Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
They will not be happy until they have their mating instinct (regardless of offspring-generation-wishes) satisfied. They have very high standards. They (I'm thinking of three-five in particular) have been loved by me, but I did not qualify as their type : )
Others will stay single for what seems like indefinitely, and they will remain jocular in bachelorhood, showing signs of strain but with such different colors.
I am looking to spend time with the kind of friend who, for at least 40% of the time, is entertaining and pertaining to me. A few qualify a percentage, even high percentage, of the time, but even 40%-attainers have deterrents to intimacy that stem from other sources. Relationshipping is a mucky half-shore, half-sea business. Mud everywhere, obscuring.
at 11:28 PM
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Recently I told the Facebook world, which shares little overlap with this one, that I had two consecutive +~$35 phone bills due to the addition of 5¢-charges stemming, one at a time, from sending or receiving texts after the 300/month limit has been reached. I think it's 300. I do know that the two lines can't "share" their quotas, that one phone (mine) uses far too many while his uses very few. Obviously we have the wrong product.
As an aside, another example for an approximation of service would be the dental insurance offered at my husband's job. He gets fairly good coverage for $10.06 a month. How much do you think it would cost to add me, one other person? [answer forthcoming, though you can guess which way this story is headed, I'm sure]
After I lamented my stupidity and put a ban on texting, I proceeded to "text just a little," since I wasn't near that month's limit (though, admittedly, it is very hard to tell without logging onto the company's site … the "press # something #" to see minutes remaining and messages unused has never worked / always generates a network error), and it must have broken the psychic barrier of protection around my edict, because all kinds of people have been texting me for all kinds of stupid things. Short responses in 20-text "dialogs." Addenda, in same. Double answers. Texts at 6:14 and 8 a.m., asking things that have already or should be handled in free e-mail, the kind of thing one checks upon waking but does not wish to be woken up for.
I guess people don't understand the meaning of meaningful. Probably, they are oblivious due to their unlimited-type plans. Sprint tempts with their art-building ads (filmed locally in Block) and $70 offers for all-minutes-all-texts-all-Internet (to other mobile phone number users) service. Their revenue, however, is predicted to drop by $250 million soon, due to loss of a contract with the main cable provider, which gives this household its Internet and raised rates $3 after 5 years of our paying them $49.95 for consistent coverage and speed.
In this online version of me, has the job situation been announced? Seems we left you all hanging with, "The cat died, and I'm dying." Never fear, for though I remain consistently overcommitted, I have erased the 46-hour routine from the week's 168.
It is confusing to me why I was unable to eat, shop, bathe, clean, travel to and from jobs and shops, do Facebook, pay bills, and "enjoy my family" in 36 hours a week. That is the figure I arrive when subtracting work-hours and 56 (8/night) sleep-hours. I do know that there was a problem in finding a repeating 8-hour block that came at the same time every day and also was able to offer an undisturbed environment for the production of sleep. If I lived alone, it might have happened.
So, after about a fortnight of manic behavior and life-on-coffee-and-hope, I succumbed to what most of you will peg as inevitable, and I quit. It started as a mere calling in for a sick day, paid or unpaid, it did not matter, for I was in an odd situation of mental anguish, an exhaustion that, while entertaining — especially given the boost of super-self-esteem one feels when accomplishing so much — was just too taxing. Puns are good, yes? Anyway, I was also unable to stay hydrated and was feeling the precursors of cold-like things all the time. And I know it took a toll on my teeth, which is "all that I need."
Wait! I forgot school. That's 4 more hours (class and travel for attendance) and about 3 for reading. During paper weeks, an additional 13-20 is required.
Anyway, it was "worth" $910 (net). Don't remind me that it could have been multiplied six or seven times.
at 9:26 AM
Sunday, March 07, 2010
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
I said that it would be impossible to take a class this semester AND work at the magazine AND do the full-time nighttime gig …
And that when my hormones did their typical shift-dance, I'd crumble into a heap …
I don't remember the weekend or where the squandered time really ended up. It's hard to have to view sleeping as a crime against superproductivity. It's hard to admit that I can't have all this cake around and eat it, too. It's more than lamentable that I am missing $10,000 of worked-for money from 2008 and 2009. It's awful to be "self-employed" by proxy instead of choice — and to be dumped into paying ones own taxes for no other reason than others' horrid mismanagement.
If you're going to do something, you should do it well. I haven't written a single word (except in the virtual reality of my head) for a paper due in 24 hours. Sounds like a long time, but it's not at all, not that I am going to my shift that starts in 10 minutes.
There are only so many hours in a day (surprise!).
I am at a crossroadian impasse roadblock decisionfarm pridehiatus stopping point.
Why can't the nightgig just let us be part-timers? Why …
at 8:43 PM
as she did, just checking, since G. has all answers most of the time …
and you will find one of the largest collections of unproven BS and "we don't know what it is but we recommend x, y, z"-nesses on the interweb's planet.
what a joke.
"might be caused by hormones." that's funny. i suppose, then, it might equally be caused by killer whale's killing anything morsel-y and available or, perhaps, caused by seismic waves and moon-cycles and fairies and how clean one's sheets are …
"reduce alcohol, caffeine, sodium, etc." — WHATEVER*
whatever happened to: "it's normal and o.k. to drop the heck out of life / you are not broken, you are a woman / go and be creative and alone / you have superpowers of emotion and insight / you are preparing to create an egg that can quite potentially become ANOTHER HUMAN BEING?"
… dear matriarchy, where are you hiding?
these are my so-called issues with "it."
[[the fact that there are not more female mass-murderers / artists is a testament to how well we sisters keep it under control / you testicaled beings should (again, always, more so — poor persecuted ones, we're sorry) feel (even more) ashamed of yourselves (for all that war and gun and business business, etc.)]].
since when does any one's body lie about what it needs?)
** you're lucky / unlucky that i'm not posting the "i love my ice-cream-cone breasts of 'really, 35.5?'" pics along with this. shall have to be reserved for print / those who pay our mortgage : )
at 1:29 AM