, and migrating my desk lamp from one side of the flat-screen monitor to the other.
I’m reminded of the well-marked observation of Jane Austen, in her book entitled Mansfield Park. Quote!: “Life seems nothing but a quick succession of busy nothings.”
The fact is there are more substantial projects of which I could endeavor. For example, there are several old files that need cleaning up - - but not by me. My boss, the attorney, needs to sort through them before I can do anything further. So, that could be another new project. I could grab one or two files, scribble a note on a post-it that concisely reads: Please Review, and deposit said files in her office. But I suppose I should wait until she has completed her review of the previous two files I gave her last week.
I’m reminded of the well-told phrase of former McLane High band director, Mr. Stephanopoulos. Quote!: “Hey! What’s holdin’ up the delay?!”
I apologize for the redundancy of the theme of the “bored-at-work” theme here on my weblog. Truth be told, I do like the time it gives me to get other things in my life in order, and ample time to research for the play I’m attempting to write. But my lack of work-related stimulus is a source of comedy for me, and I have to write about it because it’s funny. Also, it’s redundant. Funny-redundant comedy. Also. (clear throat.) Well, that was a fun paragraph!
I’d like to take a moment now to thank bloggers everywhere, both whom visit my blog and favor me with such delightful comments (exspecially my homey-blogspammers. holla!), and those who write such whimsical and anecdotal delights on their own blogs for me to read and treasure, for all the enjoyment and time-wasting opportunities they afford. Thank you, bloggers!
I’m reminded of the well-loved adage: “Treat others as you would treat them.”
how do you say it?
Do you say laundrymat or laundromat?
Sherbet or Sherbert?
HAR-assment or har-ASS-ment
Across the street or Acrossed the street?
When you say “Eggs” does it sound more like Ehggs or Aiggs.
How would you pronounce this one: DePuy
a) du-pwee
b) dih-puey
c) du-pwoy
d) dih-pew
e) dee-poo poo ba doo
Wednesday or Wednesdee?
Incidentally, there is only one correct answer for each of these, and that is however I pronounce it. Everyone else's pronunciations are wrong.
Any other hazardous words I’ve left off the list? Please add them to the mix.
Sherbet or Sherbert?
HAR-assment or har-ASS-ment
Across the street or Acrossed the street?
When you say “Eggs” does it sound more like Ehggs or Aiggs.
How would you pronounce this one: DePuy
a) du-pwee
b) dih-puey
c) du-pwoy
d) dih-pew
e) dee-poo poo ba doo
Wednesday or Wednesdee?
Incidentally, there is only one correct answer for each of these, and that is however I pronounce it. Everyone else's pronunciations are wrong.
Any other hazardous words I’ve left off the list? Please add them to the mix.
Friday, September 09, 2005
random
I'm thinking of signing up with an online dating website. What are your thoughts, people?
As far as my personal profile is concerned, THIS is what I've got so far. I'll post the photo above.
Please feel free to offer suggestions.
healing properties
All yesterday I was feeling guilty about leaving such a poopy pants post on my blog. Though it’s true, I was feeling pretty crappy, I knew that I had the wrong attitude about it, and that wasn’t helping.
At the insistence of everyone in my office, I went home from work around 2:00 p.m. I was pretty much horizontal the second I got home. I took a long nap, then I took myself to Target. What is it about Target? It has healing properties, I do not kid. Just roaming around the aisles like a zombie, still in my sleepy clothes with my hair in this bent ponytail, taking stock of what’s on the shelves, taking inventory of the thoughts in my head, finding strange, almost non-existent parallels - - Target can be a spiritual crossroad.
Example: [inner thoughts] Hm. This multi-colored rag rug would go great in my room. $20 on clearance. Sweet. Am I making the most of mortality right now?
Example 2: [more inner thoughts] I need to get centered again. I was doing well for a while there. I need to eat better, I need to structure my time….ooo, Pringles.
Example 3: [inner thought overload] I mean, why must I be so dramatic all the time? Even my blood pressure decides to be ostentatiously low for the nurse lady, but for no good reason at all. I’m perfectly fine, so stop it already!!! Do I really need to own Young Frankenstein? Put it back, you haven’t paid your rent yet.
