They Tell Me That It's Good for Me, But I Don't Even Care
Happy autumn, everybody! I know I'm a bit late, but oh well. I get there when I get there.
Francine thinks my pink hair is "very becoming," although she was quick to point out the few areas I missed because I was working without a spotter. I'll just have to touch it all up when my roots grow out in the next month or two.
Classes start tomorrow, but due to a strike/walkout my one class is canceled. I'm still debating going to the rally or not, considering it starts an hour before I get off work. I guess we'll see if there's even anything to attend at that point, and if not I'll just come home and wait for Jessica to arrive so we can install Billy the Bookcase and the other odds and ends of her moving out.
"Work" is getting better, although there are still times where I get frustrated and want to quit. Today was actually productive, but I get the feeling that some of our publishers and authors only seem reticent to send me title information because they've already sent it all to Dan three or four times over the last couple months and he can never seem to find it in his email history. There's a lot of misinformation I end up unintentionally spreading around as well because none of the several sources we work from seem to agree; I ask for a price on a title on which I have no info, and get $9.95 from Dan, $12.95 from MS Access, and $19.99 from our upload to Ingram. I understand that this happens sometimes, especially with a small company where one person is doing most of the work, but the frequency is alarming. But I'm doing the best that I can to make it all jibe; we'll see how long I last.
Things have been fun around the house since everybody moved back in; I learned how to play Speed from Subrina and Egyptian Rat Screw from Tito, and we watch movies and play games and stuff. Despite all this noise and amusement, there are times where I feel so tired and depressed, for reasons of which I am not sure. It's probably the same thing as always, though, whether the house is empty or full. I may not need medication to push it away like Dad or Matt, but I wonder if it will be with me all my life. It doesn't quite feel right. (This can only be compounded by the fact that I've been reading A Wolf at the Table since I checked it out from the library this afternoon; I enjoy Augusten Burroughs' writing immensely, but it is not a happy book. The only other book I'm reading right now is The Plague Dogs, which, although I love Snitter, isn't much better.)
Yuck. That last paragraph sounds incredibly maudlin when I read it over. I'm going to go fix a miso marinade for some fish to soak in overnight and then I'm going to go do something cheerful, goldarnit. Julie said Kischka would call me back after they got the kids to bed, but I guess they forgot.
Francine thinks my pink hair is "very becoming," although she was quick to point out the few areas I missed because I was working without a spotter. I'll just have to touch it all up when my roots grow out in the next month or two.
Classes start tomorrow, but due to a strike/walkout my one class is canceled. I'm still debating going to the rally or not, considering it starts an hour before I get off work. I guess we'll see if there's even anything to attend at that point, and if not I'll just come home and wait for Jessica to arrive so we can install Billy the Bookcase and the other odds and ends of her moving out.
"Work" is getting better, although there are still times where I get frustrated and want to quit. Today was actually productive, but I get the feeling that some of our publishers and authors only seem reticent to send me title information because they've already sent it all to Dan three or four times over the last couple months and he can never seem to find it in his email history. There's a lot of misinformation I end up unintentionally spreading around as well because none of the several sources we work from seem to agree; I ask for a price on a title on which I have no info, and get $9.95 from Dan, $12.95 from MS Access, and $19.99 from our upload to Ingram. I understand that this happens sometimes, especially with a small company where one person is doing most of the work, but the frequency is alarming. But I'm doing the best that I can to make it all jibe; we'll see how long I last.
Things have been fun around the house since everybody moved back in; I learned how to play Speed from Subrina and Egyptian Rat Screw from Tito, and we watch movies and play games and stuff. Despite all this noise and amusement, there are times where I feel so tired and depressed, for reasons of which I am not sure. It's probably the same thing as always, though, whether the house is empty or full. I may not need medication to push it away like Dad or Matt, but I wonder if it will be with me all my life. It doesn't quite feel right. (This can only be compounded by the fact that I've been reading A Wolf at the Table since I checked it out from the library this afternoon; I enjoy Augusten Burroughs' writing immensely, but it is not a happy book. The only other book I'm reading right now is The Plague Dogs, which, although I love Snitter, isn't much better.)
Yuck. That last paragraph sounds incredibly maudlin when I read it over. I'm going to go fix a miso marinade for some fish to soak in overnight and then I'm going to go do something cheerful, goldarnit. Julie said Kischka would call me back after they got the kids to bed, but I guess they forgot.