more about me
i'm a bit stymied by a situation at work. on the one hand, it should be permissible to shout 'get your hands off my stuff!'. on the other hand, if you put items out on your desk, aren't they public?
here's the deal: one of my fellow inmates has some interesting concepts about boundaries and propriety. he will come by my cube to talk about something, and two hours later (no joke!!), he's handled every damn item on my desk and shelves, all the while coughing, biting his nails, scratching his ears... bleargh.
and i don't know how to deal with this. it feels ragingly awkward to confront him in the moment, largely because by the time i disengage from the conversation/analysis and clue into his behavior, i'm too angry to be polite, so i choose to say nothing. if i can't say something to his face, is it fair to go to my boss and ask him to handle the issue? should i give the person in question the right of first refusal, so to speak? or should i just take all the toys off of public display? (side note: at one point, he was so distressed about an issue (not mine) that he was chewing *on my coat hanger*. so it's not just gizmos/toys/distractions.)
feh. some things are clear, in this politically sensitive age. other things? dayum.
remind me again why i thought it was a good idea to drive?
so, i had an appointment downtown the other night. and for some reason, i actually had the thought that *it might save time to drive*. (note: i live in Boston, home of the Big Dig, where the street map changes on a daily basis.)
it's middle of the rush hour (and why do we call the three to four hour snarl a rush *hour*?), and i'm driving along Storrow Drive. and suddenly, over the rush of air and other cars and the radio, i hear *squonk* *phwrp* *stutter* *phwrp* *snap!!* *phlrptrpt* *squonk* and i think ohgodohgodohgod please don't let me be having a flat on Storrow in the middle lane in rush hour ohgodohgod please don't because if i were in the other car i'd be mad at me for holding things up goddamn what is that noise?!?
i tap the brakes, and monitor the handling. the noise abates a bit when i touch the brakes, and Penny isn't pulling one way or another, but as soon as i let off the brakes, the noise is back. i've turned off the radio, rolled down the window, and am driving along with one eye on the road and one ear out the window on the noise. it's coming from the front left corner, and it's intermittent, at best - no pattern that lets me know i ran over something that's now lodged in the tire and smacking the fender, or that that pothole i hit actually did take out the rim and there's a seriously deflating tire in my [wicked] immediate future.
careful driving, and getting lost downtown (navigating by nose only really works when you can see, and half of the driving is underground these days), and a few nervous moments later (including waving off someone who was mad that i craned around, all 360°, to see where i was), i parked. got out, walked around to feed the meter, and inspected the front end of the car. after kicking the hubcap back into place, i found the problem.
turns out that the damage done by the neighbors a few weeks ago has degraded. someone had drunkenly smacked into the bumper and crushed the front left corner. a little highway driving put more stress on, and voil<á>! a shard of my bumper catching the wind, depending on the angle. i tried to pull it off, as it seemed largely cosmetic at this point, with no luck. feh. off to the appointment, try again later.
after i left the appointment, i got back on the highway and heard the *fwip* *fwip* *cronk* *fwip* again. less nervous now, about that (altho Penny didn't want to accelerate because it was a damp day...), but still watching, i headed north, and kept checking the mirrors.
*fwip* *fwip* *fwip* *screeeee* ...silence...
and a glance in the rear view confirmed my suspicion: wind shear did what i couldn't. a nice little chunk of my bumper was skittering down the highway, spiralling its way across the lanes, into the guard rails.
ah. silence. :)
you're always on guard. people are watching, judging, critiquing, and to other standards than are used for birth parents. some of this is self-imposed, to be sure. who didn't grow up with the idea of the wicked stepmother? but for certain, some part of that standard of judgement exists.
off the bat, part of the answer is already set. for now, at least, it's stepmother. (for now meaning 'mom' may work its way in there, not that i'll stop being a step...) there are many other layers, of course, to both the question and the answer, and i'm working thru those as well (and probably will be for the rest of my life - does anyone ever figure it out?). but a big chunk of the current scenario? step.
i found an interesting essay about a month or so ago, titled The Evil Stepmother. can't remember what i was looking for, or who might have pointed it out, or how it ended up on my screen, but there it was. and it hit home. parts of it made me nod, others made me cry or wince, some made me laugh.
When I bought endive and champagne, the check out clerk used to ask me what I was making. But no one asks you what you are making when you buy cereal and hamburger.
(since i seem to be on an asyncrhonous roll... really, just cleaning out drafts that have been hanging around a while... this one, from 12 March.)
1. What was the last song you heard?
An Evening in June, Van Morrison.
2. What were the last two movies you saw?
The Scottish play, directed by Polanski, and Pirates of the Carribean, with the luscious Johnny Depp.
3. What were the last three things you purchased?
bottle of wine, People magazine, chocolate mint cookies.
4. What four things do you need to do this weekend?
laundry, dusting, pay bills, spend positive time with my sweetie.
5. Who are the last five people you talked to?
people i bumped into in the kitchen while getting my tea, and L, who needed to hear the story about the Little Chapel of Elvis. (they're all office people.)
you know, where you get a note from Joseph Q. Public. i don't really know what spam filter that's supposed to defeat, really, as the content is still dreck. but it is amusing - or disturbing, if you think about giggling at your inbox first thing in the morning. (not that i do that. i'm just sayin'...)
anyhoo. best spam name yet: Jesus N. Poe. and what does the N stand for, eh?
Sexy :: too ... for my shirt
Clique :: mean
Pledge :: sorority
Carbs :: debatable
Dream Job :: non-profit
Sweeps :: too much TV
Soundtrack :: to my life
Hero :: my honey
Shave :: doves (courtesy of mechaieh *g*)
Christina :: C.. (former coworker)
1. Do you collect anything?
i tend to get a bit obsessive about whatever my latest fascination may be, and collect relavent bits for that (witness beading - i have a whole toolkit for that, even tho i haven't touched it for about a year). mostly, tho, books.
2. How many items do you have in your collection?
books? far fewer than i used to have. in the interest of not collapsing my current living space by having too many bookcases, i've weeded things down to books i haven't yet read, books i intend to read again, or books with great sentimental value (like some of my grandfather's college texts, complete with handwritten notes).
3. What is the most unusual piece in your collection?
hm. most unusual book... hrm. that's a hard one. oh! nope, not hard at all. that would be my Grandmother's Book. my gram wrote out one of those 'grandmother's memories' books, with a snippet of family tree, and small stories about her life, and so many little bits and pieces that i would never (14ish at the time) have thought to ask but treasure now. one of the most precious pages in there is the one my grandfather wrote, describing how he and my grandmother met and fell in love. being able to read those stories, in their handwriting, makes it if not the most unusual, certainly the most valuable to me.
and one more for good measure...
4. Is there anything you don't collect that you would like to collect?
sportscars. no joke - if i had the fundage to collect and rehab two seater sports cars, i'd be a happy, happy girl.