no, that wasn't a hiatus. that was just me being a douche.
Isn't it lolarious that the last time I posted was the last day before I started working? Almost three weeks! Back when my schedule was neatly balanced between internet skool and cleaning the fucking coffee pot? Now my time is all: ooOOOOoo, new girl, catalogue this cdn YA novel about a 12 year old escaping from Bountiful "Polygamist Colony" BC in the back of a mini-cooper! And: raging against the sexist jerks who are unfortunately in charge of playing the only half-decent music on the radio in this city while goddamn commuting by car. They play way too much Nirvana, anyway. I hate driving even more than I did back in the mountains.
But life should be clearing up a bit after this weekend. School will slow down a bit and I'll be back up living in the sacrosanct beltline where I can eat Tubby Dog (I do love veggie-weiner!) for lunch every day if need be.
And soon delighter will be back in town and I'll feel less bored by my repulsively frightening job, where I'm the youngest person there by thirty years and all they talk about is birdwatching (my favourite option, actually), octo-mom, recent deadly car crashes, professional development and retirement and retirement. And retirement. They never talk about their bad jeans, though. It never seems to cross their hive mind: fleece is to work as yoga pants are to the shopping mall. And you know what else? I found a copy of the departmental emergency list today and googlemapped a whole bunch of their houses and the only person who doesn't live in an outlying subdivision in the far Northwest/Southwest of the city is the woman who's retiring tomorrow to sail to New Zealand on her sailboat. She lives in a cute condo complex two blocks away from me and wears practical heels and those whatchamacallit short-sleeved large-buttoned shawl-jacket things. She has weird eyeglasses. Goodbye, my work soulmate, I miss you already.
But life should be clearing up a bit after this weekend. School will slow down a bit and I'll be back up living in the sacrosanct beltline where I can eat Tubby Dog (I do love veggie-weiner!) for lunch every day if need be.
And soon delighter will be back in town and I'll feel less bored by my repulsively frightening job, where I'm the youngest person there by thirty years and all they talk about is birdwatching (my favourite option, actually), octo-mom, recent deadly car crashes, professional development and retirement and retirement. And retirement. They never talk about their bad jeans, though. It never seems to cross their hive mind: fleece is to work as yoga pants are to the shopping mall. And you know what else? I found a copy of the departmental emergency list today and googlemapped a whole bunch of their houses and the only person who doesn't live in an outlying subdivision in the far Northwest/Southwest of the city is the woman who's retiring tomorrow to sail to New Zealand on her sailboat. She lives in a cute condo complex two blocks away from me and wears practical heels and those whatchamacallit short-sleeved large-buttoned shawl-jacket things. She has weird eyeglasses. Goodbye, my work soulmate, I miss you already.