you need to swipe your ID to get into the building every time you enter, why do you wait until you're standing in front of the machine to pull out your ID from your purse?
there are 300 people trying to get off the subway, why won't you step aside instead of blocking the doors at Grand Central Station?
you know you have to pay for that coffee, why do you wait until they ring it up to even get out your wallet? The price hasn't changed from yesterday and I'm willing to bet that if it's 8:30am and you're buying coffee dressed in a suit, you aren't a tourist. I'm willing to bet you are a fair-trade junkie just like myself. Have your money out and ready.
you're next in line to order, why are you not prepared to rattle off the ingredients you want in your salad when asked?
you need to choose whole wheat or white or Italian herbs, why do act as if the decision is impossible? This is a Subway® sandwich, not a buy or sell on the market floor.
the deadline was Friday and it's now...Tuesday afternoon, why am I the bad guy for not making an exception to a deadline you clearly couldn't follow when you had over two weeks to complete it?
your client is a "super important one" why do you wait until 5 days before you need a special-custom printed item to ask me for it? Newsflash: you're not my only project and I can't make exceptions for you because you didn't do your homework and allow lead time.
I work 9-5, why do you e-mail me at 7:00 and ask me to send you a file? Newsflash, I don't bring my computer home and have files available after I leave this office. If you can't seem to find the time between 9 and 5 to e-mail and ask me, clearly you need to learn better time management skills and then maybe you wouldn't be in the office at 7:00 needing files that you can't have!
...Okay I'm done now.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
S.A.D
For some reason, I am having a really hard time adjusting to Autumn this year. Yesterday was one of those unusually cool mornings and yet, I walked to work sans coat and full-body goosebumps instead. My runs in the park are finished in near total darkness. I keep waiting for the weather channel to tell me the temperature next week is going to be in the 80s and then I'll get one last chance to sport my favorite summer dress or my flip-flops that are now so much molded to my feet they feel almost like second skin. I usually don't fight the change this much. I embrace the leaves changing colors, the cider, the apple picking and the light weight sweaters that have sat neatly folded on my closet shelf. Typically I embrace the shift to my laceless converse kicks and the black coat. But not this time. I've developed an intense case of "Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD)." Look it up; it's a real condition. It's right up there with "Restless Leg Syndrome."
I'm chalking the entire thing up to change overload. Too much change and not enough time to adjust to each change before the next one happens. But things that never used to bother me seem like the most pivotal things. I don't want to wear a coat. I don't want to wear sneakers. I loathe the thought of long pants against my shins, the thought of socks on my feet all day. I feel somewhat out of control. I'm scared. And I'm running. Fast. But I'm not sure what I'm running from or where I'm going to end up when I finally stop to take a drink of water or to breathe, to think, to listen. I'm sure by the time I stop it will be winter, the park will be covered in snow and I will have given into the full-length down coat, hat, scarf and mittens. I have no choice. It's coming. Fall gives way to winter too quickly around here.
I'm chalking the entire thing up to change overload. Too much change and not enough time to adjust to each change before the next one happens. But things that never used to bother me seem like the most pivotal things. I don't want to wear a coat. I don't want to wear sneakers. I loathe the thought of long pants against my shins, the thought of socks on my feet all day. I feel somewhat out of control. I'm scared. And I'm running. Fast. But I'm not sure what I'm running from or where I'm going to end up when I finally stop to take a drink of water or to breathe, to think, to listen. I'm sure by the time I stop it will be winter, the park will be covered in snow and I will have given into the full-length down coat, hat, scarf and mittens. I have no choice. It's coming. Fall gives way to winter too quickly around here.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Little Boxes
I finally have a second to breathe and I'm trying to write this quickly because if I have learned anything from the three weeks since my boss' departure, it is that free time must be used wisely because you never know when and if you will see it again.
I spent the weekend in New Jersey at my parents new house, and I meant/wanted to blog about that much sooner, but I never had time. And now the thoughts and the feelings have escaped further from how real they felt at first. This is probably a good thing but let it be said, there were tears.
I woke up Saturday morning in quite frankly, the most barren and bright room I've probably ever slept in. I had no idea where I was or why the entire house smelled like new car. It took me a few seconds to realize this is where I will wake up on Christmas morning for probably the next ten or so years. This is where I will spend Thanksgiving and random weekends during the summer, when the city has become insufferable and I need grass and quiet. The room I slept in, known as the "guest bedroom," informally known as "my room," faces due east and therefore is brighter than the face of the sun itself by 7 am, making for sleeping in on the weekends virtually...impossible. My mom is excited about how bright the new house is; her gigantic room is on the opposite side of the house. She doesn't get any morning sun and can therefore out-sleep her daughter. And she did. Both days.
