Customer service
It's not entirely WEDDINGWEDDINGWEDDING around here, appearances on this blog notwithstanding. In between DIY projects and fretting, life keeps on creepin' on, and both of us got to get paid (literally and metaphorically,) so there has been some adjusting going on.
The Boy got hisself a new contract at Venerable Cultural Institution, for one. Not the department he was in before, so not quite the career path he's ultimately wanting to follow forever, but it's a foot (back) in the door and he's jumped in without hesitation. Having been there less than four weeks, he's already getting bonus shifts, the sorts generally reserved for longer-tenured staff. He's even taking initiative and showing interest by going to all-staff meetings and other coworker schmooze-fests, something I never thought he'd do. (Thank you, chemists, for Lexapro.) The more changes he makes for himself, the more he really "gets" how much his depression was holding him back, and the more he seems motivated to continue to grow. I miss not seeing him as soon as I get home, but on the other hand: it's nice to miss him. It makes it that much more delicious when he comes through the door at night.
Bee moved out a few weeks ago, taking his cats and his stuff to his lovely ladyfriend's house. I wish his woman well, actually. Having spent the last 13 years housebreaking The Boy, I have no interest in another big project, and Bee responds better to her tender mercies anyway. While I enjoyed hanging out with him more, and it was nice having 1/3 of the rent just sort of go away for awhile, I have to admit that we are better friends when we don't live together. He's a great guy in a lot of ways, but his nature can be sort of selfish and unreliable sometimes, and there was an awful lot of duh-rama between himself and The Boy last year, over various shit both huge and petty--- mostly passive-aggressive comments and frozen silence, rather than crockery throwing or actual arguments, but uncomfortable nonetheless. I'm glad he and his love are shacking up, and I think it's been changing them both for the better in many subtle ways, so hurrah for personal growth!
Through it all, I remain your friendly (and sometimes not-so-friendly) Library Lady, always ready to locate your study guides, photocopy your coloring pages, tell you to keep the damn noise down back there, and of course, process about sixty skillion books for your reading pleasure. It's a fine job, and I'm good at it, but it is a public library, and the public can be such a mixed bag. Sometimes it's a little old man looking for a short analysis of Dickens' Hard Times, who is so thankful and twinkly-eyed and amazed when you print up the seven-page entry from Wikipedia on the spot for him. Other times it is an angry mom, looking for a fight because you had the damn gall to hold her responsible for the $350 worth of books her precious snowflakes checked out and then promptly lost or destroyed.
Shitty people aside, though, it is never a hateful job, and it's the sort of thing that makes me feel like I am contributing something worthwhile to the GNP --- we are a nonprofit, yes, but knowledge is priceless, brother. All of this has been making me rethink my aversion to grad school. Does the world need another librarian? I dunno. I don't know if I'm even ready to deal with the actuality of taking a class again. It's just a germ of an idea right now, but it might be the next logical step for me to take.
The Boy got hisself a new contract at Venerable Cultural Institution, for one. Not the department he was in before, so not quite the career path he's ultimately wanting to follow forever, but it's a foot (back) in the door and he's jumped in without hesitation. Having been there less than four weeks, he's already getting bonus shifts, the sorts generally reserved for longer-tenured staff. He's even taking initiative and showing interest by going to all-staff meetings and other coworker schmooze-fests, something I never thought he'd do. (Thank you, chemists, for Lexapro.) The more changes he makes for himself, the more he really "gets" how much his depression was holding him back, and the more he seems motivated to continue to grow. I miss not seeing him as soon as I get home, but on the other hand: it's nice to miss him. It makes it that much more delicious when he comes through the door at night.
Bee moved out a few weeks ago, taking his cats and his stuff to his lovely ladyfriend's house. I wish his woman well, actually. Having spent the last 13 years housebreaking The Boy, I have no interest in another big project, and Bee responds better to her tender mercies anyway. While I enjoyed hanging out with him more, and it was nice having 1/3 of the rent just sort of go away for awhile, I have to admit that we are better friends when we don't live together. He's a great guy in a lot of ways, but his nature can be sort of selfish and unreliable sometimes, and there was an awful lot of duh-rama between himself and The Boy last year, over various shit both huge and petty--- mostly passive-aggressive comments and frozen silence, rather than crockery throwing or actual arguments, but uncomfortable nonetheless. I'm glad he and his love are shacking up, and I think it's been changing them both for the better in many subtle ways, so hurrah for personal growth!
Through it all, I remain your friendly (and sometimes not-so-friendly) Library Lady, always ready to locate your study guides, photocopy your coloring pages, tell you to keep the damn noise down back there, and of course, process about sixty skillion books for your reading pleasure. It's a fine job, and I'm good at it, but it is a public library, and the public can be such a mixed bag. Sometimes it's a little old man looking for a short analysis of Dickens' Hard Times, who is so thankful and twinkly-eyed and amazed when you print up the seven-page entry from Wikipedia on the spot for him. Other times it is an angry mom, looking for a fight because you had the damn gall to hold her responsible for the $350 worth of books her precious snowflakes checked out and then promptly lost or destroyed.
Shitty people aside, though, it is never a hateful job, and it's the sort of thing that makes me feel like I am contributing something worthwhile to the GNP --- we are a nonprofit, yes, but knowledge is priceless, brother. All of this has been making me rethink my aversion to grad school. Does the world need another librarian? I dunno. I don't know if I'm even ready to deal with the actuality of taking a class again. It's just a germ of an idea right now, but it might be the next logical step for me to take.