Activation fee

A few days of sleeping straight through brings on snow
That justifies it post de facto.

New

… but quite old.

It's true

I have hardly eaten this past week; am always hungry. up 18 hours a day. Not so inclined to eat, which is the odd part.

The worst part is that i can't drink enough water.

I wake up with and have at many times while awake sharp dehydration headaches. Give me a hangover any day.

Approximately 24 hours ago, my manager saw me curse about the danged time sheets; she's a gem, though, and only said a while later, from a number of feet away from the other row of sorting desks, "Now, Miss ___, don't get frustrated; I see you're getting frustrated."

(They all always seem to help the middle row first for whatever reason; maybe it is because the people sitting there are all new, and we have three experienced people in our row … though I could explain how each of them is not all that helpful. I have other stories about being told what to do and my internal reactions; I swear, I can see how this sort of position could turn anyone into a resentful mess; I thought I knew resentment before, but at least I can say "f*ck" as much as I wish in my humanities-related job, and I don't have to answer to anyone but myself and what I create. However, the rules-is-rules gig pays more consistently and more per week. Let's have a debate about the necessity of a publicly funded arts granting institution or a non-commercial broadcast station.)

Later, she said, "You're a production person, too," and not disparagingly, but only to mean that there was no other way to change what was. She must have just had that conversation with someone else who was worried about performance standards, even though we're still on "learning curve." She was referring to how I was mostly frustrated that my per unit rate was wrecked by the fact that we didn't have enough to do and our work-giver was slow about bringing us items to do … what's so annoying, too, is that I would rather go home were there no work and no pay Ii've become such a contractor) than make my "numbers" look bad.

Yes, that's the way it is — waste time sometimes and then engage mandatory overtime later. You've read "The Jungle," right?

During a kill-time meeting that she didn't have us use a meeting time code for the previous night, she said that one thing we should know is that no matter what the rule is today, it could change tomorrow for no reason, but we have to do it anyway, so don't get frustrated with that. Things just change.

I wish I could tell you about other fun aspects, but I can't: I took an oath that had the words "Constitution" and "God" in it.

I had taken it before, so I am not sure how long it lasts; like my fingerprints they said the FBI no longer had on file (right!), the oath must expire or something, else why do it again : )

really hate(s) it when they miss the point

One Year Ago (part 2 or 4 or 7 or something)

2-3-10

Sounds like a good combination: Two adults, three kids, 10 helpings of food at dinner.

I've just finished again Main Street. I have no kids. We hardly have "dinners."

Equations are not always equal, because serving size depends on so many things, as so many things depended on Williams's Red Wheel Barrow, in the rain, with those white chickens.

For example, to bring the faux metaphor (I shall call it sous rature, even) to the personal level, where it only really means something to me/T.:

I/she ate/drank today only some coffee (and it did not make her nauseous, so, again, all is random and unreliable), two cups of chicken broth, one cup+ of 1% cottage cheese, with pepper, a 110-calorie vending machine bag of Sun Chips, and about 15 almonds – and I'm not hungry*

… because the day before there were red beans and rice x 3 servings with celery, some cheddar cheese, two apples, salsa, blue chips, about seven plain Triscuits, some other things that are not within recall (could have been Monday food … blurry lines … had to remind myself at least 6 times today that it was only Wednesday … ). Oh, and there was more coffee in the evening tonight, and it had some milk in it, but again, no nervous system freak-out.

In three months, I will have been married 7 years.

*at least not undefeatably hungry, irrationally hungry, hungry without being able to "conquer" it with caloric logic, not the kind of hungry that leads to — ah, yes, we recall now, consumption of 5 peanut butter cookies (made at home in a late-night kitchen that looked really trashed the next morning, of limited sugar, only one egg, and generic Rice Krispies tossed in for good measure — and they fared much much better than the Kellog's Corn Flakes tossed into the "really, marshmallows can't make that much difference" fudge that is in the fridge and waiting for trash day). Fudge took care of the surplus chocolate chips; have had the flakes of corn since June (opened them only a few months ago; that BHT stuff is amazing). They were a gift. They are just fine with soy milk, but there are only so many cold cereal breakfasts that one wants … usually "having nothing" is more appealing. Body so not with this earth.

