even fictional rafts get destroyed sometimes.

so today is wednesday. how do we feel about wednesdays? wednesdays. wed-nes-day. old norse.

the topic at hand is: that in all aspects this job is interfering with my life- for instance one of my writing friends just had to pull an intervention, concluding that perhaps depression and perhaps something horribly wrong, would keep me from my novel project because she hasn't heard from me in a month... but no. sadly it's just this job. this bless'ed job. but as much as i love it, it confines, you know. it makes diligence a word i need to use in order to... get whatever it is i'm suppose to be doing done. which is usually creative. the other day i was watching a gallery show about an artist and i went to bed thinking I'm going to die if I don't paint. i turned over in the dark and scrawled PAINT bcs my subconscious didn't want it's more forgetful brother, conscious, to forget. so the next day I embarked on some art projects: put stuff on matts, cleared off the walls of old paintings that are done, reorganized my portfolios and started work on a canvas. so now i'm prepared to paint.

now why can't i do that when it comes to writing. i should be able to read virgina woolf and say, I'm going to die if i don't write. although admittedly the nagging of non-accomplishment, as in being novel-less is like a plague and it probably will lead to death one day, probably like a long term quiet illness. if one can be quiet when one is dying and i think one can. where as dying of not playing with paint is a more turbulent death and can be more immediately satisfied to avert said death unless your an alcoholic maybe or a manic depressive and even then. so i suppose one must be aware of the symptoms. certainly blogging for little or no amount of time is an indication of one's mind being elsewhere or being infected with mold or termites... perhaps water-logged and currently being washed ashore on reality television.


((stay tuned for what else is being interfered with bcs of day to day employment))

i find them quite useful, myself

especially as i delve deeper (read: get sucked deeper) into the exciting world of Customer Service, exclamation points have been coming out my ears.

 

exclamation points convey Extroverted Enthusiasm, which, while i agree falls into the nauseating, laughably fake realm of "gee, that's thuper!!!!" is unfortunately valued highly by our society. therefore the exclamation point can and should be wielded as more of a weapon, a tool to worm your way into the heart of whoever. an angry and/or obnoxious customer, a hostile co-worker, the CEO. keeping in mind that the exclamation point potentially holds as much sarcasm as it does enthuthiathm.

 

also, while tone can be a hard thing to reflect in written forums such as email, the exclamation point can be a most excellent provider of the peak to the period's valley. and why bash question marks, so much? indeed there is a fine line between proper, sophisticated usage and stomach-turning overuse. however, the wisely chosen exclamation point and/or question mark can help convey how you are really feeling, or in craftier instances, exactly how you are not.

 

in conclusion, always be the best spartan cheerleader you can be!!!!

woohoo!!!!!

all RIGHT!!!!

exclamation points!

why i wouldn't mind if you never felt like using !! again.

I have never been one for exclamation points. i have always felt them to be a trite indicator of emotion. and i used to have a friend who over used them all the time. like, i can't believe you never told me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and she'd have at least four sentences just like that one as if her finger was permantently glued to SHIFT 1. it says less than just the one! don't you think. like when i read them i read them sarcastically- a proper context would be "Thuuuper, thaanks for ath-king!!" or "I love my job!" but to use them in a sincere way seems to invite either derisive comments or- I guess it depends on if the person thinks your sincere, like, "I fucking hate you!" I can't take that sarcastically can i?

anyway i'm losing grasp of my original point but i feel the same way about question marks. i really don't like to use them at all. like a question mark is an up beat. so if i were to say, I can't take that sarcastically can i. that's a down beat. perhaps i don't like to end my sentances on up beats! a raise in the voice. a wha?? who?? wha!! who!!
wha. who. now that's better.

perhaps though i'm a depressed and unenthused individual. like logging for a month now and i've missed the blog and felt a disservice for neglecting it so. but no, i've always hated anything but periods. i'm also fond of dashes -- and elipses though sentimental . . . as i have always loved you . . . until a professor said i overused them, like my proponderance of shakespeare quotes. . . and i had to stop-

the -

dramatic pauses-

. . .and the lamenting sighs.

. . .

and thus was born my love of dashes say i.

life after Superbowl Sunday

I wake up today and instantly, life seems bleak. Not because the Superbowl is over, not because the underdog has lost. I don't really care a fig about football.

 

I don't care a fig: Why don't people say that anymore?

 

At some point life has just gotten grumpy. I used to take pleasure in small things like grocery shopping and the movies in my Netflix queue. I used to look forward not to work, but at least those hours after work. And the ones on the weekend, however quickly they might fly by.  

