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It's ant fumigation day here. I'm up early to mentally and physically prepare for getting out of the house for six hours. The cats have to be confined to a back room for six hours. My man with allergies has to stay away until later, a full twelve hours. I feel macabre, and out of sync with the world to be killing in such large numbers.
Well, maybe the oddness to my morning has to do with the vat of wine we drank last night.
At the end of the day, will my cats forgive me for locking them up?
I spent yesterday hanging out with my husband's best friend, flying out at 7:15 that evening. Now, during the day, he had noticed aircraft flying in and out of our small local airport.
At 5:50, I comment that we still had about thirty minutes. My husband, napping on the grass in the park with us, after work, opens his eyes and asks What time is it?
We race to the car, and make a harrowing trip to the larger airport 70 miles from where we are. He made his plane, I retrieved my jagged nerves.
Whose assumptions were at fault?
The minutiae of my daily life engulf me. Suddenly, my neck burns from the strain of answering email and visiting my regular sites, then I realize that no, that pain has been building for an hour, and that I suffered last night as well. The reams of to do lists, slowly checked off, one at a time. One down — I visited the doctor today. Now I need another item added to the list, a blood test. Did I change the address on my drivers license? Did I buy the balsamic vinegar and peanut butter on the grocery list? Not yet.
Today's colours brought to you by the letter B:
a hot pink highlighter
neon green paper that I use for everything
a grey cover to a rather wonderful book
a pretty red box of stickers
a shiny black stapler
a yellow flyer extolling me to eat healthily
a brown rattan chair that should be on the patio
a tan filing cabinet, ugly as sin, really
white toes on a Bugs Bunny phone
a pink and blue stuffed caterpillar that moves mysteriously about the house
apple green walls I did not paint myself
a bright purple box from the stationery store
Shopping splendor. This never happens to me. Today I was in a store for a pair of black pants. On the racks I found black pants, brown pants, a long yellowish-beige coat, a pinkish tweed pant suit, and two nice tanks — one white, one black. Not only did they fit, they looked fabulous. The suit was so great in fact I had to verify, so asked the woman in the next cubicle to come out and take a look. Do guys do that?
Did I mention all the pieces were on ridiculous sale? All are now hanging in my closet.
Shift one, day one.
Spent hours working through training modules on the computer, in a chilly office. And I really learned something -- later I was able to use the product knowledge with customers. Then spent minutes being trained by a teenaged bint to ignore customers. Had some moments of mild panic at cash with various customers while the bint was off fucking the dog. Obviously, in her mind, 'training' is a chance to let someone else deal with idiot customers. If this is the state of the teen work ethic, I'm not surprised stores get bad reputations for service.
When did the revolution in home furnishings happen? When did some carpenter say, Hey, let's set this bookcase up so any shmuck can put it together with an allen key? Or a hammer, a screwdriver and some elbow grease&
Putting together a piece of furniture yesterday was almost fun. The plastic bits of hardware made us nervous, and yes, the handles of the drawers did break. Ran out to spend too much money on beautiful new metal ones that fit the drilled holes.
All put together, it's a beauty. And it will revolutionize the way I organize my office space.
Gardens are a new thing for me. We have a lawn now and it needs care. I think I may be looking forward to an afternoon of weed pulling and raking, but I'm not sure.
Are we going to be able to handle the immense learning curve?
That lovely looking weed is no weed — it's a sumac seedling, from the tree next door. If left unattended, it will grow and grow, its roots digging into the concrete walkway and the side of the house.
So it has to go. It's too bad it didn't start in a more amenable spot.
School supply season has started. Mothers with children in tow push large shopping carts around the big box stores, holding lists supplied by the schools.
I need a box of 8 crayons, no more, it says here on the list. What? No big beautiful 24 crayon packs?
Pencils in packs of 10, pens (gel or regular?), paper and notebooks, binders and scribblers — it's an exciting time for kids. These are the instruments of the next 10 months of their young lives, so the style of pencil case is important.
Why didn't they have locker accessories when I was in school?
What is the difference between tolerance and hate? Why does one person accept differences and another revile them? Is it like swimming? I can't put my face underwater because I may have fallen in when I was very young. Does it have to be a traumatic exposure or just a way of life, like the Israeli children signing the bombs to be dropped on others 'with love'? Why don't people see the consequences of their actions? Myself included, I'm just as guilty. And so it goes: Truth begets truth, lies beget lies, hate begets hate, and bombs beget more bombs.
