Today I have so little concentration that my to-do list (which has 4 items on it, only 2 of them priority) has not even one thing crossed off.
When my electronic prescription refill failed to go through, I hung up rather than actually speak to a “pharmaceutical representative.” I didn’t answer my hair salon when they called to confirm my Saturday appointment and now I have to call them back, too, but have made no progress in that.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, I did manage to make it to the office and am sitting here ostensibly ready to tackle anything that comes my way, but really, focus is about nil until I’m actually presented with something.
The word “thankful” tends to stick in my craw a little bit, maybe because I grew up in the South and people used to bandy it about as often as “God bless,” “Bless her heart,” and “Isn’t that sweet!” in tones that meant, frequently, the very opposite of what Mr. Webster originally intended.
It’s the word more than the sentiment, though, that bugs me. Because I really am thankful for stuff. I am! I just don’t post it on Facebook a lot, or tell anyone except my stuffed animals.
I’m dragging a bit today (staying up until 2 am reading The Book Thief, perhaps?). It’s noon and I’m only on my second cup of coffee, and yet … I’m too tired/lazy/unmotivated to get up and get another.
And yet, there is work to be done, and so I must push on. It’s only a few steps to the kitchen…
For those of you who find yourself in a similar sort of Monday paralysis, here’s a little pick-me-up.
Village Voice Media currently has several postings for an “email czar” on Mediabistro.com. I fancy myself no such thing, but it would be fun to call myself a czar, and I kinda wondered exactly what an email czar would do on a day-to-day basis.
I’ve been having weird dreams about my past. In one of them, I was about to marry the boy who lived across the street from me when I was in 5th grade.
In real life, he was notable for the trampoline in his backyard, and, in middle school, after he and his family moved from our block to another block that was still in my school district but less alcohol-friendly—presumably retaining the trampoline—for performing “Nothin But a Good Time” with his buddies to an audience of admiring 7th graders.
I’m on the train. It’s a wonder how many people feel the need to discuss mundane things for interminable periods, such as: Is the train faster than driving? It shouldn’t be. But why isn’t it? Is there an express? How much does it cost? Well, if you get it at this time, blah blah blah…
I guess the constant sound of one’s own voice is soothing to some, regardless of any meaning or profundity—something like white noise.
photo credit: KayVee.INC
Think your layoff was bad? What if you had to leave the country? What if it happened twice? Guest blogger and all-around fabulous guy “Tony” (who really did not deserve what happened to him, btw, but is doing just fine now, thank you for asking) gives all of us whingers a little perspective …
I GOT LAID OFF. BLOODY HELL
It is New Year’s Day 2009. My gorgeous, hilarious, darling girlfriend
of 18 months is wandering around my apartment wearing knickers (hers)
and a 15-year-old grey hoodie (mine). She looks amazing. I make her a
cup of tea. We sit on the couch and I think about where to take her
for brunch.
We unemployed people are in a precarious position. On one hand, we’re free as the bees’ knees; without jobs to go to the next morning, we can party and dance on bars and drink and stay out late, sleep til 2 the next day, no problem, no worries. And some of us do.
We also desperately crave attention and conversations and people interactions, particularly if we are, say, former managing editors. And we do not get those things when we are home alone working on freelance item #7 or blogging all day. It is a vicious circle. Some might say we have become needy exhibitionists. That is the worst sort.
