Too many Mondays. 05/12/03
Today I've been sluglike and particularly clumsy. The sort of day where you decide what to wear in the morning by opening up the closet and putting on whatever clothing falls off the shelf and onto your head.
This morning (my mornings are from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m.) was delightfully warm, blue cloudless sky and sunlight so strong that the white concrete of the sidewalk seemed blindingly bright. I walked out of the cold shadowy basement that is the digital department and felt like a wombat emerging from its cave after hibernation. Whoa! Blink. Blink. Mmmm, warm. Yawn. (Do wombats hibernate? Do they even live in caves? I really should know these things.)
I should spend less time composing journal entries and such and actually write a letter to my Dad. A card and note at Christmas and at Father's Day is not much. He deserves better than that. I enjoy writing sometimes, I can do something like these journal entries or correspond with people and sound half intelligent. I can use a few of the "big words" that have stuck in my brain from reading overly much. My words on a page can look like those of an educated being, but when speaking to people in real life my expressiveness somehow deserts me and I sound more like this: "Uhh... cool." "I didn't, but... oh, you..yeah, heh." "You know, the thing, need it to do stuff" "Sweet. Mmm, Dude." "So, um...Meow?"
I felt like spending the day lying in bed, munching chips and reading. I'm somewhat addicted to corn chips and salsa. I even eat the salsa straight from the jar when I'm out of chips. At least this is not as unhealthy as my previous snack addiction: French fries. And of course variety is essential for proper nutrition so sometimes I have the avocado-flavored chips and southwestern salsa, and sometimes round quesadilla-flavored chips with roasted garlic picante.
However it is MONDAY, so I am here at work instead of lazing about and snacking. The weekends are never long enough. Yesterday I drifted around the house wearing nothing but a scarf. We drank coffee, ate banana bread, read fantasy novels, cuddled on the couch, played on the bed, had a dinner of pasta with sausage and peppers, watched Monsters Inc., and danced to Musicmatch playlists of techno music. It's a hedonistic existence sometimes.
But now I'm stuck here at the lab, earning a living. Or what would be "a living" if I lived somewhere that rent was reasonable and fuel wasn't over $3. a gallon. "The price of paradise", they call it.
Being poor sucks ass. Maybe if I grumble this often enough the Gods of Prosperity will notice, take pity on our situation and toss a winning lottery ticket our way. Realistically, though, I expect Steve’s increased efforts at finding a job to yield results before too long. And I continue to apply for positions in my field, as I hang on to sanity and endure the daily grind with a resigned smile.
