tuesday, 19 september, 2000
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Reading: If I'd Killed Him When I
Met Him... only not really, because I actually
have to work where I'm temping now.
Watching: The Games of the XXVII Olympiad, of course. What are you watching? Survivor repeats? Huh? (Okay, I did switch it over to watch the bug-eating contest because I missed it the first time, but that's it, I swear.) (Since we're on the subject, I don't think I ever pointed out that B.B. is from the very same town where I grew up. So there you go.) Listening: Madonna's Music. Yes, the whole album. Total impulse buy, but it was only $11.99 at Best Buy, and I just got my half.com check for $18, so I splurged. (Many pictures of things in hay. No lyrics. Annoyed.) Anticipating: Ed. Looks cute. I look forward to being able to watch television without feeling guilty about not studying. Contemplating: How cool it would be if that 'truth' commercial where they put 1200 body bags in front of a tobacco company were true. I don't think it is, only because it probably would have made a good news story if had actually happened, and plus I think it's shot a little too Blair Witchish. But still, it gets your attention. Requesting: That anyone who may have the season finale of The X-Files stuck on a tape somewhere drop me a line. I totally lost my copy in the move (which kills me, considering all the random tapes I managed to keep track of) and my sources tell me they aren't going to rerun it before the season premiere, so I'm kind of dying to see it again. I can promise a prompt return, and in exchange, you'll find out some very privileged information (namely, my last name and exact address). Many thanks.
Link of the Day: Admit it. You miss your Rubik's Cube. |
Well, it's official. I am a loser. I started temping last week. As a receptionist. "Humongous Health Care. I have a law degree! How may I direct your call?" When I got home that night, I wanted to kill myself. I felt like the biggest failure on the face of the planet. Mary tried to console me: "It's not like you're flipping burgers." Maybe not, but it feels like that. This week, I've moved up to "database maintenance" (read: DATA ENTRY) at a publishing company. My pride is suffering from an elitist attitude that I have no right to have. I walk around thinking about how this job is completely beneath me, how I have all this education that the people I'm working with don't have, and I can hear their thoughts back to me: "Yeah, you have your cute little law degree. But guess what? I have benefits! 401(k)! Health! Paid vacation! Stick that in your J.D." Besides all that, my bar results are out in less than two weeks, and I'm starting to have nightmares about it. For the past two months, I've been preparing myself for a "We regret to inform you" letter, and I honestly do believe that's what's going to happen, but I can't squash the little tiny part that still wants to see my name come up on the computer screen. I have to keep telling her to shut up.
All of which has turned me into one very slothful, moderately ill, mildly depressed little camper. I still haven't shaken the cold that knocked me over the day I got back from L.A. It's now settled nicely in my lungs. I'm sick of listening to myself cough and wheeze, so I can't imagine what it's like for everyone around me at work, especially the woman whose office I invaded these last two days. (Fortunately for her, she's a new mom, only working two days a week, so she'll be gone the rest of the time I'm there.) And... (not much of a warning, but there's icky girly stuff ahead)... in times of stress, I have both skipped my period and gotten it two weeks after the last one, and I must say I much prefer the former. I didn't mention it before because I didn't think it's exactly what you want to know about me, but I had it while I was in Las Vegas and L.A. (For someone who prefers solitude at that particular time, those are pretty much the last two places on Earth you'd want to be, particularly when adjoining hotel rooms containing your entire family are involved.) And now, hello, it's back. Ugh. So no, I am not in the best of places right now. There isn't even a light at the end of this particular tunnel. Well, there could be a light, depending on what this little computer screen shows me next Friday afternoon. But I must be honest and tell you that I am expecting more tunnel.
Olympic thoughts for the day: Note to my Aussie readers: I hope that I did not offend in the previous entry when I intimated that your leader was a lush. I also hope I didn't offend when I called him a governor, but I thought that was what he was titled. Today I heard prime minister. I think perhaps they are two different people. You are free to set me straight. If you do, I hope that you are Jennifer, she of the constantly title-changing journal, who I have not heard from in forever and my mail to you keeps bouncing back. Are you still out there? I love Bob Costas. That's all. I just love him. I want to marry him. I don't care if he's short, and already married. He's a cutie and I love him. My goodness, but those former-Eastern-Bloc girl gymnasts do love that glitter. It's a definite improvement over the blue eye shadow they favored for the 1996 Olympics. I'm so glad that some announcer pointed out that swimmer Dara Torres was in the TaeBo informercials. I knew I recognized her, and not from swimming, but I couldn't figure it out to save my life. One of those things where I think sometimes God reads my mind: While watching the swimming, I actually wondered what happens if an athlete is deaf. I thought maybe they did something to make the starting block vibrate. (God says: "Hold on, I'll find out for you.") Then, lo and behold, we are introduced to a deaf swimmer from South Africa named Terence Parkin. Turns out they just put a little light next to his block that he can see once he's "taken his mark," and it flashes at the same time as the buzzer. (He'll be in the finals of the 200M breastroke, whenever that is.) T'sall for today. I'll try to be in a better mood next time.
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