Things I need to get done:
writing and sending thank you cards from the wedding
unpack the rest of my books
file a pile of papers for work
find out why my cat isn't eating
sort our cds into the new rack
move unopened boxes out of the way
find and kill all of the dust bunnies
post some more pictures on the web
decide on what form our wedding album will take
sell my bugs bunny collection (or at least think about it)
find a more meaningful job
pay off a whole whack of debt
kiss my good man
Because of a parade, I set my market up in a lovely park. I'd mapped it out and gave my vendors the opportunity to choose their spots. But I miscalculated, and had to make a couple of adjustments today.
I had to move my biggest child — the one man I knew would have a hissy fit. He wouldn't care that where I wanted to put him would fill in a huge gap and create great flow.
He blew up, made a big scene, then set up in his spot like nothing had happened. His bad behaviour is NOT my problem.
Today is the day for unpacking. Sorting CDs, mucking about in the storage room, filing paper. I'm looking forward to unpacking the remaining books, and sorting the whole whack of them.
We edited so much of our stuff out when we originally packed, I'm surprised that we are still throwing things into a garage sale box. Now I'm thinking we should have kept and moved the crap we jettisoned before we left. Then we would have had a great garage sale! I am quite sure we'll find enough to create a fabulous sale that will bring in loads of money.
Another romantic evening watching a silly movie then blogging on separate computers. What kind of relationship am I in?
But I'll just keep in mind that I'm a willing participant. I have two of my own. I comment on friends' blogs, they comment on mine, I respond to their comments, they respond to mine.
Friends visit other friends' pages, and visa versa. Suddenly, we're all connected, chatting to each other, and utterly forgetting the fact that we're being observed by the ten to thirty strangers surfing by every day.
How many times a day do you visit your own blog?
Thankless, underpaid customer service. Why am I doing this? It sure as hell ain't for the money. Can someone explain?
Okay, so I met the manager through a networking event, and I like him. Thought I'd help him out, choose his store for my couple of shifts a week that I wanted to work somewhere.
Now, I'm ready to throw a fit. I need a job that will bring in actual cash, give me some meaning, and actually engage me.
Oh, I like the customers, but this is a mindless job. Scan, bag, take payment. Rinse and repeat. Ad nauseum.
Was up early, out early, but made it home before any money left my pocket&so coffee and breakfast in, and home again for lunch, but in the meantime I bought chemicals for the hot tub, placemats, a pasta cookbook, and a pair of burgundy leather heels. An assortment of items for work lunches was next. Then the remaining hefty chunk of cash owing on our new sofa set. Filled a prescription, bought face cream, and indulged in three books: how to build an electric guitar, winning at online poker, and Victorian short stories.
Thankfully, tomorrow I'm being treated to lunch.
Kids getting their school supplies are cute. The teens who are vaguely excited and nervous at the same time. The pre-teens, going to grade six or seven, are, well, okay with it. But the little kids are truly excited. The jubilant face of the little girl who said to me, proudly, I'm going into grade one! Today, I had one boy notice that one of the binders he'd picked was more expensive than the others, and went to exchange it. A couple of days ago, a pair of sisters sincerely thanked their mother for the supplies&that shouldn't be so unusual.
This evening, we've got friends coming over for dinner. People who, 4 months ago when we arrived in town, we did not know. I feel like I've arrived. That has been one of my big fears coming here, would I make new friends? My close social relationships are important to me, and now that I'm developing some here, maybe I can relax a little more. Barbecued steaks, potatoes on the barbecue as well, with a Greek salad. And wine. Don't forget the wine. After dinner on the patio, we'll move inside for more drinks in our newly furnished living room.
Another market day, another event planned and under my belt. Unfortunately, this one was a slow, slow morning. Perhaps it was the ginormous steak I ate for dinner, or the multiple glasses of wine I imbibed, but I was up at 2 a.m., and stayed up, dozing off now and again until it was time to get up at 6. Gads, I don't like that. Slow on my mental pins all day, a two hour nap in the afternoon to throw off the rhythm. Now it's late (again!), and I sure as hell hope I can sleep. I'll see tomorrow.
What are my ideal work hours? Something, anything that allows me time during the day. The best job, in many ways, was the security gig, years ago. I either worked nights — with my days free to live, or afternoons, 3 p.m. to 11 p.m., with the days free still. Now I'm being offered the option of a 6 a.m. to 2 p.m., Monday to Friday shift. I'm up at that time anyway, why not use the time? Time to run errands, meet people for coffee, then make supper for my man. Could be good. I will keep you all posted.
Why am I not tired? I have to be up early tomorrow, and I can't get seem to get sleepy. Another slow night at work — what kind of work will really satisfy me? What if I can't be satisfied at all? What if I'm really just meant to be a lazy bum for the rest of my life? Too bad I'm not good looking enough to be a trophy wife. Too bad I married a man too sensible for that kind of shit.
I'll crawl into bed, do a few more pencil word puzzles, and see what happens. Good night.