 

I even have a writing project. I have a few projects going, if you count the sitcom script and the claymation movies, which you surely should.

 

Spring is almost here, that is good.

 

I love daffodils, and in North Carolina, daffodils pop in February.

 

I even love Groundhog Day, just because.

 

And Valentine's is coming up, and despite that we have no money, we have a gift certificate to a restaurant that will assist in us having a fine feast. Also there is a concert at the Soapbox laudry lounge, Donovan Frankenreiter, and we love him, and the tickets were ultra cheap.

 

The fact that we don't have any money is depressing, but it's really no different than last month, the month before, or anyone else's lives that we know for that matter.

 

"Lost" is new this week.

 

"Survivor" starts next week, for pete's sake.

 

Yet using exclamation points in either writing or speech feels...

simply...

painful.

And I cannot do it.

 

Blog, blog, blog, blog, BLAHG.

Gilmore Girls

last night i concluded that the scripts are written by drunk people.

of course, this moment occurred after drinking 2 very large glasses of something French.

and before i set the glass down on the table so hard it left me holding just the glass and the broken stem.

but, i'm telling you, it all just made SENSE.

redeux on BF's.

i agree. the bagel friday is a curious phenomenon. and these bagels are way better than the bagels i got on the DrPhil show, which never seemed fresh and locked in stomach clogging dense-ness. but the cream cheese was good philly cream cheese. the cream cheese here is light airated fluff in stuff and it goes quickly.

the bagels at BMP are fresh, when you bite into them well it's delightful. you're not tearing at a loaf of bread but something infinitely better. although for the carb count i really should have nothing to do with bagel fridays. and this bagel tray doesn't have any wheat bagels or blueberry bagels. but it seems for fridays a worthy indulgance. and bcs they're there how can i turn down this sort of treat. it's placating us sure... but how can i turn it down. i ask? i don't drink coffee so that's never been a source of yah, f- you the man, i'll drink all the coffee jitter inspiring heart racing crap i want.

ah, bagel fridays... what are thee

what is with bagel fridays?

as though this supposed to make us feel better. although i do admit that on fridays, i sort of love the bagels. the fact that i don't have to pack that extra food item for the day. and the cream cheese. although recently, it must be noted that they switched from flavors to an all-plain selection and we don't know why. i personally always used the plain, so this tacking little cutting of corners doesn't so much affect me, but i thought i'd mention it nonetheless.

 

i too haven't posted in at least a week, and for that i feel a deep shame. a deeper sense of malaise for that the fact that i can find little interesting to say. each day is blurrier, more filled with angry clients and bad moods around the office. the weather was cold, a nice level of frigid for the new pea coat that finally arrived in the mail. but today it's spring again and it's raining, but then it's not, and if we don't stop roller-coasting, both my car and i might have a break down. i discovered yesterday that my car, whose name is antoine, simply doesn't like the cold, and when the weather is freezing, his little "check engine" light goes on.

 

me, i like the cold, but not finickiness in cars. i want the car to be happy. i want my nose to be happy. neither is happy with roller-coasting weather.  

 

dammit, the callers beckon once again.

wow, I suck.

so it's been a week since a post... i blame my new job. that's right, 2 wks in- to bliss and carpel tunnel. i'm story logging for the "Challenge 10" or Inferno II as some like to call it. and aside from bordering tenuously on ruining my arms forever with excessive typing i love it. my novel will just have to wait. . .

we have bagel friday, check-man thursday, and snack time every day at 4pm. what could possibly go wrong. also there's been drama on the show already- clothes thrown into pools, lots of f-ing whore shout outs, keg stands, and we're encouraged to gossip about it. they call it back story. how could i not love this.

there is however a center atrium. and it was a week ago, when the lovely weather was filtering in through the canopy of mesh wire and wood, when i decided to lay down for 20 minutes. when i was told, after the fact, that people were watching... that it was a fish bowl... that people who make over 120k were making sure the worker bees were working... and thus they watched the atrium- took notes, and began a log of the possible trouble makers and never workers.

my people wanted to save me from this and so drew me back into the dark folds of the logging bay... the soft glow of lamps betraying the hideous faux hip finish, the cold glow of the computer moniter and the time codes lapping quickly over its self on tv after tv. the vault of tapes, wall upon wall, with binders and signs and editor doors.

i look longingly out now toward the haze of natural light just beyond. i watch the never workers and the incessant cell phone people. their eyes dart, their stance tense- surely no one cares they think. i'm just on the phone. i watch the lunch takers and their careless groups basking in the dappled sun. their question: where else are we to go? let the watchers watch and everyone take note of our daring.

on breaks i skirt on the edge of the atrium, i find the other loggers in their secret places- near the bathroom, mr. cell phone man... he has only me to fear. muhahahaha.

ahem sorry. my hand is cramping. i really cant take this any further. more soon.

