I woke up this morning in all one instant. No gentle rising to wakefulness for me. Its always a little jarring to be pulled form sleep by your alarm clock. And if you alarm clock is like mine, all strange bubbly noises, it can be a downright unsettling experience.
Called the Apple support regarding my computer, because updating the drivers didn’t work this time like it did last time…. First off they had no record of my telephone number (!!!) and then he told me that he would email me some helpful articles. He also insisted on calling me “Missy” a term of endearment (?) that only Thomas has ever used on me.
There is a certain level of compassion and patience needed to deal with mass stupidity/impatience… either from the general public, or in my case, the general L—employee. I feel my reserve of such attributes slowly slipping away and I don’t think it has as much to do with my general lack of compassion but more with my hatred of NOT being able to actually help them… the insistence from my manager for me to continue spouting the party line, the blatant lie, is nauseating.
I was going to be all good and eat yogurt and granola for breakfast… after all I did try to take a somewhat attractive picture last night and was dismayed at the size of my hips/tummy/ass but the blueberry muffin ended up being too much temptation to ignore. Fail! Oh well, there is always lunch… I brought left over rice pilaf with apricot flavor… but there is going to be a festive peach and chicken salad thing in the café’ today… oh choices…
Heard that John Edwards might be Obama’s running mate. That would be a pretty decent ticket. Also heard McCain had s “spot” removed from his face… its not cancerous, but what if it was.. what if he had to drop out, how would that affect the race? Would they pick the 2nd best Republican Primary candidate or would the Republicans get to have a whole other Primary election? Has this ever happened? Heh, “Obama” isn’t in the Microsoft Word dictionary yet either.
Back in the cold cold room… for hours of sitting on my ass and thumbing through files.
Song line … “I’m not crazy, cuz’ I take the right pills, every day…” and this got me thinking about what keeps us from being crazy or sad or angry or whatnot. I think its different for everyone… My “right pills” actually come to me or are accessible within minutes of me getting out of bed and would include things like hearing the birds, being independent, seeing pictures of my friends and loved ones, knowing I have plans… What is it for you? What are the things that help you get out of bed, keep going, keep you from going crazy?
Do you think the shoes in Elvis’ “Blue Suede Shoes” are symbols of something… or is the song really about how the most important thing to this singing dancing man are a pair of high fashion shoes? Was Elvis metro? Were shoes a bigger deal back then? Did other straight men have love affairs with shoes?
After working in the freezer for the past few hours I couldn’t face my cold home brought lunch… and ended up with yummy chicken soup and –gulp- a cookie. Now there is guilt and the general desire to wrap myself in frumpy clothes and avoid the public.
So, I sing along with music… sometimes, like say on the train, I try to just lip sync along, but other times, say sitting on the floor in the store room surrounded by boxes, I actually sing along. Why do people sing along? It isn’t an attempt to “do” the song better than the artist… I mean, there is not way I can match Le Anne on “Blue” but I still enjoy it. I wonder if it says anything about people’s perceptions of self, or how they fit into the world whether or not they sing along… and where. (Do famous singers sing along with the radio?) Do you mind when I sing along in the car?
Ok, another odd conversation with that guy at work… suddenly not sure if he is interested in me, someone else in the department, just being friendly, … what…. Were this not a work environment I would just ask point blank. But, better not do that here.
The 13 box project from the Artic is done. Well, at least the artic part.
You know, I end a lot of emails “Thank you, have a great day!” but really… I don’t give a fig if these people have a great day, a good day, or even just a mediocre day. Yes, I want them to have a day… no wishes for death… and I don’t want them to have a horrible day… who would wish that on someone? But as long as they have a decent day, well, I can live with that. ‘Thank you, have a totally adequate day… keep breathing!”
I have a lot of books, in fact I have a bookcase that is quietly threatening great bodily harm to anyone in my dinning room because of all the books. There are also stacks of books all over the apartment. So… maybe its time to sell a few back to the good people of Recycle (small downtown Campbell used bookstore) or Logos (big used book and music store in Santa Cruz ). Sure! Why not! Either store credit or cash would be great! What this means though is I have to go through them and decide on which of my friends, err I mean books, to get rid of. Also, have to get myself and the books over to either Campbell or Santa Cruz during “book buying hours”. Should be fun. Might not make it this weekend… but hopefully soon.
So there was a new story about a horribly fat cat… 44 pounds.. 44 POUND CAT! It was lost and it seems that the shelter where it was housed is receiving hundreds of calls an petitions for prospective owners. Everyone wants the fat cat… who wants the normal ones? Do we have to be famous (or freakish) to be wanted? I guess it helps.
