Well, it so happens that I got every last thing on my birthday list. Ariel must have done a great job spreading it far and wide, and while she didn't make me a chocolate vacation, it did have dinosaurs on it. Stretchy dinosaurs. Damn right.
I have been re-deployed to the outbound section of the mailroom, where there is nothing to do. And yet the rest of the staff has mysteriously disappeared, so I have been left to man the service desk without my break. I am thinking endlessly about cooking on my new grill, and wondering if Ariel would object to another night of hamburgers (and perhaps good char-broiled potatoes with fresh herbs and spices and plenty of salt). Honey, if you're reading this, call me at work. I miss you and I want to grill for dinner, but you have to approve it first.
Things I want for my birthday:
- Small charcoal barbeque grill
- Electric razor
- Warm sweaters
- Fantastic dark roast ground coffee
- A vacation
I'm high on Celexa, so I may edit this list later. Fair warning.
Usually I post from work, but I just haven't had time lately.
It feels like every time I sit down at my desk to finally wade through whatever database updates are piling up...or reply to all those emails in my inbox...or finish the scripting I've been working on...something else pulls me away. Why do I bother complaining, anyhow? It's my life, the status quo. Too much coffee, too many cigarettes, never enough hours in the day. They pass by like this one after another, and soon they all start to meld together. I mark the hours of most of them by counting the number of times I say to myself, "Fuck it, this isn't going to happen today. Maybe tomorrow." It's terrible to be constantly running on that treadmill, finishing whatever is on my plate just as a new set of tasks appears over the horizon. I can never get caught up, never reach any sort of equilibrium, never have a clean slate.
Hmm...I sort of talked myself into a corner there, didn't I? Why don't I come up with something more meaningful to post, rather than senseless ranting? Because that takes time, silly. And besides, I have to make some more coffee, smoke another cigarette, and start in with the chores.
When I get frustrated, I go on a cleaning binge. Does that make me a girlie man? Most certainly, but I don't care. Once, just once -- I will clean this apartment from top to bottom. It will probably be when we move, and I will not know the glory of a completely clean living space. This is how my life typically works. It's an episode of Seinfeld, like everything in the universe.
I thought about posting a screenshot of my desktop at work today, just to confuse everyone on my "Friends" list. Y'know, log on to Livejournal and...what's this? Somebody's desktop, with their email and Filemaker database open, along with random filenames and information about people I don't know? Yeah, that'd be pretty devious of me. Hoo boy, what a killer I am. Not really. It's the painkillers, I swear.
But rather than impress on everyone the tedium of my day, I instead came home and played with Vera, giving her mommy a much needed break. We read books and she ate pears, honeydew, pineapples, and cheddar mashed potatoes with summer vegetables. We shared a blueberry muffin for dessert and she washed it down with soymilk, myself with Diet "Berries & Cream" Dr. Pepper. Ariel had a bit of a hard time with her today (toddlers are often fussy), but now she's very full and happy and watching her Virtual Wonderland Party. Again. I swear I've memorized that thing.
I guess Ariel isn't feeling well again, just in time for me to step up to the plate. Sometimes it seems like we have this push-pull illness/injury relationship, whereby one or the other of us is ailing from something at any given time. I have personally, in the past two months: gotten pneumonia, fractured a rib, and contracted strep throat (or some related virus). I can't wait to see what happens to me next, it better to be good. Maybe it'll be terminal -- what a buzz-kill.
I'm off to smoke a cigarette since the wee one is occupied. I promise not to post any snide shots of my screen in the near future, unless it has something really juicy and top-secret on it. Then maybe I can be indicted just like all my heroes on Capitol Hill! Go team!
(Disclaimer: I am not really a Republican)
Well I'm back at work. Sound the trumpets, bang the gong, woo-hoo.
I still don't feel good. My throat hurts and I think my fever is coming back, but I took some acitaminophen about 20 minutes ago, so I should be okay. I need to take some ibuprofen for the inflammation, too, but I don't want to over-medicate myself. Dammit.
There's actually a lull here, which is nice since my fever is making me sort of dizzy. I'm camping out at my desk (yes, I have a desk now. *Ahem*) waiting for emails to come back about the whereabouts of various employees who aren't in our delivery database, or possibly for some more results of our periodic staff/faculty survey to come back to so I can update them. Just stimulating, isn't it? This is normally the time when I'd be balancing my checkbook or running the budget for next month, but I forgot it all at home. *Sniff*
Poor Ariel, she didn't get any sleep last night. Those damn neighbors. I'm fairly sure that all they know how to do is watch movies and copulate incessantly. They must not live together. There's more to life, folks.
Like cute little toddlers! Jesus, I miss her. And Ariel...I love you guys, hang tight until Daddy gets home.
I am back from my trip to delirium for the past two days, maybe more. It isn't very often that I find myself so sick and feverish that I actually black out for a while, but I don't really remember much of those first twenty four hours I was bedridden. Boo hoo, poor me, blah blah. It was some sort of virus, I think. I feel much better now -- Vera has finished her mashed potatoes and ravioli and is watching her Virtual Wonderland Party, and I'm starting to clean up the mess her mommy left for me. I missed them both so very much, as well as eating and bathing. Yes, it's nice to feel better.
The jackalope sez: "Eat those raviolis, little girl, or I'm gonna eat your little toes!"
(Okay, the jackalope doen't say that, Daddy does. But I still thought it bore repeating. Hell, I might eat them no matter what.)