Jae is out of town this week and I miss that boy. In need of a Jae fix, I stopped by his web page to see what’s new and something he wrote in his journal made me smile.
Lunch with Kris is always great. She is kind, and sweet, and pretty. She makes sense out of the senseless. She knows what to say when there is something to be said. She knows when to hush when there is nothing to be said. Kris is my pal. My sister. Kris rocks.
It’s too bad we can’t see ourselves the way our friends see us, isn’t it?
Summer at the library is in full swing and I’m ready for it to be over. My tolerance level for anyone under thirteen is at an all-time low, which is terribly unfair to the kids since it’s really the parents I am fed up with. I am no longer astonished by the lousy parenting skills of the people who bring their kids to (or worse, drop their kids off at) the library, I’m just disgusted.
Since summer started, I have seen kids too young to memorize their own phone number left alone in the library. I’ve cleaned up puke and other assorted messes of kids whose parents think I’m their personal maid. I have been treated like a daycare worker by indignant parents and grandparents who think I should know where their children are even when they don’t. I have reshelved stacks of books that were carelessly knocked down and then left on the floor, despite mom or grandma sitting less than four feet away. I have had adults treat me with incredible rudeness and then had their children treat me the same way. For every parent who is responsible, polite and intelligent enough to insist her child act appropriately in the library, there are twenty who are loud, rude and oblivious to anyone or anything except their own selfish needs.
Kids learn by observation and imitation. Unfortunately, the majority of children I see at the library have lousy role models.
On that note, I’m off to face the chaos once more.
I didn’t get any writing done tonight, after all. Sigh... I did, however, have a perfectly lovely day, despite the rain.
It’s going to be a busy week, but I will get some writing time in at night. I keep trying to convince myself it would be so much easier to make time to write if I didn’t have the other job. Of course, I’ve been off all weekend, so that excuse is a little thin… but if I had one of these, I could write anywhere. Of course, then what would I use as an excuse for not writing??
The weekend is slipping away… and I still have much to do!
Yesterday, I made homemade tomato sauce from home grown tomatoes. There is something infinitely rewarding about planting tomato plants in April, tending to them, caging them, watching them grow and flourish, then plucking ripe tomatoes and turning them into sauce over the course of an afternoon. It’s a damn good sauce, too.
I haven’t gotten a lot of writing time in this weekend because of other things, but I plan on putting in some hours tonight. There aren’t any deadlines looming right now, which of course makes me procrastinate. I still have a book to work on and a couple other things to pursue so editors don’t think I’ve forgotten about them. (And I haven’t forgotten about you, either, Joanne.)
Sigh… mostly all I want to do is hit the bookstore for coffee and a couple hours of browsing. It’s one of those dreary summer days that hints at the fall weather to come. I love autumn, I’m just not quite ready to hibernate.
So far, the only reason I can come up with to show even a modicum of interest in going to work tomorrow is for the ice cream cake in the library freezer (for yet another July birthday). Surely, in the great scheme of things, I should look forward to going to work for more than dessert, right?
I realized something interesting the other night: this is the longest I have ever been at a job. Three years, two months and fifteen days (and counting). I’ve never stayed in the same place for that long. I once worked for a company for almost four years, but I got promoted and transferred three times. I worked another job for about two and a half years, but took off several months for one of my college attempts. But here I am, three-ish years into a job where I a) do the exact same thing I did when I started and b) make about sixty cents more an hour than when I started. No wonder I’m ready to chew off my own leg to escape a relatively easy part-time job.
Despite my spotty employment history, I really do have a difficult time quitting jobs. I have only quit two jobs for reasons other than moving or school (or, in one case, when the company was bought out and the new management didn’t really need me). I realize, of course, that my lack of job satisfaction stems from the fact that there is only one thing I truly want to be employed doing-- and that’s write. Still, it’s hard to walk away from my part-time job, even when I’m dying for something more interesting, more challenging, just plain more.
What’s it all about?
Life. Love. Writing. Editing. Sex. Books. Romance. Movies. Friendship. Photography. Teaching. Coffee. (Lots of coffee.) Travel. Feminism. Academia. Insomnia. Memories. Experiences. Rants. Raves. Reviews. Chocolate. Mmm… chocolate. Musings of an insomniac writer. Want to know more?