Snow Stops Me

In its tracks.

What is it about knowing that everyone else is sitting around watching Netflix and TV and baking cookies and whatnot that makes me unable to work, even though my job-duties are performable from any Internet-connected location?

What is it, indeed.

Only 40% can be attributed to the same thing that is causing me to regret right now —

Seriously —

The fact that, after months of deliberation, I finally threw out 4 jars of pickle juice, ie: sugared vinegar, the other week.

Sigh.

So, I ate a teaspoon or so of mustard after swishing around a mouthful of sea salt.

It might not be enough.

I was mesmerized like a cat watching the goldfish all day yesterday … something about swirling sky flakes is just magical.

Today, we shoveled, and so I feel all accomplished.

I'm alternately freezing to death or overheated.

Very full of food (though calorie-count might be under the 2,000 range; too hard to tell with homemade soup), but actually having pangs. There also was 700 kcal of Taco Bell. Last night put down 250 of Neufchatel. Woke up starving.

Knowing I will hardly eat all next week doesn't make it any easier to keep gorging.

Besides, I'm really sick of eating only these two soups (and cheese and blue corn chips).

The tomatoes went bad.

Oh, and I had the last grapefruit.

Happy Chinese/Lunar New Year; Metal Rabbit, bound my way and bring me gold, o.k.?

St.L. vs. K.C.

Once when coming home on Amtrak, before the 19th-century (era) Union Station was turned back into a train depot from a shopping mall (ah, the '80s; what had developers been thinking?), and the terminal was a 12-by-10-foot structure underneath the multiple interstates (ah, we were thinking about cars, indeed!), we came across a man a few blocks later who said, "Do you know where they can stick it?"

He was referring to the Gateway Arch. I won't mention how it's undergoing structural failure. Another whole cultural conversation, that one …

My reason is to say that my hometown has a claim of being the "Gateway to the West," yet this other town (once known simply by its port-name) claims also to have been the true starting point of those heading on the Santa Fe and other trails. The last outpost.

Well, that makes plenty of sense to me now.

Here, things were truly rough. There, they truly thought they were the last of civilization. I agree. Kansas City has the second-largest rail hub (after Chicago … both seem related to the nation's lust for bovine meat), but St. Louis is perched on one of the world's largest rivers and once was a typography titan.

Both cities did pretty well with (German-American) beer manufacturers.

Today, I summed up my sentiments once again when asked to compare this Missouri border town/city to the other one: I greatly prefer the original architecture in St. Louis, but people in Kansas City are much more approachable and far less racist.

Those factors seem to be consistent with the cities' relative age and cultural heritage, even if Kansas-proper still remembers how people this side of the state line fought tooth-and-nail to keep slavery solvent.

We used to sing "John Brown" in Kindergarten, but nothing about Jayhawking ever came up … just something about his baby and a cough, which I never understood.

I saw my first Space Shuttle launch in that room.

Upstairs in that same school, apparently 25 years ago, I watched Christa McCauliff and everyone else there show me what hope was all about. I'm glad that private enterprise is taking over space travel. It was so precious then. Now, any millionaire can do it.

Still, doesn't Kansas City have clay? Choosing to forage porous calcium carbonate instead strikes me as an example of what's wrong with "Americans."

This is all just my way of tilting at windmills, hating on my own house.

Birds Can Have Cones Too

Hi, my name is CB.

It used to stand for something else, but now it means Cone Bird.
I was obsessive about an itch on my back a while ago …
It turned into a scabby sore amid an infected bald patch.
Now I have been wearing this cone for 4 days.
As you can see, I do not like it.

They clipped my wings, too, so getting around has been hard.
I'm really tired of falling on my face and head.
I'm also really tired of being grabbed twice a day to get antiseptic swabbed on my back.
Haven't I done a really good job of chewing off the band-aid pads on the cone?
I think I ate that stuff, though my owner cut some off the other day during "us time."
When this thing comes off in 3, 4 … who knows … weeks, I'm going to be so mad that I plan to start tearing up my back immediately.

Neither God nor Satan could give a puppy-filled flying rainbow about our Internet issues or email exacerbations. Buddha, Boost Mobile?

