People who live in glass houses... are named Rebecca.
According to my paycheck yesterday, I worked 9.8 hours of overtime this week. We're behind on a big Spherion mailing (13,000 booklets!), so a lot of us had to work last weekend and late everyday this week... and we still haven't caught up! Oy. I have to keep telling myself that it could be worse. I could still be working retail during back-to-school. Ugh.
I always sing Let It Go as "The heat never bothered me, anyway," but July was too hot even for me. We averaged 100-degree temperatures for most days all. month. long, and when you factored in the heat index and humidity, it was usually about 105. DAILY. I've been hitting hot-fudge sundaes from McDonald's like an addict, I haven't touched my bike in weeks, and I almost melted at an adoption event outside the pet store. (Don't worry, the animals were kept comfortable. Only we humans suffered.) I'm hoping that since this summer has been so brutal, it means that this winter will be more mild, but who knows? That might just be wishful thinking on my part.
At some point around mid-July, Mom called me and left a teary, guilt-ridden voicemail complaining that I never answer the phone when she calls or return her texts. (And typical of her, she did this around 11pm.) I think it set new standards of manipulative behavior even for her. She actually said that she doesn't "deserve to be treated this way." I was very tempted to text her back with something like, "Using specific details, please explain why your mother did deserve to be treated this way. Min. 500 words required for partial credit" -- and I probably would have too, but my sister talked me out of it. It just boggles my mind that Mom honestly doesn't seem to realize who we learned this behavior from. I don't know. I've talked to her since then, but somehow I don't feel like we'll come back from this one.
At some point recently, I finally hung stuff up on my bedroom walls. Who knows why, since I really didn't want to do it and didn't enjoy it. I guess it doesn't matter, since I'll probably be taking them back down in 2017 (or even sooner). I put up my canvas print of Paris, my signed poster of Cathy Rigby as Peter Pan, my rubbing of George Llewellyn Davies's grave in Belgium, my conversion to Judaism certificate, my marker/tack board, an old painting that Ben gave me, and an extra wall calendar that I got from work. My room seems so much smaller now. I could almost literally feel it shrinking while I was hanging up stuff.
Right now my roommate has the blinds of every single downstairs window yanked up and the front door open. Why do even bother living within walls? Why not live in some glass house that affords absolutely no privacy? Maybe that's where we'll move next.
Looking forward to some Shakespeare performances next weekend -- and just maybe, some cooler weather, too!
I always sing Let It Go as "The heat never bothered me, anyway," but July was too hot even for me. We averaged 100-degree temperatures for most days all. month. long, and when you factored in the heat index and humidity, it was usually about 105. DAILY. I've been hitting hot-fudge sundaes from McDonald's like an addict, I haven't touched my bike in weeks, and I almost melted at an adoption event outside the pet store. (Don't worry, the animals were kept comfortable. Only we humans suffered.) I'm hoping that since this summer has been so brutal, it means that this winter will be more mild, but who knows? That might just be wishful thinking on my part.
At some point around mid-July, Mom called me and left a teary, guilt-ridden voicemail complaining that I never answer the phone when she calls or return her texts. (And typical of her, she did this around 11pm.) I think it set new standards of manipulative behavior even for her. She actually said that she doesn't "deserve to be treated this way." I was very tempted to text her back with something like, "Using specific details, please explain why your mother did deserve to be treated this way. Min. 500 words required for partial credit" -- and I probably would have too, but my sister talked me out of it. It just boggles my mind that Mom honestly doesn't seem to realize who we learned this behavior from. I don't know. I've talked to her since then, but somehow I don't feel like we'll come back from this one.
At some point recently, I finally hung stuff up on my bedroom walls. Who knows why, since I really didn't want to do it and didn't enjoy it. I guess it doesn't matter, since I'll probably be taking them back down in 2017 (or even sooner). I put up my canvas print of Paris, my signed poster of Cathy Rigby as Peter Pan, my rubbing of George Llewellyn Davies's grave in Belgium, my conversion to Judaism certificate, my marker/tack board, an old painting that Ben gave me, and an extra wall calendar that I got from work. My room seems so much smaller now. I could almost literally feel it shrinking while I was hanging up stuff.
Right now my roommate has the blinds of every single downstairs window yanked up and the front door open. Why do even bother living within walls? Why not live in some glass house that affords absolutely no privacy? Maybe that's where we'll move next.
Looking forward to some Shakespeare performances next weekend -- and just maybe, some cooler weather, too!