Tuesday, Oct. 07, 2003 - 10:43 a.m.
Greetings,
I can’t wait for Daylight Savings Time to end. I despise getting up before the sun does. There’s something just so wrong about that. It is hard enough to drag myself out of bed to come here to this cesspool without having to do it in the pitch black.
Already people are moaning that soon it will be dark when they get off work at 5:30 and apparently this is horrible to them.
I, on the other hand, love it. I just wish we didn’t have to wait until October 26th for the time to change.
But by then Fatalie’s throat clearing obnoxiousness (is that even a word?) will be a thing of the past. Hallelujah! Let’s speak in tongues!
Today she is lumbering around looking hideous and huge in a virulent orange shirt, black fat lady pants and plastic Jack-o-Lantern earrings the size of Matchbox cars dangling from her goddamn ears.
She makes a mockery of Halloween.
I went into her boss’s office this morning and in a loud voice that carried out to the fuckwad’s cube I said, “I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday. I wasn’t asked to sign your card, but I wanted you to know I would have signed it if I had been asked and I did want to wish you a happy birthday.”
That was fun. But not as much fun as spitting in Fuckalie’s coffee would be. If only things like that couldn’t get you fired. *sigh*
Anyway, there won’t be many more opportunities for Fatassalie to annoy me so I suppose I should savor each phlegm-filled throat clearing and loud, obnoxious sigh and hamhock key pounding emanating from her cubicle.
As if.
Tommy and I watched every single episode of the new South Park DVD last night. Laughing our asses off.
I started talking to the cats in my Cartman voice, which freaked them out, especially when I’d say, “BAD KITTY! NO KITTY! THAT’S MAH POT PAH!”
I added some memories to my LJ today and in doing so realized I do a lot of bitching about Fuckalie, a lot of anticipating the weekends and lot of talking about cleaning Crescentwood.
That’s really not my whole life, people. Honestly. I have a soul. I read. I dream. I even sometimes don’t clean the house on my day off.
It’s just hard to write about meaningful things when you are surrounded, as I am, by such a web of hostility and malaise.
I don’t always write entries at work, but most of them come from the fingers and brain of a woman on the edge of throwing her stapler over the top of her cube in a mad attempt to brain the most obnoxious woman in the world. Most of my entries are written by a woman who is inches away from strangling the life out of the next person who so much as intimates they might clear their throat.
And then the phone will ring for an attorney or paralegal I don’t work for personally and there will be a waiting game to see who will break down to answer it. Lots of sighing happens if I am not the one who breaks down. (And the sighing does not come from me.)
Most of my entries are written in little fits and stops because of the interruptions from loud co-workers who talk at the top of their lungs when they are on their phones. Or who casually stroll by to look into my cube to see what I am doing so that they can whisper about me for 6 hours a day never appreciating the irony that they spend just as much time not working by bitching about me not working as I do not working . Probably more.
Sometimes when they stroll by I shift the screen to my inbox, sometimes I keep typing. Sometimes I turn around and stare back.
But I can hardly concentrate on meaningful things while I am doing this.
When I write from home I am usually just waking up, sipping coffee, and contemplating the day. I am also happy and sometimes I think my best writing does not take place when I am happy.
Angst makes a good muse. Frustration too. Oh, and anger? Wow. And the best muse of all is sorrow of whatever flavor.
But I guess if I have a muse, it’s Boredom. And that sucks ass.
But it’s better than being angry, frustrated or sad all the time I suppose. Although I am angry and frustrated a lot around here. But it’s a certain flavor of angry and frustrated that crosses the line, frequently, into Boredom’s territory. And that sucks ass.
So things will be changing in the next couple of weeks and I predict more entries from home, perhaps the ones I used to write at night by candlelight.
I imagine I will always chronicle my day-to-day life because I’m fascinated with looking back months and years later and pinpointing where I was at that time. And nothing, except for maybe music, can trigger memory better than reading words written in that precise moment of time.
So *that’s* who I was two years ago. Or, Wow, I hadn’t realized I complained so much about X before I did something about it.
And it is cathartic at the time to write out my thoughts – boring and banal as they may be.
I guess what I am trying to write in this longwinded entry is that I never want to get old and complacent. I want to retain the questioning nature of youth. I want to temper it with experience and wisdom, but I would never want to destroy or lose that sense of being on the edge of something that is not quite graspable. Yet.
That feeling provides the impetus to go on, to keep moving, to forge ahead.
Staying in one place and never changing ever? *That’s* Boredom.
Until next time,
Olrun
