February 20, 1999

Working on a new journal entry, even as we speak. David is off doing family stuff for a few hours, and I have a whole lovely Saturday morning to myself. Just me and a pot of Millstone Mocha Java and a stack of CD's and TWO computers. Bliss.

So check back in a bit. I have zero idea what I'm going to write about ... but that's half the fun. (On THIS end, anyway.) And bring me a cinnamon raisin bagel when you come back, wouldya? Preferably one that's burned a little around the edges and drowning in plum honey. Thankyouverymuch.

Later That Day  ... 

Continuing to relish my quiet unhurried Saturday. I am puttering around The Castle, barefoot, bare-faced and ponytailed  ...  

...  swimming in one of David's big floppy work shirts: the trendy uncomfortable work clothes relegated to a heap on the closet floor, for the weekend ...

... adding a Shawn Colvin song to the compilation tape I'm working on (I'm titling it "Chicks" -- next I'll make the *companion tape* and call it "Dicks") ... 

...  standing at the kitchen sink reading a library book while the dishwater grows cold ... 

...  searching for information on the Cottingley Fairies on the Internet ... 

...  watching the rain outside the window. 

Thinking. Moving words around in my head, like poetry refrigerator magnets. Breathing. Scratching the itchy places. Feeling no sense of urgency, about anything. Saturday has become a gift, once again.

If only life were always this uncomplexicated.

I am thrilled to pieces to be working again.


Two months was more than enough *vacation,* for one thing. It gave me a chance to assimilate myself into The Castle (and INTO the Bay Area in general), and for David and I to "learn" each other a little. I had time to work on getting healthier, and to figure out how to use the stereo, and to try on all of David's clothes when he was at work. Most importantly, it gave me time to look for the right job, instead of blindly grabbing the first opportunity that came along. (That's how I wound up working at the tuna label company, forcryingoutloud.)

But towards the end of those two months  --  as any regular reader of this website can attest  --  my brain was starting to unravel a little, around the edges. So it's a relief to be back out in the real world again, if only for the mental stimulation. ("Excuse me: which elevator goes up and which one goes down?")

And of course there is the sweet relief of knowing that my checking account is going to be fed again, on a regular basis. (No more Wet 'N Wild for THIS girl: point me towards the L'Oreal counter. Yeee-ha!)

If I have any complaints at all  --  and of course I do  --  I guess I would have to say that I'm not particularly thrilled to be a receptionist, yet again. I know there's no shame in what I do. I know that I'm very, very good at what I do. (Hell, I've been doing it for twenty years now. Hiya, Bobbi!)  And I know that eventually my new employer is going to discover that I'm very, very good at what I do, and that I may then have some bargaining power. But in the meantime ... it's phones phones phones phones. And cranky vendors, complaining that the A/P department never returns their call.  And imperious Marketing VP's, calling me "Tammy" and speaking to me very slooooooowly, as though I'm just the teensy-tiniest bit stoooooopid. ("After you put the pager number in, press the pound sign and hang up").

I will be bored shitless within another month ... I just know it.


Oh well. Compared to world hunger and disappearing rain forests and Senate impeachment hearings and George Clooney's unfortunate departure from ER, a little boredom on the job seems pretty darned insignificant. I'll figure something out. (Hey! Maybe they'll let me work on my website, between phone calls! Then I would be killing two birds with one mouse!)

David will be home shortly. We're going to the bookstore, and then maybe to get some food or a rental movie or something.  So I'm going to throw on some *real* clothes, and run a comb through the messy ponytail, and try to make myself look slightly less happily-bedraggled. Before I go, however, a personal note or seven:

To Mom: I got your wonderfully newsy e-mail this morning  ...  thank you! If The Other Half of the Population doesn't completely monopolize the 'puter tomorrow, I'll fire off a reply. (And if The Other Half of the Population DOES completely monopolize the 'puter tomorrow, I'll make HIM write to you.)

To my sister Deb: Got your Valentine.  It's taped to the monitor, even as we speak.  Thank you!  How's the little guy?

Darren: Let's see what you've got so far! I promise to laugh at all the funny stuff ... and I won't even correct your speling.

Shell Pile: I consider your résumé to be a most worthy use of bandwidth, Shnoop.

Heather:  OK. I voted for Bayley. Four times. Now do I get the much-ballyhooed box of See's?

JoanieSL!:  Didya find the website yet?? It was great to hear from you!!

Mizzle: Look! I've posted a new journal entry!  #@^$&!^ MiZzLe )@#*&$^%

David: You wouldn't happen to know where we put the tack hammer, would you?



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