This week I'm eating all white foods

Actually I have a few other colors mixed in there, but for the most part I'm trying to keep it bland. Today's lunch menu is rehydrated potato soup, and for dinner we'll have tuna melts. Which will involve some very hyper-colored (ooo, remember hyper-color T's?) cheddar cheese. However, regardless that my stomach's on fire, I can't ever stay away from the cheese. I suppose most of it's pretty bland.

 

See, what happened was last week I had a little flip-out. The crying in the middle of the day for no reason kind. Then Friday night I had a few drinks. And then Saturday, the little ulcer I've had in the making for years now--that's years of steady, hard-core internalizing, people--it met the alchohol and screamed off its little head. It said in an evil voice, "I'll get you, my pretty." I spent the next two days in a little ball on the couch, wishing the witch dead.

 

And I'm better now with an doctor visit (abhorred) and a few pills but figure that bland foods are a good idea. No jambalaya, no chili, no marinara sauce--all the witch's favorites. Instead I will bore her tears with meals void of color and spice. Tuna melts, chicken and pasta with a mild, non-tomato-based sauced. Raw mushrooms, crackers. Maybe on Sunday, for those last pre-Superbowl games of football, a nice homemade baked potato soup. Let her socks rot off with boredom, that witch.

 

Trouble is, I'm a little bored, too.

donate blood, it's good for you.

okay, so this blog, is going in fits and starts. somedays i feel why bother writing at all and i'm not sure if it's because the thoughts haven't concretized or maybe i really have nothing to say, but sometimes i feel- i always have something to say- and then writing it down becomes an untold burden. there is something to processing i guess. i don't want to be a fragment writer forever you know, not unlike being a lonely road forever you know.

well yesterday i donated blood. which i'm told saves 3 peoples lives. and i find myself asking stupid questions like, how? and do they ever run out of blood at a hospital- so like someone comes in and the guy at the front desk says sorry man, we're out of AB neg. you'll have to come back. and then the guy says, but, man, i have like a wound and i'm going to die.

sorry man, he says.

so i donate blood- you have to answer if you've been out of the country and if you've been out of the country for a combined total of 3 months you have to list where. so congratulate me- i have! one week over the limit... it makes me feel sort of lame, like i don't know another language and really i haven't been too many places, as kick ass as they were. i could do more.

one girl came in earlier and she's like, is this going to take long? because i can't be here all day!- and i think come on lady? you're saving 3 non-specified lives. shut the hell up. later mom says, she had a low iron count so she couldn't donate anyway. i find myself laughing. ha! low iron count!

and then an older woman comes in and refuses to take the informational pamphlet, which you must take if you want a number, if you want to fill out the little 39 Q. question sheet, if you want to donate blood. she says something snippy like, it's not changed. it hasn't changed in 15 years!

the worker having been verbally assulted with unwarranted hostility hesitantly gives her her number. she stands there feeling bad for a second and flips through it anyway grumbling about it. i'm like lady, shut the hell up, you're saving three lives already!

also if you're CMV negative that means your blood can go to children. Little babies. you know. and also don't forget afterward you get to pick what colorful wrap your arm gets and you get water and a selection of snack treats... don't forget the sticker! "I donated blood today..." which is way better than the voted sticker because you're like really saving lives with it and not just keeping the democratic system afloat.

they take my temperature and it's 97.2. i'm always running low like that. the woman says, wow, always? even in the summer. yah, i say. hmm. she says. am i freak? am i going to die of a non-specified disease...

did you know that in addition to saving three lives you can also donate plattletes?. those people are hard core. they have, well they're a step above me. because really this is only my second time donating. i make no pretenses to being a 65 gallon donor. and only 30% of first time donors donate again... slackers. i'm already a step ahead! and as my mom and the give-life website remind me it's the right thing to do. whatever! it's my hot body, i'll do what i want!

hey and did you know I'm B+. which is a rare blood type (like 9%, ah yah). makes me feel all special but not as special as those ABneg types. poor bastards.

www.givelife.org

also did you know it's inherited... so i could only be B or O. that's my lot in life. so it'd be kind of a clever way to see if your paternal hunches are right... sort of personal like showing you my nickers- or my eye color. blink. blink.