I got back from Target, watched a movie with the Pegster, then went to my room and read for a while. Great Book. “Spiritual Lightening” by M. Catherine Thomas. Log on to Deseret Book, and grab your copy today. I had a wonderful conversation with HF, and went to bed feeling much better.
And here I am, back at non-work. I’m going to take the advice of all my dear bloggy friends, and make the most of the free time here. Plus, it’s Friday peeps – AND it’s payday. Yeeeahh! Tonight I’m going to a high school football game. I haven’t been to one of those since…well, high school! So excited for that. Sometime this weekend, I hope to get back to Mother Target, roam the aisles again, knowingly nod at all the merchandise and think to myself, thank you T-dog. The catalyst for spiritual breakthroughs. Thank you.
At the insistence of everyone in my office, I went home from work around 2:00 p.m. I was pretty much horizontal the second I got home. I took a long nap, then I took myself to Target. What is it about Target? It has healing properties, I do not kid. Just roaming around the aisles like a zombie, still in my sleepy clothes with my hair in this bent ponytail, taking stock of what’s on the shelves, taking inventory of the thoughts in my head, finding strange, almost non-existent parallels - - Target can be a spiritual crossroad.
Example: [inner thoughts] Hm. This multi-colored rag rug would go great in my room. $20 on clearance. Sweet. Am I making the most of mortality right now?
Example 2: [more inner thoughts] I need to get centered again. I was doing well for a while there. I need to eat better, I need to structure my time….ooo, Pringles.
Example 3: [inner thought overload] I mean, why must I be so dramatic all the time? Even my blood pressure decides to be ostentatiously low for the nurse lady, but for no good reason at all. I’m perfectly fine, so stop it already!!! Do I really need to own Young Frankenstein? Put it back, you haven’t paid your rent yet.
I got back from Target, watched a movie with the Pegster, then went to my room and read for a while. Great Book. “Spiritual Lightening” by M. Catherine Thomas. Log on to Deseret Book, and grab your copy today. I had a wonderful conversation with HF, and went to bed feeling much better.
And here I am, back at non-work. I’m going to take the advice of all my dear bloggy friends, and make the most of the free time here. Plus, it’s Friday peeps – AND it’s payday. Yeeeahh! Tonight I’m going to a high school football game. I haven’t been to one of those since…well, high school! So excited for that. Sometime this weekend, I hope to get back to Mother Target, roam the aisles again, knowingly nod at all the merchandise and think to myself, thank you T-dog. The catalyst for spiritual breakthroughs. Thank you.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
sicky poo
Tired all the time. Achy muscles, it creaks to lift my arms and stuff.
I get winded after walking a mile. This is not usual. Come to think of it, I went running on Labor Day and nearly vomited after running only 20 minutes. I
Went to the doctor about the foot fungus: BP 80/56. The nurse was studying my face pretty intently as she was taking it, almost like "She isn't a reptile, right? No. No scales or forked tongue. Her feet aren't webbed. Hm."
Besides all that though, I feel fine! Seriously. I'm not coughing or throwing up. No headaches. No fever. Nothin'. Just achey and sleeping any chance I get.
Mono? No. Epstein-Barr? Nah. Completely in my head? Ding-Ding-Ding!
It's a mystery. But it's probably a safe bet that if my feet become webbed at any point, it's not just in my head. Cross your fingers, kids.
BTW: the foot fungus? Do you believe I have to take a pill every day for YEAR?!?! Modren science has turned its back on phyllangial fungi. I might as well turn in my clothes for a well-stitched leather skin and carry a club. One pill a day for a year....it's shocking.
I'm back at work again today. By work I mean babysitting the phone and staring at the monitor to see if it moves. I may not make a lot of money, but that's because I'm paid to sit in a room. Trouble is, I have to remain vertical, which today poses for me a bit of a struggle.
I really do like where I work, I like the people. But this is not a job, folks. This is boredom for pay. Some of you may think that's fantastic. Try doing it every day for 8 hours. It gets old. Meanwhile, I have to set up a monthly payment plan with my parents who have to buy my Christmas plane ticket. And I'm 31 years old. What does that spell? P-A-T-H-E-T-I-C.
Eek! I'd like to apologize for the incredibly bleak and bitter-sounding post that is written above. It's really not as bad as all that. Must be the webbed feet. Or the foot fungus. Or the boredom. Or all of the above.
Hey, you have a great Thursday! Peace.
