Opening the mail. (The letter opener is like a stiletto. Awesome!)
I sign for packages. (I'm practicing my autograph for when I'm an Important Person.)
Quickbooks. (Seriously. I'm being paid to learn to run accounting software for a small business. This is perfect training for a professional writer!)
Everyone else is smarter than I am. (This is going to sound really stuck up, but stay with me. I once took a quick online IQ test (and I suspect it wasn't a very high quality one, since it was free). According to that test, approximately one out of every three people I meet is as smart or smarter than I am. Most of the time I just don't see that ratio. Being surrounded by people smarter than I am is like... if I were a foreigner, it would be like walking into a room full of my own countrymen speaking my language fluently. No more translating from one language to another language every time I want to say something! No more language barriers, gaps, or mistranslations!)
There's weather! It actually rains here! And there's fog!
I ask lots of questions and no one minds. (I love asking questions. This sometimes annoys some people, usually by the fourth time they have to say 'I don't know'.)
Hazardous chemicals. (Really. We have fire extinguishers everywhere. But those little bright orange stickers on the packing slips just light up my day. I might never be a ninja or CIA secret agent, but I receive Hazardous Chemicals!)
Friday, February 17, 2012
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Sisterhood of Big Shoes
I'm not sure if this is a people thing or more of a woman thing, but I've noticed that when two complete strangers realize that they have something in common, they act like friends. They can chat like long lost family for as long as twenty minutes without ever exchanging names.
If the thing in common is a trial or hardship, such as cancer or addiction or a broken leg, the effect can be startling.
As for me, I belong to the Sisterhood of Big Shoes.
It's not a hardship to have big feet. I appreciate the fact that my feet are big enough to keep all six feet two inches of me from falling on my face. Having a stable foundation is nice.
But have you ever tried buying a cute pair of shoes... in size 13?
I always notice tall women. I feel immediately friendly towards them. They understand! They know my pain!
I can't count how many times these tall sisters have responded enthusiastically when they see how tall I am too. We exchange shoe store ideas, commiserate on the hardship of having feet proportionate to our size, and encourage each other to not give up on the quest to be tall and cutely dressed.
Then we go our separate ways, happier in this dark world where almost no store carries sizes above 10, knowing that we belong to a Sisterhood. Someone else also stands and drools over the size 11 shoes, wishing they were that petite. Someone else is fighting the fight on fashion.
I may go to five stores before finding my size, and only have four pairs to choose from, and three of them are hideous, but I am not alone!
If the thing in common is a trial or hardship, such as cancer or addiction or a broken leg, the effect can be startling.
As for me, I belong to the Sisterhood of Big Shoes.
It's not a hardship to have big feet. I appreciate the fact that my feet are big enough to keep all six feet two inches of me from falling on my face. Having a stable foundation is nice.
But have you ever tried buying a cute pair of shoes... in size 13?
I always notice tall women. I feel immediately friendly towards them. They understand! They know my pain!
I can't count how many times these tall sisters have responded enthusiastically when they see how tall I am too. We exchange shoe store ideas, commiserate on the hardship of having feet proportionate to our size, and encourage each other to not give up on the quest to be tall and cutely dressed.
Then we go our separate ways, happier in this dark world where almost no store carries sizes above 10, knowing that we belong to a Sisterhood. Someone else also stands and drools over the size 11 shoes, wishing they were that petite. Someone else is fighting the fight on fashion.
I may go to five stores before finding my size, and only have four pairs to choose from, and three of them are hideous, but I am not alone!
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Airplanes Sound Like Dreams Taking Off
Everyone I've said this to has said "Huh?"
Apparently it only makes sense in my head.
I have my new perfect job. It's a lot like my old job, which was perfect, except that it's full-time, pays more, is more complex and therefore more interesting, AND this company will not close its doors any time soon; the economy doesn't affect it the way it affects small bakeries.
AND I can move away from home and be independent now!
(Full disclosure: I have gone from living with my parents to living with my aunt. After irresponsibly spending all my savings on college (I hate you, ACC!) it's going to take some time before I can really afford an apartment and all the deposits required to start all of that independent-living stuff. I am completely aware that living with my aunt is technically no different from living with my parents.)
But I'm so much closer to The Dream.
You know, The Dream of living in my own apartment, writing all day long, and supporting myself with my own work. Of course I can't write all day long and work full time at the same time. However, I take comfort from the long and honorable tradition of beginning writers having day jobs.
Airplanes often fly over my new workplace. Sometimes they're taking off, sometimes they're landing, sometimes they're doing barrel rolls and crossing back and forth several times. It's noisy and annoys almost everyone.
But to me, every time I hear an airplane (I pretend they're all taking off) I remember that every day is taking me closer to The Dream.
I'm not in a holding pattern anymore. The engine is on, the flaps are down, I'm going down (up?) the runway, picking up speed, making a racket....
.... And someday I'm going to fly.
Apparently it only makes sense in my head.
I have my new perfect job. It's a lot like my old job, which was perfect, except that it's full-time, pays more, is more complex and therefore more interesting, AND this company will not close its doors any time soon; the economy doesn't affect it the way it affects small bakeries.
AND I can move away from home and be independent now!
(Full disclosure: I have gone from living with my parents to living with my aunt. After irresponsibly spending all my savings on college (I hate you, ACC!) it's going to take some time before I can really afford an apartment and all the deposits required to start all of that independent-living stuff. I am completely aware that living with my aunt is technically no different from living with my parents.)
But I'm so much closer to The Dream.
You know, The Dream of living in my own apartment, writing all day long, and supporting myself with my own work. Of course I can't write all day long and work full time at the same time. However, I take comfort from the long and honorable tradition of beginning writers having day jobs.
Airplanes often fly over my new workplace. Sometimes they're taking off, sometimes they're landing, sometimes they're doing barrel rolls and crossing back and forth several times. It's noisy and annoys almost everyone.
But to me, every time I hear an airplane (I pretend they're all taking off) I remember that every day is taking me closer to The Dream.
I'm not in a holding pattern anymore. The engine is on, the flaps are down, I'm going down (up?) the runway, picking up speed, making a racket....
.... And someday I'm going to fly.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)