Whilst I was misbehaving at the library, whilst I was pondering a very early retirement, I resurrected a business I had started many a year ago. I have the DBA for Capitol City Informatics on file with the county clerk's office. So like any good entrepreneur I enlisted the services of a company to print business cards and brochures to pass out at an upcoming BNI I am invited to this Wednesday. The nature of the business is providing tech support to a class of people who are terrified of their cell phones and computers, which is something I have been doing all along with my retired friends but now I can have a business doing just that. Whether I retire now or in a few years the business will thrive. I had to re-order the business cards as I found a better design and they should be here Tuesday. Now I just need some people in need of my services.
I got a deal on a new desktop computer which is what I am typing on even as we speak. A one TB hard drive, an optical disk drive, wireless keyboard and mouse. Windows 10 and a touch screen monitor. Another retirement project will be to publish selections from this blog. And this is a business expenses for CCI. And I can be a published authoress and get a cheese board from the library next year. Woo Hoo!
I had a busy day which is ending with a rather lengthy session on the computer. Up at 7 to a decent day, put a load of wash in and changed the bed. Unpacked all the plants that came yesterday. More than I have room for I am afraid. Watered everyone down and took off for a longish walk to Kroger's and Ace. At Ace I purchased a tool called a Garden Weasel and it turns soil and digs up weeds manually but thoroughly. Plucked long strands of grasses from my rose garden. I am currently soaking the roots of a rose bush which may get planted tomorrow should this rain cease and desist. Monday should be a better day for planting. And speaking of Mondays, which I am, I now have Mondays off for the summer. I used to take Fridays off but as the Magic Plastic Tuna has Fridays off it is better for me to take a Monday off and only have to contend with her constant throat clearing, giggles and idle chit chat on the phone and with visitors to her cube three days a week. None of these noises can be covered by the dulcet tones of my iPod playing at full volume. Of course doing that makes hearing my phone ring nigh on impossible. Good thing it flashes when ringing (not that I can see that if I am engaged mentally, which is most of the time).
Sunday will be a gratis tech support day with friends. Prior to their arrival I will hit the Kroger again and maybe Panera's for a few salt bagels, which are my favorite. If the rain disengages long enough I will do some planting before 2:00. I am hoping it stops raining long enough at dinner time that I can light a grill and have me a flank steak for dinner.
All of this is pretty mundane stuff. Last Friday I went to a demonstration at the Broad Museum on campus. I introduced myself to Selma Hollander, a doyen of the first class however redundant that may be. She and her late husband have donated literally millions of dollars to the university in general and to the library in particular. She has a heavy New York accent in spite of having lived in East Lansing since 1958. Next year she will be 100. I gave her my library business card and told her about my business and she said she would call on me in the library and get some guidance. She would like to write her memoirs. Anyway, I was a big brave girl talking to her. Regardless of the interest of the program I did manage to doze off a tad, fully awakening with the applause at the end of the presentation.
OK. I wanted to get something down tonight before tucking myself in bed. I have nothing of import to report. Banality is my middle name of late. Relations at work have been repaired. The annoying gnat who was doing her best to get me in trouble (she said I was "targeting" her) (I say she is an annoying gnat who wears too much perfume). Well I have no idea where she has gotten herself off to. Others have complained about the smells and the administration will issue an edict about scents in the workplace. The feet pedal issue is resolved. A great many things are resolved. I did endeavor to find a new therapist and went so far as to speak with a PhD who said she would get back to me but never did. I guess that is one promise unfulfilled. Unresolved.
Saturday, April 30, 2016
Friday, April 22, 2016
How to misquote Camus and other atrocities.
Well, it seems that beautiful Camus quote of yesterday is somewhat spurious, or, actually, a lot. While Camus is not the author of the honeyed letter, and here I am plagiarizing, he did write indeed write the first line, i.e., (I loves me a good i.e.) "In the midst of winter I found there was within me an invincible summer" and that is that. The rest of the quote, while a Bartlett's lovely, is simply not attributable to a soul. I still think it is a wonderful sentiment. Doing a little research I came across this article from the Journal of Camus Studies...text:
So four and twenty blackbirds, apocryphal of lies (a mere redundancy (I also loves me a good redundancy)).
On to the weekend. My new computer for my new endeavor, i.e., the tech support company, has arrived and I am about to leave to set the darling up. It seems this will be my last of the extravagant expenses and that will be tax deductible come the retirement phase of my existence. I have the cats' room prepared for the installation of the device and the preparation of the software for the loading so I can publish my book of sorts of blogging and other such nonsense.
Also this weekend brings a plant sale, not a steel plant but a pansy plant. I want to plant some this weekend. The weather is warming up and while this weekend might be too soon to plant tender things pansies should be able to weather the storm, so to speak. My front yard is lovely right now with the flowering pear tree in full bloom as well as the flowering shrubberies, not to mention the Holy Hand Grenade and the Killer Rabbit or is it Rabbi (Passover begins this evening)?
