The Hubster asked why my laptop hadn’t moved in awhile. Why I hadn’t flopped on the couch after a long date at the coffee house with bloodshot eyes and a tummy full of chocolate-covered french pastryness. Why I hadn’t thumped him on the leg to look at yet another of Ashleigh’s prints I’d like to mount in the dining room or Dingo’s mastery of all that is Photoshop. Why I hadn’t asked if he was sure Alyssa wouldn’t move to LA so I could hook her up with The Geek Hiker or cringe at the worms in MelHeth’s house.
Why? This whole Grace in Small Things rooting happy sunshine through the blogosphere and I don’t want to be the only grumpy weed in the garden. The shady little mushroom that’s hovered by pimply teenage boys with oily hair and trench coats. Or worse, perky naturalists who’ll boil me into a healthy, but tasteless, soup.
WTF?
I know that made no effing sense at all. Not even a little. And that’s where my squirrely mind has been this week. Job. Money. Job. Family. House. Hair. Friends. Money. Career. Money. Exercise. Money. Job. Obama. SAG Awards. Exercise. Money. Job.
I am officially done with my job. Not done as in laid off or fired, but done as in pretending I can pretend to care. I don’t have a good fake in me. We are in the midst of one of the busiest times of the year and my boss hands me a project at 0 dark thirty, the one time I manage to get to work early. Let’s make sure these students are in appropriate classes. 4-pages. No problem, except the first 7 appointments have all requested to meet with me (Warm fuzzies!). By the time I’ve gotten through them it’s about 11am but I’m bound and determined to tackle this list. More students, list neglected. But I vow it finish it by the end of the day. Surrender to my powerless over this list and give half of it to the assistant to finish. Boss runs in “I only needed you to check the ones with a “y” next to their names! Don’t you remember, I told you that when I gave you the list this morning!!” (1) My bad, I thought my job was to help students first but if you want me to putter around with list, so be it. (2) Um, there are only about 4 people with “y”s next to their name. Why didn’t you just check them yourself? (3) So I did manage to get through the entire list anyway. Does it seem a bit strange to you to chastise me for doing more work rather than less?
Done.
Some of that break is attributed to the fact that I had 2 interviews this weekend. Before you go all Freulein Maria and start talking about rainbows and mittens, know that I did not get either job. Beyond the bleak reality that I am stuck here indefinitely, is the strangely similar interactions I had with these 2 completely different departments. Both of them understood that, although I’ve been on campus a short time, that my office is notorious for being a bit slow to climb aboard the Innovation Express. What I hadn’t ever experienced was being in an interview where the interviewer starts by saying “Just so you know, we have another position opening up that you’d be perfect for. Would you be interested?”
Wha-wha-what?
It sounded like one of those tricky interview questions where they test your management of the unexpected. A virtual, “If you were a reptilian creative found only in the deepest jungles of Costa Rica with toxic excretions and a horrendous stench, how would you increase student retention in our office?” So I responded with a politely worded ‘that sounds like something worth exploring, but my current interest is in the position I have applied for today.’ It was clear that the other candidates were the first choice and I was dummy brought in so as not to arouse The Shady Police in HR. Although the rejection has nothing to do with me personally, I still feels personal. Because it’s another thing keeping me from the house.
The house.
Our house. The thing I am required to buy because I’m of a certain age and the economy tree is leaning over to me, ready to let me pluck whatever house I desire from it’s foliage. At least that’s what my father told me. No, yelled at me. Literally, yelled at us for not buying a home before the market swooshes past us. But I don’t nuthin’ bout no composition shingles, brick veneer, pier foundations, 3 side masonry, or the best school districts. Closing costs, inspections, mortgage brokers, HOA fees. Flooding, termites, foundation cracks, oh my! Either I should stop selecting houses listings with promises on granite tops and fairy godmothers that only carry $100 bills, or the dip in the housing industry hasn’t hit Austin. I haven’t seen a house for less than $170K. That whole, “well, you get more HOUSE for that amount” means nothing when the reduced cost of living means I get paid in Mentos and queso. Things keeping me from successfully achieving my 62 lbs weight loss goal.
62 lbs.
How do those freaks on The Biggest Loser do it? Do I have to weight 393 before mama can shed some pounds? I’ve been holding steady at 3 lbs lost for the last 2 weeks. Granted, I was sick a couple weeks ago. Sure, I could be gaining muscle. Clothes might be fitting a bit looser. I probably could have done without those cookies that one day. But can a girl get some credit for switching Kashi meals for lunch and eating, like, a million times a day?
Sheesh!