Two Years Ago

We had the same amount of annoying snow (and I seemed as motivated and in the same in most, if not all, recorded/perceived ways):

Friday, January 18, 2008

No matter how late

Even when I decide to miss a ride with earlier-than-nine-working spouse and don't get my chilblained face to the office until 9:45, I am still first.

It's about 25ºF, but yesterday, the Walt Bodine Show had on two men who had recently run a marathon in Antarctica, where the headwinds are 35 mph and a temperature I never want to experience.

My 10 block "trek" over patchy ice and still-fluffy snow is nothing special.

Another person showed up…but they do not work here (in that sense)…another, but they are meeting someone who does work here who has not arrived…and then a staff person. The other should be here soon, apparently.

Ah, Friday.

I'm leaving at 3 p.m. anyhow.

You know that we work on weekends, right? And after hours?

Yes, we do.

'Letters Never Sent'

I posted an R.E.M. reference on Facebook (today, yesterday, recently), and none of my faithful commenters / FB Friends / friends called out the attribution.

Instead, they made humorous statements (thank you!) based on a literal interpretation of the statement.

I am sure I have done the same thing to others. (Maybe not as funny, though.)

Punctuation in the header / title is meant to provide a hint, though, after that introduction, it is merely a hammer-blow to the proverbial dead horse.

Alzheimer's disease has been in the free media lately; Ronnie Jr. speaks out about his father on ABC … Bob Newhart guest stars on NCIS as Ducky's ailing predecessor … on a related note, PBS is re-airing their ___ Friendly roundtable discussion about mental health services.

It is a grim story. (I'm rocking with the non-links, right? I link all day; I trust you all are hearty enough to use a search engine. I don't feel like it all the time, you know?)

One of the symptoms of developing this brain disorder associated with aluminum exposure, perhaps, and definitely old age, even though the late Missouri Senator Karen McCarthy succumbed to it at a relatively young age (not too long after the dear and effective alcoholic tripped on the stairs and went dry and public about it), is taking ridiculous jumps from subject to subject (using a free-association that is usually not apparent to anyone but the speaker).

So, umm, like, sea turtles and whatnot : )

A quote I recall from one of the shows (one was only a segment they dumped into PBS NewsHour … self-promotion — though I will say we saw a commercial for a new PBS program air during prime-time CBS; that was weird) is similar to: "If you forget where your keys are, you are just getting old; if you forget what they are for, that's a problem."

Off the hook for now!!

I do wonder about another phenomenon. I think everyone hoards something. I have a theory that excessive collection that threatens your living space and life is related to procrastination (another disorder, but it might not be listed in the DSM-IV).

In a desk drawer are cards and stationery decades old. Newer ones represent intentions not carried out:

a sympathy card, chosen after 26 minutes of deliberation at a poorly stocked national chain drug store in the mid-from-downtown urban core — they all were terrible, and later, thank goodness, I realized how terrible this one was and never sent it. You don't want to hear that, in the end, a text message actually was the best solution, avoided it as I did, when the situation was more acute … because that would have been insensitive and tacky;

a belated birthday card; a standard plain calm birthday card (blank); a MOM card; dozens of envelopes that don't match anything (much like having a metric wrench to work on a 1970 Chevy); post cards from places no one wants this city's postmark on; provocative notes written in illicit tones and sealed without issue for good; stickers …

I am the one who still has a very fun 2010 Japanese cat illustration calendar, an item I meant 13 months ago to send to a friend who, if reading, might know who s/he is. You do!

Talk about procrastination …

In the impossible closet in the original bathroom of the house of unmentionable difficulties is a Rubbermaid-type bin of letters I have received, along with copies (hand-written drafts!) of ones I have sent. Weighing far less than the practically useless 33s, 45s, and mostly 78s in a bin below them, this substantial collection of paper represents thoughts I don't remember and that I have not visited in decades. There they are, though, just like the IBM 486 (that's right — look at my 2400 modem, b___es! Going on the World Wide Web should be marked by uproarious clamor that sounds like locusts stuck in a blender : ), which holds years or written expression and that I likewise have not tried to access in years.