I seem to be dwelling in land where the Stream of Consciousness runs. Back to Camus. I did read the Myth of Sisyphus, and actually read the line "one must imagine Sisyphus happy". Now maybe that was a bad translation but I have always believed that Camus was about to turn his back on Existentialism and that his death was actually a murder carried out by an Existential Hit Squad. No, really I do...So much for years of therapy...His neck snapped like Ms. Duncan's...oh, come on, do I have to look everything up for you?
So, here's to yesterday's snafu of the sanctity of Camus.
Here, however, is a poem of. e.e. cummings, of whose attribution I am certain.
So four and twenty blackbirds, apocryphal of lies (a mere redundancy (I also loves me a good redundancy)).
On to the weekend. My new computer for my new endeavor, i.e., the tech support company, has arrived and I am about to leave to set the darling up. It seems this will be my last of the extravagant expenses and that will be tax deductible come the retirement phase of my existence. I have the cats' room prepared for the installation of the device and the preparation of the software for the loading so I can publish my book of sorts of blogging and other such nonsense.
Also this weekend brings a plant sale, not a steel plant but a pansy plant. I want to plant some this weekend. The weather is warming up and while this weekend might be too soon to plant tender things pansies should be able to weather the storm, so to speak. My front yard is lovely right now with the flowering pear tree in full bloom as well as the flowering shrubberies, not to mention the Holy Hand Grenade and the Killer Rabbit or is it Rabbi (Passover begins this evening)?
I seem to be dwelling in land where the Stream of Consciousness runs. Back to Camus. I did read the Myth of Sisyphus, and actually read the line "one must imagine Sisyphus happy". Now maybe that was a bad translation but I have always believed that Camus was about to turn his back on Existentialism and that his death was actually a murder carried out by an Existential Hit Squad. No, really I do...So much for years of therapy...His neck snapped like Ms. Duncan's...oh, come on, do I have to look everything up for you?
So, here's to yesterday's snafu of the sanctity of Camus.
Here, however, is a poem of. e.e. cummings, of whose attribution I am certain.
in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman
whistles far and wee
and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring
when the world is puddle-wonderful
the queer
old balloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
from hop-scotch and jump-rope and
it's
spring
and
the
goat-footed
balloonMan whistles
far
and
weeThursday, April 21, 2016
How offensive was I?
That's really not a fair question as I know I can be really offensive without even putting my mind to it. I was out a-walking the other night and my neighbor from across the street was walking her Boston terrier and she said "I live across the street from you" and I said I knew that. Then, as I was finishing my walk a number of neighbors were in my next door neighbor's front yard admiring Zelda the German Shepherd puppy. A number of people were there and out of my mouth sprang the following..."You know, this gathering puts me in mind of the Old Testament verse '...and ye shall know them by their dogs'..." A mild titter ran through the crowd and I took off for my abode leery of a potential mob scene on the order of the night the villagers went after the Frankenstein Monster with their torches held aloft. Well, sometimes I can be really impulsive with my mouth, shooting from the lip as it were, without thinking of possible consequences. I share this with you as some of this is the Bipolar Roller in me. Always quick of wit, I speak without thinking (and even more often I think without speaking which is really the safer option).
Moving on. I am currently involved in a group that is dealing with the issues of anxiety and depression and while I can't tell you what goes on in those meetings I can tell you what my reflexologist tells me about inflammation. I gots it in quantity. Colitis (as in a girl with colitis walks by...see: the Beatles) and osteoarthritis to name but a few. Some might attribute psychological issues with the body's immune system and the inflammatory processes. Interesting concept but I also know how much I have been helped without changing my diet and by taking medication. Would I like to be off medication? Not really if that means changing my diet so radically that I would no longer be able to eat a Mounds' Bar or enjoy a cheeseburger. I have been dealing with the psych issues my whole life, the colitis since I was 19 years of age, hypothyroidism since I was 32, and so on. That's the new normal for me. And, basically, I am content with my lifestyle to the point that I even don't mind the fact that I am capable of saying the wrong thing at an inopportune moment. Or that my temper oft gets the best of me. But things are settling down. My home is my sanctuary and what I eat makes me happy. That is not to say that I couldn't wake up tomorrow and decide my life needs to change as does my diet as I have grown weary of the health issues. But, as I said, that is my normal.
So I share this with you. Inflammation may be the bane of your existence. But, to wit, too woo, I share with you a quote from Albert Camus, a quote that may have had him labeled an optimist instead of the Existentialist he was deemed to be. A quote which may have had him drummed out of the Existential Corps...or it is truly the most Existentialist of thoughts.
“My dear,
Moving on. I am currently involved in a group that is dealing with the issues of anxiety and depression and while I can't tell you what goes on in those meetings I can tell you what my reflexologist tells me about inflammation. I gots it in quantity. Colitis (as in a girl with colitis walks by...see: the Beatles) and osteoarthritis to name but a few. Some might attribute psychological issues with the body's immune system and the inflammatory processes. Interesting concept but I also know how much I have been helped without changing my diet and by taking medication. Would I like to be off medication? Not really if that means changing my diet so radically that I would no longer be able to eat a Mounds' Bar or enjoy a cheeseburger. I have been dealing with the psych issues my whole life, the colitis since I was 19 years of age, hypothyroidism since I was 32, and so on. That's the new normal for me. And, basically, I am content with my lifestyle to the point that I even don't mind the fact that I am capable of saying the wrong thing at an inopportune moment. Or that my temper oft gets the best of me. But things are settling down. My home is my sanctuary and what I eat makes me happy. That is not to say that I couldn't wake up tomorrow and decide my life needs to change as does my diet as I have grown weary of the health issues. But, as I said, that is my normal.