I wasn’t wearing my headphones today on my way home. I wasn’t talking on the phone. I felt so drained by the final hour of work that I just… moved along on auto pilot staring blankly into space. As I got off the train and started to head home, I noticed these two guys walking ahead of me… and walking slowly so that if I wanted a chance at making what is possibly the longest light in the greater San Jose area I was going to have to squeeze past them. The one on the left was shrot, the one on the right was tall. They were both terribly high on something and having the following conversation; Short dude: “…/mumble/…hell …. Don’t make it… and then…” Tall Dude: “D----A—MMMMMNNNN” This exchange was then repeted amid high pitched giggles. Again, Short Dude: “… /mumble/… what it… and have… not all…” and Tall Dude: “D---A---MMMMMNNNN!” More giggles. I managed to squeeze myself past them, avoid getting trampled by them at the light, and we parted ways. The thing is this… I am wearing baggy jeans, flats and a sweatshirt. I had spent a good part of the day feeling slothlike and frumpy. Yet in this one moment I was suddenly really really happy to be dressed “down.” Had I been in a skirt, had I been in business attire, had my hair been down, or done, (or, lets be honest, even combed), had I been in my heels, or carrying a business purse, or wearing something low cut…. I am sure that there would have been a reaction from these guys. And I would have felt uncomfortable. But as it is I am every bit the picture of a slightly disgruntled employee who worked more than 10 hours today and seriously has nothing besides a can of whipped cream and guilt ridden crunches to look forward to tonight. Hooray for being unnoticed due to frumpy appropriateness!
Sometimes I worry… about dumb things, about big things, things I have no control over… and I do worry less than I used to, but sometimes I still worry. I think sometimes worrying is how you show you care. I used to worry about Don and his bike, about Chris and his hunting, about Jayson and his bike, about my dad in his plane… and this week I have been vaguely worried about Matthew out in the field. I know he is a professional, I know that he has assembled a team of other professionals… they “do this” for a living. But I also have heard the stories of cattle stampedes, of almost falling off of high cliffs, of being attacked by bees…. So I worry. Not a lot. Not excessively. But, a bit.
Notes from my editor on “Goals”… I think I messed up on the ending because she sort of seemed to have missed the point, I think. Will ask when we get on the phone… but am already contemplating some rather big changes in the structure to make the point more assessable. Reading it with all the careful blue marks gives me a vague feeling of pride… not in what I wrote, but that I wrote something, and am seeking to improve it. This is still pretty new. No longer do I simply let my works atrophy in some unnamed word folder on my computer or in chicken scratched enthusiasm in a notebook that has long ago fallen apart and been thrown away. Now, I tell myself, I write with a purpose… and seeking critique seems like a very adult and proper thing to be doing.
I go downstairs and complain that it doesn’t feel like Thursday because I am not packing. Jessica brags about her luck with shopping for new clothes. I tell her about my vow to eat more healthy and thus also be able someday to buy new/nice clothes. Its hard to eat healthy though… at work today we had a half hour discussion about how wonderful doughnuts are. I can’t remember the last time I ate a doughnut. Jessica’s eyes get a bit misty, she talks about the joy of Krispy Kremes… and when I inform her that I a) can’t remember the last doughnut I had and b) am not totally sure I have ever eaten at a KK… she springs into action. Two minutes later we are on the road headed to Union City!
Mmmm doughnuts….. Despite getting lost and being lied to by the magic Google map… we made it.
So I crave… something… something physical… but not really something purely sexual which is odd because in the past I think this ache would have been filled by the physical. Should it just be the need of a booty call, well that is actually easy to arrange. Not to sound boastful (because its not as much a boast as simply a fact) I think I could reel off a list of guys who would be more than happy to swing on over for a booty call. Let me think.. yes, 5. Ok, wow… I wonder how accurate that is… I mean a few of them I am pretty solid on, the offer having been extended rather recently. New thought… I wonder how many of them would have me on their list. I wonder on who else’s list I might be on… as in, who out there thinks I would come over and be a “beck and call” girl for an afternoon or evening. Oh, and even different list… the list of people I would be up for sharing the classic booty call experience with. But see that gets me back to the original thing… in that I don’t want another booty call… another one night stand… another fleeting moment or passion. What I want is a deeper level of connection. Not overly original, I know. But there you have it. With that, I head off to bed.