I get winded after walking a mile. This is not usual. Come to think of it, I went running on Labor Day and nearly vomited after running only 20 minutes. I
Went to the doctor about the foot fungus: BP 80/56. The nurse was studying my face pretty intently as she was taking it, almost like "She isn't a reptile, right? No. No scales or forked tongue. Her feet aren't webbed. Hm."
Besides all that though, I feel fine! Seriously. I'm not coughing or throwing up. No headaches. No fever. Nothin'. Just achey and sleeping any chance I get.
Mono? No. Epstein-Barr? Nah. Completely in my head? Ding-Ding-Ding!
It's a mystery. But it's probably a safe bet that if my feet become webbed at any point, it's not just in my head. Cross your fingers, kids.
BTW: the foot fungus? Do you believe I have to take a pill every day for YEAR?!?! Modren science has turned its back on phyllangial fungi. I might as well turn in my clothes for a well-stitched leather skin and carry a club. One pill a day for a year....it's shocking.
I'm back at work again today. By work I mean babysitting the phone and staring at the monitor to see if it moves. I may not make a lot of money, but that's because I'm paid to sit in a room. Trouble is, I have to remain vertical, which today poses for me a bit of a struggle.
I really do like where I work, I like the people. But this is not a job, folks. This is boredom for pay. Some of you may think that's fantastic. Try doing it every day for 8 hours. It gets old. Meanwhile, I have to set up a monthly payment plan with my parents who have to buy my Christmas plane ticket. And I'm 31 years old. What does that spell? P-A-T-H-E-T-I-C.
Eek! I'd like to apologize for the incredibly bleak and bitter-sounding post that is written above. It's really not as bad as all that. Must be the webbed feet. Or the foot fungus. Or the boredom. Or all of the above.
Hey, you have a great Thursday! Peace.
Friday, September 02, 2005
emotional basketcase - the pms doesn't help either
Right before my boss left this morning to begin her labor day weekend, she left this beautiful arrangement of flowers on my desk. They’d been given to her, but she wanted me to enjoy them, since she’ll be out over the next few days after we all get back on Tuesday.
So I’m looking at the flowers, and thinking about how pretty they are. I’m thinking about the beautiful weather outside, and the long weekend I’m so excited for. I’m thinking about how my life is pretty darn amazing. I’m thinking about how I don’t have to worry about my house, my possessions, my city, my state, rotting in water and waste and ruin. I don’t have to think about the tremendous amount of human life lost, and where I can go to the bathroom, and what it’s going to feel like when I get to have ice in my drinkable drinking water again.
I’m so sad, you guys. I’m so sad for what’s happening. And I can’t stop thinking about it. I wish I had so much money, and a plane, and a cruise ship, so that I could give it all away to the people who need it so bad right now.
I have to stop writing, because I’m totally bawling and I’m still at work, and I don’t want to tell people why because they’ll think I’m crazy.
I stole these from an email I received today. If you can, please use them.
The RED CROSS - you can make a quick online donation right this second
The GOVERNMENT SITE with all kinds of information on non-monetary ways to help, including donating blood
My CHURCH has a humanitarian aid organization where you can make online donations
if you have an AMAZON.COM account you can go here
So I’m looking at the flowers, and thinking about how pretty they are. I’m thinking about the beautiful weather outside, and the long weekend I’m so excited for. I’m thinking about how my life is pretty darn amazing. I’m thinking about how I don’t have to worry about my house, my possessions, my city, my state, rotting in water and waste and ruin. I don’t have to think about the tremendous amount of human life lost, and where I can go to the bathroom, and what it’s going to feel like when I get to have ice in my drinkable drinking water again.
I’m so sad, you guys. I’m so sad for what’s happening. And I can’t stop thinking about it. I wish I had so much money, and a plane, and a cruise ship, so that I could give it all away to the people who need it so bad right now.
I have to stop writing, because I’m totally bawling and I’m still at work, and I don’t want to tell people why because they’ll think I’m crazy.
I stole these from an email I received today. If you can, please use them.
The RED CROSS - you can make a quick online donation right this second
The GOVERNMENT SITE with all kinds of information on non-monetary ways to help, including donating blood
My CHURCH has a humanitarian aid organization where you can make online donations
if you have an AMAZON.COM account you can go here
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