Every time I came in through the front door nothing was as it used to be; the tile is a different color, the walls are all the same shade of boring, the ceilings are like 30 feet tall and my dog's bark echos to an almost ear-piercing degree. Nothing is the same, but yet everything is. The exterior is new, the walls are new, all the windows are thick and actually keep heat IN. The interior is all the same furniture, just rearranged in a new way, a couch in a different room than it used to be, an end table repurposed as a TV stand. It's like a mini condensed version of my old house. Mini. And stale. I want to like it. And I'll learn to. But some small part of me cannot let myself. I equally as much want to hate it for the purpose of hating it, because that is easier. Or maybe because it's not what I've always known; because it smells like new car; because the faucet in the guest bathroom clicks when you turn it on; because the shower head is one of those gigantic wastes water spa-like shower heads; because the driveway is six feet long and flat and there's hardly any room to go sledding; because the back yard isn't fenced in and is roughly the size of my office; because the kitchen has a pantry and a lazy susan; because both my parents now have walk-in closets; because it doesn't feel like mine. Or theirs. Or my brothers. It feels lost in translation, lost in a bright white light, lost in the sameness.
I spent the weekend in New Jersey at my parents new house, and I meant/wanted to blog about that much sooner, but I never had time. And now the thoughts and the feelings have escaped further from how real they felt at first. This is probably a good thing but let it be said, there were tears.
I woke up Saturday morning in quite frankly, the most barren and bright room I've probably ever slept in. I had no idea where I was or why the entire house smelled like new car. It took me a few seconds to realize this is where I will wake up on Christmas morning for probably the next ten or so years. This is where I will spend Thanksgiving and random weekends during the summer, when the city has become insufferable and I need grass and quiet. The room I slept in, known as the "guest bedroom," informally known as "my room," faces due east and therefore is brighter than the face of the sun itself by 7 am, making for sleeping in on the weekends virtually...impossible. My mom is excited about how bright the new house is; her gigantic room is on the opposite side of the house. She doesn't get any morning sun and can therefore out-sleep her daughter. And she did. Both days.
Every time I came in through the front door nothing was as it used to be; the tile is a different color, the walls are all the same shade of boring, the ceilings are like 30 feet tall and my dog's bark echos to an almost ear-piercing degree. Nothing is the same, but yet everything is. The exterior is new, the walls are new, all the windows are thick and actually keep heat IN. The interior is all the same furniture, just rearranged in a new way, a couch in a different room than it used to be, an end table repurposed as a TV stand. It's like a mini condensed version of my old house. Mini. And stale. I want to like it. And I'll learn to. But some small part of me cannot let myself. I equally as much want to hate it for the purpose of hating it, because that is easier. Or maybe because it's not what I've always known; because it smells like new car; because the faucet in the guest bathroom clicks when you turn it on; because the shower head is one of those gigantic wastes water spa-like shower heads; because the driveway is six feet long and flat and there's hardly any room to go sledding; because the back yard isn't fenced in and is roughly the size of my office; because the kitchen has a pantry and a lazy susan; because both my parents now have walk-in closets; because it doesn't feel like mine. Or theirs. Or my brothers. It feels lost in translation, lost in a bright white light, lost in the sameness.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Tangerine Season
as a child, the end of summer was dictated by cooler evenings, early to bed early to rise, a breeze through my bedroom window that signified an ending. but also a beginning. wide-ruled paper, yellow #2, a pencil case that smelled like fall. like delicious. a thermos and a triangular shaped sandwich filled with peanut butter goodness.
the lazy days of swimming and playing were over; hours wasted on the lake drinking Sunkist™ from the vending machine; 75 cents spent, a million giggles gained. seaweed. screaming. dunking. ducking. treading water. blowing bubbles. the gentle rocking. and pulling. and pushing. and tugging on the anchor rope to get to the bottom. diving to where the water is cool and the sunlight stops shinning. a subtle shift in wind. ending up where the weeds were as tall as me. My tiny legs covered in bruises from bouncing. from falling. from the fins of the lake shark. but drenched in sunlight nonetheless. the end of summer always felt somewhat sad but also sweet, like the last section of a tangerine.
