photo credit: David Hepworth
Hello! I am comfortably arrived in Florida, bag unpacked, Christmas shopping very nearly done. I also had the enjoyment of an amusingly bizarre flight experience last night.
We all know I love me an airport. Recall, if you will, the Great Baggage Brouhaha of Summer ‘09. That was fun, educational, and, need I remind you, I got my $15 back. Snap.
photo credit: Baying Hound
Something’s been off with me for a while. I just wasn’t myself. I was stressed, confused, needy, insecure. I was working out constantly (the only thing that helped me feel better) and drinking not a drop. I was a clean, buff, sober mess.
Fortunately, last night put a stop to all that nonsense.
Today I’ll be playing the role of Andy Rooney, and you will be my amused viewership. You’ve tuned in, as usual, to see me go batshit on something rather mundane and universal to the human experience.
And this Thursday, that is: WAITING IN DOCTOR’S OFFICES.
Rarely is it, since I was laid off in May, that I have to do something so icky, so inauthentic and against my nature that my skin crawls and I have the urgent need to shower vigorously using high-potency Dr. Bronner’s peppermint soap.
YUD’s conundrum is thus: She was offered a high-paying part-time gig with a certain client that does rather yucky, corporate things. The stars were in her eyes a little bit, as the figure quoted included two zeroes per hour. She thought, I can do anything for two zeroes per hour!
What is it about working in an office that makes you soooo sleeeeepy ’round abouts 3 or 4 pm? This never happens to me when I’m working from home. I never take naps; instead, I feel like I’m constantly busy reading and writing and checking emails and, maybe, getting up to wash dishes or make my bed or fix something to eat.
Of course, if I had to, I could nap—and maybe that’s exactly why I don’t need to.
photo credit: The Old Adalie Plain
Holly jolly ho ho ho!
I can’t believe it’s December, much less a week (nay, 6 days) from when I board JetBlue flight TKTK and head to Florida to celebrate the reason for the season with my Occasionally Working Mother, Soon-to-be-Reemployed Father, Cognitive Neuroscientist Brother, and Self-Employed Sis-in-Law-to-Be.
photo credit: ★ spunkinator
Ah, tis Friday. Finally. It’s been a long, long week, and it’s so cold in the place I’m currently working that my tea has taken a chill after only 7 minutes. That’s what you get for leaving the apartment, I suppose, even though I did dress for apres ski.
But despite that chill, joy is in my heart, friends. Because I feel so so much better than yesterday, and not only because it’s a few hours until the weekend officially begins its frivolous dance across my days. I have realized, thanks to the words of a friend, that sometimes it’s good to have a breakdown.
photo credit: Olga Díez (Caliope)
I know, I know, I know. I have been remiss. The blog gods are angry. And all I feel is … ashamed.
For one thing, I said yes to too many things. And if unemployment has taught me anything (and, yes, it’s taught me a lot) it is that LIFE IS PRECIOUS. And I don’t mean baby-in-your-tummy life, I mean, life outside of work.
photo credit: Robert Banh
You’re hardly even sposed to tell people about your dreams, much less write about them, but I have had such a bizarre collection of REM-thought in the past few days that I can’t help it.
1.) In this one I was the child in a terrorist family. They were all about to commit ritual suicide, but I wasn’t ready to die. So I escaped out of the second-story window of a house that looked much like that of my childhood, and began to roll down hill after hill. Except they weren’t so much hills as broccoli, and I was rolling over the tops of huge broccoli trees. And then I woke up.
photo credit: Ollie Crafoord
Let’s talk unemployment attire. Or, work-from-home attire, if you prefer.
For YUD, it goes something like this: Wake up in the morning, take off pajamas as a matter of propriety, put on workout pants of some sort (usually black, once in a while gray), a sports bra of some ilk (usually black, once in a while white), a t-shirt or tank top depending on the heat in my apartment (right now it’s actually kind of cold, so I have topped the ensem with a zip-up sweatshirt with a high collar that, while made by Banana Republic in the early 2000s, might pass for something ’70s era if you squint).
