|How many hours until Happy Hour?
||[Feb. 10th, 2011|10:22 am]
Victim of my own success. I have achieved my goal of making myself invaluable at work -- all sorts of different titles and people now turn to me for help with various problems. Which is great, because that's job security right there. Invaluable, but not irreplaceable. People get those confused sometimes and think that they can then "coast". I only worked at one place where that was possible and I left because taking away Challenge is like taking away my will to live.|
However, Challenge is like water. It may be essential to life, it's fun to beat the "waves" or make it across the lake in 30 minutes, but you can also drown in the son of a bitch. So, someone throw me a life buoy, okay?
I'm at the point where I cut myself free of the old fishing net, patch my air hose, beat off the giant squid, and avoid the tiger shark and I get to surface briefly, but really, I can only rejoice in the sunlight and fresh oxygen for seconds, before that damned tentacle wraps around my ankle and drags me back down. Damn it! How many legs does that thing HAVE?
But did you know those sucker discs on the tentacles have fangs? That's not a metaphor for work. I'm just being nerdy. Scroll all the way down for the pictures: http://www.tonmo.com/science/public/giantsquidfacts.php
Moving from the cool to the bittersweet:
YES. I have a special fondness for chickens, that I don't expect many people share, which is why the battle against dog-fighting is depressing, the battle against cockfighting is even MORE depressing. The only bright light is when the birds fight back. The sadness of the fighting dogs is that they will LOVE the people who put them in the ring. Pitbulls are helpless in their love for humans.
A chicken on the other hand, will f**k you up. Chickens have no moral ambiguity at all. It is all black and white and they really don't have a lot of forgiveness in their hearts. I loved my chickens and they were bonded to me, but I while I was their leader, it was only as long as their little chicken republic needed it. They startle easy, but they do not tolerate tomfoolery. If they were not ready for me to take the egg, it was going to cost me in blood. They lose becase they're so small. If a fighting cock was the mass of a pitbull, there would be no more cockfighting. Or, at least you could tell who ran fighting cocks, because they'd be wearing a lot of eyepatches, and be missing limbs.
I am being very daring today. I have on patterned hose, so I can feel the pattern on the bottom of my foot and all along my legs. (Wait. If you are reading this as soft porn, cut it out. Stuff like this used to unglue me -- irritation or complete inability to focus; I'm trying to get used it.) My earrings have two metal ovals that "shing" together when I move my head. And I'm wearing this crinkly jacket that has texture on my skin and makes noise whenever I move. I may well explode from the stimuli. I had to run upstairs and switch shoes after I realized that the pair I put on is prone to squeak and has two little metal pieces that clink softly. I'm doing okay, but I'm also trying not to move too much.
I think I was hoping that it would distract me from stress-eating. I'm such a moron.
Like yesterday, when I realized that a simple answer was sitting like a large boulder in front of me, but I hadn't been able to see it. For three years, when people ask me how far away I live from work/how long does it take to get to work, I answer "oh, about 20-25 minutes to get to work and about 40-45 minutes to get home." And they always say "Wow, why does it take you so long to get home?" And I always say "traffic" and if I elaborate at all, it's usually something about how it just always seems to take longer because everyone's heading west in the evening or...I dunno. Which has never made sense to me really, but I never thought very hard about it. Like television, where I have a vague idea of how it all happens, but that magic step where airwaves become pictures...it becomes too hard to think about, so I just take it on faith.
And yesterday, when I gave the party line about everyone going west in the evening rang especially hollow. C'mon, Mere, if it runs west in the morning, then by default, it must run east in the morning, so....
And I swear, I saw light and heard trumpets, ta-da! Der. Right turns and left turns. Going to work is right turns, merging with traffic. Going home is left turns, against traffic. Seriously? Three years of SITTING AT TRAFFIC LIGHTS on the way home and this is the first time I was able to SEE the true reason why? What kind of an idiot would be that blind?
The same kind of idiot who, with stimuli sensitivity, would wear a freaking orchestra of distraction to work, no doubt.
I guess it keeps me humble. I could never be a chicken.