So, that was astonishing, wasn't it? Thank you all for telling your secrets. My posts are set up so you can leave comments for the next week or so, so if you get your courage up later, do so then. After reading your comments yesterday, I looked around at the people at work and wondered what they had going on that I didn't know about, and I decided to be less crabby about the door near me.
I sit right by the stairs, see, and you have to push three numbers to get the door open from the stairwell to the office, to protect us from all the inevitable criminals who are just dying to pillage us all day long. And since I'm three inches from that door, ALL DAY LONG I hear, "Click. Click. Click. Blunk." The "blunk" is the sound of the door NOT opening. "Click. Click. Click. Blunk."
"Click. Click. Click. Blunk."
WHY CAN NO ONE GET THE CODE RIGHT? It's been the same since I've started there, and NO ONE GETS IT RIGHT THE FIRST 80 TIMES EVER. Click. Click. Click. Blunk.
So anyway I decided to be more patient about that. Maybe the person clicking and blunk-ing has something big on his or her mind. You can tell I'm already well on my way to adjusting my attitude about that.
Anyway. Thank you again for participating. Not too sound too much like my therapist mom ("What's wrong with sounding like me?" she's gonna call and ask later), but how did that make you feel? Now I'm leaning all over earnestly, looking therapist-y. Was it a relief? Did it feel terrible to re-live it? What?
Am totally wearing a therapist natural-fiber sweater right now, and am putting up some kind of soothing picture in my computer room for you. The orange crates are out of here.
Marvin always used to want me to move those orange crate photos around, to see if any of you noticed. I know you'd notice. Y'all notice everything.
It's a computer wire holder that inexplicably looks like Edsel. That's what that red thing is on the wall that you're gonna ask about. The Poet gave it to me a long time ago. Oh, and speaking of The Poet, you had asked who she was, seeing as she is a fancy celebrated author and such. She told me I could tell you. Go Google Sarah Lindsay. She's the one who's NOT a speed skater.
And speaking of being fancy and celebrated, something...happened this week for me that is pretty exciting. I can't talk about it now because I haven't signed a contract, and no, I did not get a full-time job. Still. Click click click blunk. However, I did get an offer to do something cool and further reports as developments warrant. I'm just saying to you. I.am.so.famous. -ish.
I'd better go scream around hysterically now and get ready for work. I've been freelancing every night since Thursday, and I think I'm done with that, but then tomorrow I take half a day off to help Ned get his wisdom teeth removed. Yes, I'm assisting the dentist. Because I'm exactly who you want in a medical situation.
Then on Sunday, there's a dance thing for my friend Charlie. He taught contra dancing every Tuesday, and I went once and it made me dizzy, and on Sunday there is all-day contra dancing (Google it, for heaven's sake) (you know I always get impatient when y'all ask me what something is when GOOGLE IS RIGHT THERE) (click click click--oh forget it) and an auction and Charlie will be there and yay. Excited to go. Will take Dramamine this time. I am not even kidding. IT'S VERY DIZZYING.