the rind is sour and rusting on my chair. the leaves will change, dry and fall like eggshells on the avenues. but if i play this song one more time summer will not end? the sun will not set before i leave this office. i will not need a wool coat. or mittens. i hit snooze. maybe i can sleep through winter and wake up when the buds are bursting with color. when the birds are hungry. when i am hungry.
if i just play this song one more time, i can make it. i can do it. i can get there. i can get to tangerine season once again. if i hurry...before the rind goes dry.
the lazy days of swimming and playing were over; hours wasted on the lake drinking Sunkist™ from the vending machine; 75 cents spent, a million giggles gained. seaweed. screaming. dunking. ducking. treading water. blowing bubbles. the gentle rocking. and pulling. and pushing. and tugging on the anchor rope to get to the bottom. diving to where the water is cool and the sunlight stops shinning. a subtle shift in wind. ending up where the weeds were as tall as me. My tiny legs covered in bruises from bouncing. from falling. from the fins of the lake shark. but drenched in sunlight nonetheless. the end of summer always felt somewhat sad but also sweet, like the last section of a tangerine.
the rind is sour and rusting on my chair. the leaves will change, dry and fall like eggshells on the avenues. but if i play this song one more time summer will not end? the sun will not set before i leave this office. i will not need a wool coat. or mittens. i hit snooze. maybe i can sleep through winter and wake up when the buds are bursting with color. when the birds are hungry. when i am hungry.
if i just play this song one more time, i can make it. i can do it. i can get there. i can get to tangerine season once again. if i hurry...before the rind goes dry.
Friday, September 5, 2008
The Road
Everything I know is changing. My world has become a constant paradigm shift from familiar to uncomfortable, from ordered alphabetically to cluttered chaos in a whole other alphabet entirely. I feel like a toddler stumbling on my feet to take my first steps, a teenager behind the wheel of my first stick shift. And yet I keep stalling at the intersections. I cannot move this vehicle known as my life forward enough to pick up speed and hit the cruise control. I want something familiar, just one simple thing to remind me of where I am. Something I can recognize as my own or something that I've known; not something I once knew that is no more, or something that has been washed away by the storms, the winds and the downpour.
When I was little and I would nap on car trips in the back of the minivan, I could always tell we were getting close to home by the look of power lines and the telephone poles. In the night, I knew the acceleration up the hill leading to my street, the deceleration of going down the other hill and turning into the driveway. I knew all of that by heart, lying down with my eyes closed in the dark. It was as familiar as my own breath.
And now I keep looking for something just like that. First left and then right. And then left again thinking that if I turn my head again the next time I look, something will be there; something has to be there. But it isn't. The street lamps have all burnt out. The road is dark and winding and the guard rail ended many miles back. Eventually there's a dead end and a place to turn around but I haven't gotten there yet...
When I was little and I would nap on car trips in the back of the minivan, I could always tell we were getting close to home by the look of power lines and the telephone poles. In the night, I knew the acceleration up the hill leading to my street, the deceleration of going down the other hill and turning into the driveway. I knew all of that by heart, lying down with my eyes closed in the dark. It was as familiar as my own breath.
And now I keep looking for something just like that. First left and then right. And then left again thinking that if I turn my head again the next time I look, something will be there; something has to be there. But it isn't. The street lamps have all burnt out. The road is dark and winding and the guard rail ended many miles back. Eventually there's a dead end and a place to turn around but I haven't gotten there yet...
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Rule #1
During my daily pilgrimage to my deli to purchase my $10 chopped salad, this woman was being so rude to my "salad man" Steven, that it took everything in my arsenal to not break out my umbrella from my purse and spear her with it.
Woman: What kind of dressing is this?
Steven: Ginger
Woman asking again with a slightly more rude tone: What kind of dressing is this?
Steven: Ginger!
Woman asking yet again with an even more rude tone: What kind of dressing is this, I didn't hear you?
Steven: GINGER!
Me sensing Steven's annoyance: It's ginger!
...
Then I looked over at her and realized she still had her iPod headphones in her ears. Yes hello, this is the manners police: remove your freaking headphones when placing an order.
Woman: What kind of dressing is this?
Steven: Ginger
Woman asking again with a slightly more rude tone: What kind of dressing is this?
Steven: Ginger!
Woman asking yet again with an even more rude tone: What kind of dressing is this, I didn't hear you?
Steven: GINGER!
Me sensing Steven's annoyance: It's ginger!
...
Then I looked over at her and realized she still had her iPod headphones in her ears. Yes hello, this is the manners police: remove your freaking headphones when placing an order.
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