For some reason, I presume that those e-thoughts are more useful and less disgusting than the ones that were committed to paper-based journals. Many are school essays and papers and research projects, only a few are confessional, and others, hundreds of pages in .SAM format (whaaa?) are my impressions, decision points (I am Bush), traumas, and joys experienced while living in Japan for 11 months (a year with an American holiday hiatus — a vacation of which I remember very little except that I had to rent a car for four weeks and it cost me $1,000); others are letters, too.

Audience is one of the cardinal factors my excellent English instructors instilled in me. You tell me how I'm doing.

I try to follow rules, like: don't go spilling your guts to strangers (unless you are deranged; think about it — if some of the things people vomit onto these blogs came out of someone's mouth directly into your ears, say, on a bus or in the grocery store, for instance, would you stand there and listen to the whole gruesomely self-confessional and often nauseating story? ; )

Another blog rule is that you can save face by using metaphors that are not as personal and delightfully ticklish as the ones you have in your dreams. No one wants certain personal things unless there is meaning.

For example, if someone talks about her sex life and/or hygiene issues but is not fighting cancer … then person A is not interesting except to ridicule as self-indulgent.

Again, you let me know.

Last (last) Night

Just Like When I Watched Ernie

Ernie was a roundish goldfish who fell ill long before the skinnier Bert died suddenly and, for us, more peacefully.

I have a budgie whose leg-band says 2001, who is mostly yellow and who used to enjoy a decent life of free-range hall-fun before we moved to this house.

This bird is in the obvious process of dying.

Ernie chose to swim obsessively around and around the bowl, while tilting toward its center.

I cried a number of tears into the water.

The kitchen table at that time was a bench-like affair.

My enormous, and, in retrospect, disproportionate,

Grief, was disparaged after a number of hours by my mother.

It was hours; I have cried out similar amounts for anyone I've lost.

Watching anyone suffer is simply the worst.

Instincts make us try to shut it down or

To use any incident to expiate all woes wholesale.

Hence, some of us cry for days about a bird.

Some of us also dream excessively about these same animals.

The parakeet has been slowing down over the past 18 months.

Molting, a known stressor, has been visibly difficult lately.

And, within the past week, a remarked seeking and need of heat has developed.

Birds that hide under paper or scraps of cloth as if they are mice are not long for the land of branches.

But, Superlemon is sitting on perches again; the room is full of excessive heat and all the humidity a plugged-in machine can provide.

There was a distinct and new spot of blood on the cage-paper. I can not find where it came from. The bird is still eating. His digestive system seems the most affected anyway, due to other symptoms. Very picky about seeds.

Want to discover what he wants to eat.

Just want to make him comfortable.

Midwest Offers Weather Conducive to Death Year-Round

If it is not a storm with knock-things-down winds and broil-it lightning,

It is an actual tornado, ice storm, and frequently amid temperatures extreme enough

In either direction to kill you if you sit still or move too much, depending.

This is why I do not leave the house for days at a time,

Several times a year. I do not keep track.

Things I used to tabulate included sex and alcohol portions.

Food diaries were always two-day failures.

However, statistics never proved valuable enough to balance the tedium of

Manual data entry.

The returns of knowledge were worthless,

And when a purpose did once arise, the data proved incomplete,

Inconclusive.

I do know that I drove to a friend's birthday,

After a parental birthday we hosted,

Saturday.

Then, you know, it snowed;

People cancelled their F2Fs with me,

So there.

Our car has a questionable tire now, after being punctured by an unretrieved screw or something, and who wants to brave "this patch might not work because there was some oily substance, we don't know what, inside the tire?"

I don't like having to rely on things that might fail and leave me stranded metaphorically or actually. The bus is fairly trustworthy, though there are incidents of violence. Actual shootings, I've missed out on, but I have been aisle-side when two youngish women started punching and yelling at each other. Nice. Hence, going out requires extreme motivation. Something like money, perhaps.

372 Years Ago

There was a full moon lunar eclipse on the winter solstice.

In about 15 hours, if it's not cloudy, North Americans and other

will be able to enjoy that again.

What would the Mayans do? : )

Seems like we posted another lunar eclipse not so long ago.

Here's to the lengthening of days.

Happy summer, Southern Hemisphere.

I'm 20; I'll be 21 next week

That's a hell of a good age to be.

I wish I were that age again.

