Half a ton, here I come

I eat when I am hungry, when I'm depressed, when I'm angry, when I'm bored. I have no self control when it comes to eating. Being in a state of fullness does not stop my eating. This was not an issue when I worked in a stockroom of a major retail chain, on my feet all day, lifting 25 50 pound bags of dog food in a few minutes, or climbing on top of those giant warehouse shelves because a single package of toilet paper fell and no one can reach it through normal methods.

 

But now, I sit. I answer phones, type occasionally, and stare at a computer monitor. I only have to type after the phone rings, and the phone doesn't ring that often. So mostly it's the staring. Occasionally, I get to switch off to watching my plant grow. To the fill the gaps, I eat. I eat banana chips and pretend they're healthy. I eat Peanut Butter M&Ms, cookies, crackers, and Jolly Ranchers. I bring my lunch back to my desk so I don't have to talk to anyone. Maybe I can keep how miserable I am a secret a little bit longer.

 

But I am grateful to have a job. I am. I got fired from the last one. But I got this job because of who I know, not because of who I am. The position I fill did not exist before I got here, and probably will not after I leave. The sitting would not be so bad if I had something to do. But I don't. So I post moronic things on a blog that no one will ever read. And I eat. And read other people's blogs.

 

Today and yesterday I have been reading Sweet Juniper!, by two parents who go by Dutch (the dad), and Wood (the mom). Its literary style (the parts I have read, anyway) is a mixture of the New Yorker, The Simpsons, Fawning Parent Magazine, and Let's Forget That We Are Adults Once in a While Quarterly. It is well written and self-depreciating without making the authors sound self-loathing. They speak of their child with great frequency (that is what the blog is about) without turning into those parents who won't shut up about their child. In short, I hate them. One gave up on being a lawyer to stay home with their kid-- and there's another on the way; both finished law school in less time it took me to get my bachelor's degree-- oh fuck, I forgot-- that's still on my to do list. Did I forget to mention that they love each other very much and continue to express their undying affection for each other?

 

So here I remain, in a job I hate because I have no other prospects, having no other prospects because I haven't finished my degree, wishing that at the very least my job could be a little closer to home so I could see the frickin' awesome two year old that lives there for more than hour a day while he's awake, reading about other people's lives that I wish I had. And eating.

Office plant

This is my office plant. I an growing it from a cutting from someone else's office plant. I have had it in water for nearly two weeks now, but no roots. At least It's not dead yet. The post-it is a sign bearing "CA or Bust," from one of its escape attempts, and the pen is for drawing up other plans for escape. I can't be sure, but I think the note & pen are really the work of my cube-neighbor with an off sense of humor.

Update 25 Sep: Still not dead, still no roots.

Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

Tomorrow is International Talk Like a Pirate Day, and for the first time, this disappoints me so. I am now working what one could call a "grown-up" job, an am required to answer a phone in a (sigh) professional manner. I work for a large company, and I work in an IT support department. I've already been told that answering the phone "Ahoy! Thank ye for callin' IT support. What can First Mate Dick" (my pirate name) "be doing for a landlubber like yeself?" would not be good for my future employ here, especially if the CEO's executive assistant calls. I hate being a grown up.