Woman, you should have quit this job ages ago!
You are a pile of negative vibes, and you're getting off, I think, on the idea of leaving your workplace in the lurch.
No, they hadn't started looking for someone to replace you, but I'm currently the person to fit that bill.
Please stop telling me that I'll never figure it all out.
Yes, you can do this shit faster than I can, but would you mind slowing down so I can follow along?
Remember your first day?
Oh, and thank you so very fucking much for making me feel welcome.
Things that make me happy right now:
my husband's consistency and generosity of spirit
the 13 pounds of purr that is my marmalade tabby
the quiet princess-like attitude of my female cat, black with white socks
the new office chair
the fabulous peaches on the trees and at markets right now
the freedom I have to work on the projects I want to work on
our new sofa and loveseat
the local wine
the idea that deer come into our back yard and eat the grape leaves
the neighbours who clip newspaper articles for me
the music playing right now
Exhausted, but can't sleep, because I know I'll cough again. I hope I'm not getting sick. Shitty feeling. I don't know if I'll be able to come up with even 20 words of pseudo-intelligence, much less 100. BR> So this is a meta-level version of my 100 words today. I'll assume that everyone who does this often stops at the end of a ramble, checks their word count only to discover they've written exactly 100? My first month, and it's happened a couple of times. After while it must be sort of automatic, like waking up before your alarm goes off.
Ironman Mania has hit town. Signs in windows, bikes on the street, programs in the newspapers. I'm a little overwhelmed by it all. Not being buff myself, I'm a little unnerved by the enormous numbers of hyper-fit athletes in town, both contenders and spectators. How does one watch a 112 mile bike ride? A 26.3 mile run? A 2.4 mile swim? You either crowd down by the finish line (or the beach, for the swim), with thousands of others, or you get a spot by the road somewhere, and watch a point in the middle.
Well, then, what's the point?
Last night we went to a street party in the downtown core. Friday night, and there were 4 or 5 blocks closed to traffic, bands sprinkled the length of the street, circus performers, a huge inflated sea monster, vendors, demonstration jump rope, palm readers&and everyone I seem to know. We arrived with some friends, after a dinner and a couple of drinks post-work at the pub, and then got separated. Ran into pretty much everyone else in town. Trying to leave, we had to get off the street, or we would never have been able to get out of there!
Large egos. Yesterday, at the Market, I had to deal with some large, athletic egos. I don't think they were actual triathlon contestants, more like the wannabes.
Today, almost a couple thousand people are swimming 3.8 kilometers, then cycling 180 kilometers, then running 42 kilometers (I think my numbers are more or less right). That's a lot of muscle power. And a lot of water being drunk.
The air is hazy with the high altitude smoke from forest fires in the States. Do marathon have special lungs, making them immune to this hazard? What of the cars along the highways?
Hair. Called my friend, let's get together for coffee. Great, she says, I'm just out of the shower, let me dry my hair, and I'll meet you in a bit. The timing is great, she says, as I've got an appointment to get my hair cut at 3.
Get your hair cut? Why wash it then? The best part of the professional job is the leaning back in the padded chair, neck against the cool porcelain of that special sink, the streaming water, the massaging fingers&.rinse, lather, repeat. Then conditioner. It's lovely.
I think I'll get my hair cut tomorrow.
Oh, gods. I felt absolutely wrecked after work today. Had already planned to meet hubby after work at the outdoor night market, to grab some dinner, but that was almost not pleasurable.
Thick head, tired feet, and absolutely no libido. Why work for $8.50 an hour?
The only reason I have any presence of mind here is the house we bought came with a hot tub. I had almost forgotten about it, but when we got home from the market, I lay around for a bit, feeling sorry for myself, then suddenly thought of a soak.
Now, I'm just tired.
A human has seen, or is looking at, my government application!
Centuries after Confucius, work with the government is still desirable.
But I'm sure Confucius didn't apply online in such an impersonal way. A lengthy questionnaire, a text resume, a message on-screen that 'results available' 3 weeks away. Not even an automated response along the lines of Please realize that this job is most likely to go to an internal candidate.
But, it seems that I have passed the automated screening, and my application has been passed on to real humans!
Is it work I want to do? Yes, definitely.
This morning I feel inspired to do housework. Probably because I have so many other things to do. Laundry, bathroom, sweep & mop floors, vacuum downstairs. A friend is coming over at some unspecified time today to help put up our art, to essentially finish the unpacking and get on with just living here.
She's a graphic designer, so I've got great expectations of cool.
She'll trust her eye, whereas I don't. Not really. I put up my art before, but I think I flubbed the whole 'grouping' concept.
Six months almost since I packed everything away. I miss it.
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