Because, Ben … you'll never be young again.

…

I think you ought to be taking it a little easier than you seem to be.

Sow a few wild oats, take things as they come —

Have a good time with the girls and so forth.

ps: does the illegal photo help: )

You know what

I bet that this rashy thing on the back of my hand is not a bed-bug creation;

Not only do the photos of people's bites and giant pink patches look unlike my hands'

Itchy bumps (much tinier), and not only can I not find any creatures around here

(Nor know of anyplace I, hermit, would have obtained them),

But I seem to remember that I am allergic to (tragedy!!) lavender oil.

It was the best deodorant I ever used; it built up quickly in my system and became

An itchy bumpy disaster.

This cuticle lotion (somewhat of a solid) works excellently, of course, and contains lavender oil

(And tea tree oil that I'm thankful not to be allergic to, but perhaps I am;

I have had a lot of it in

My life, and it's probable that it is some kind of combination reaction);

So, sigh, am I resigned to use the free gifted Avon products in lieu of those on Esty, the

Ones that contain "urea?"

I would so much rather sustain allergic reactions.

That's how "liberals" or anyone with "ideals"

Rolls …

and

Suffers out of illogical decisions.

Because the condition is also recently on the back of my other hand but not as severe (yet), and what bugs pick two non-close body parts to chomp on?

My hands, wintery dry, are the main place I put the lotion from a company that made the most affordable rose-true bath salts … I think that the couple split up.
There was an Etsy "we have moved" notice, but that link was defunct, too.
I hate getting addicted to things.

Four Years Ago

I offered a discussion about upward mobility,

job duties, and why

they were not necessarily related.

DAS + SAD

When I say, "I'm on it," the statement probably means I will get to it in three to six days. For some practices, it means six weeks; it's hard to predict / report to those who need (care) to know.

Delayed Attention Syndrome; I need more processing time; I'm not G-anything. I'm analog, at best.

SAD: yes, I also find it justifiably nearly impossible to move much or even move indoors when it is not sunny. (One can hardly clean in dim cloudy-sky-lighted place; and it's sometimes best merely to stay abed and think about what's next.) If I'm not moving, then I'm not going to communicate with you either.

It's not personal.

It is called "being stubborn." Those denial phases have never been troubling; it's the next (not in the 12) step. [Also, "higher power" doesn't work for me; and I could hardly ever be "anonymous" or pay for "real therapy."]

Anyway, most people have tolerated me for long enough. I give sometimes, too.

The other night-time, I found it sad and amazing that I could recall in a flash of neurons every bad aspect of every experience I've had, even the supposed most joyous-type ones. It's a grim slideshow and helps explain why I have not been able to respond well to teachers' requests to "recall such-and-such and write an essay on this very specific, memory-driven topic — in 10 minutes." Nope, can't act that quickly. That's just not fair, as much as it's not fair to do language-based tests on visually strong people.

Later, I dreamed of a repetitive inquiry while walking somewhere, from dad, who kept asking, "How do you know these repairs will increase the value of your house?" There were some other irritations; I'm not remembering them now. I did shout back at him several times. He is repetitive that way, and anti-social (unknowingly, the worst, or perhaps only, kind).

It all adds up.

****

My second-former job is open again; no, no one at management level has come calling for my return, but I know that among community, I did have my fans. And I also heard from the Salt Mines re: updating my FBI fingerprint. Yes, I've gotten over that … nothing to hide.

Perhaps I can be providing insight in a month about how the $900 billion tax cuts are working out (though, don't those take effect in 2011?). I'm kind-of confused.

Also, much of what I originally wrote after the *** bar was erased; "the cloud" is unforgiving, unlike desktop-based renditions. I don't cherish the auto-auto-always-save / there IS no undo feature on blogs, etc.

Have not heard that particular dog since.

A little, but indoors.

Next-door dog is way too indoor-happy at (and encouraged by) "mom's" coming home daily.

Sigh.

Have hardly seen Succotash dumpster truck; economic indicator voodoo seems to think they are not doing well and/or the apartment-people who use the box have moved out.

Tomorrow is the last class of the class I'm not in anymore.

So, sleep has been fine; showers are where anxiety attacks occur.

Need a real office / routine / rewards.