So I share this with you. Inflammation may be the bane of your existence. But, to wit, too woo, I share with you a quote from Albert Camus, a quote that may have had him labeled an optimist instead of the Existentialist he was deemed to be. A quote which may have had him drummed out of the Existential Corps...or it is truly the most Existentialist of thoughts.
“My dear,
In the midst of hate, I found there was, within me, an invincible love.
In the midst of tears, I found there was, within me, an invincible smile.
In the midst of chaos, I found there was, within me, an invincible calm.
I realized, through it all, that…
In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.
And
that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world
pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something
better, pushing right back.
Truly yours,
Albert Camus”
Monday, April 18, 2016
Glorioski
What a glorious weekend we had. Blue skies smiling for me...
I left work at noon on Friday, ostensibly to await the arrival of my weekend house guest, a youngish African American woman convert to Judaism. The Rabbi, sly dog that he is, matched my offer to her as a way to get me to come to services this past weekend. Aside from having a lovely Sabbath extravaganza in house, the lighting of candles, the prayers, the "communion" of the evening, I did not go to synagogue. My house guest and I spoke quite a bit about Judaism. The only Kosher food I had in the house for a Sabbath dinner were the Kosher hot dogs from the Opening Day Party (Oh, come on now, they were frozen, geez). I grilled and set the table for the meal. She was supposed to stay Saturday night as well (I discovered I had Kosher spaghetti sauce) but she stayed with her parents. I don't think I did anything wrong, other than not to go to services and watch a lot of baseball...but we did have some interesting talks.
But I digress. I left work early, came home and worked in the yard. My tulips are up as are my daffodils. The backyard seems to have weathered the weather okay. I met with my yard guy and told him what I wanted and needed done. So Friday was a success. Saturday I met with a psychologist who I had wanted to see but she thinks she may have found a better fit for me. I did a lot of walking and Sunday I did more walking and trips to the hardware store to get soil for my planters. Blue skies indeed. I did over 20,000 steps Sunday which was close to eight miles. Must remember to wear a hat in the sun as I managed to get a little too much sun as I am sun sensitive now due to some medication. Blue skies.
I have the windows at home opened. Last night didn't get as cool as they predicted. More blue skies today. My hummingbird vines should arrive today and after therapy I will plant my slap happy face off. I think tonight will also be a good night to grill a steak. Nothing but blue skies do I see.
MPT seems to be back from vacation. Brace yourself for more throat clearing and harrumphing. Dang!
I left work at noon on Friday, ostensibly to await the arrival of my weekend house guest, a youngish African American woman convert to Judaism. The Rabbi, sly dog that he is, matched my offer to her as a way to get me to come to services this past weekend. Aside from having a lovely Sabbath extravaganza in house, the lighting of candles, the prayers, the "communion" of the evening, I did not go to synagogue. My house guest and I spoke quite a bit about Judaism. The only Kosher food I had in the house for a Sabbath dinner were the Kosher hot dogs from the Opening Day Party (Oh, come on now, they were frozen, geez). I grilled and set the table for the meal. She was supposed to stay Saturday night as well (I discovered I had Kosher spaghetti sauce) but she stayed with her parents. I don't think I did anything wrong, other than not to go to services and watch a lot of baseball...but we did have some interesting talks.
But I digress. I left work early, came home and worked in the yard. My tulips are up as are my daffodils. The backyard seems to have weathered the weather okay. I met with my yard guy and told him what I wanted and needed done. So Friday was a success. Saturday I met with a psychologist who I had wanted to see but she thinks she may have found a better fit for me. I did a lot of walking and Sunday I did more walking and trips to the hardware store to get soil for my planters. Blue skies indeed. I did over 20,000 steps Sunday which was close to eight miles. Must remember to wear a hat in the sun as I managed to get a little too much sun as I am sun sensitive now due to some medication. Blue skies.
I have the windows at home opened. Last night didn't get as cool as they predicted. More blue skies today. My hummingbird vines should arrive today and after therapy I will plant my slap happy face off. I think tonight will also be a good night to grill a steak. Nothing but blue skies do I see.
MPT seems to be back from vacation. Brace yourself for more throat clearing and harrumphing. Dang!
Thursday, April 14, 2016
It is official!
If I so choose, by my next birthday I could retire. Good knowledge to keep in my back pocket. Y'all here me now and tell me later, by this time next year, and I am just saying, I could be retired. A few months ago I didn't feel mentally prepared but as the spring blossoms and I have my house and yard to putter in and a stack of books I have been meaning to read I feel I could retire to my safe place and enjoy life, that is what remains of it. So sounds the trumpets and beat the drums...there is none so free as someone without something to lose. If the PTB don't like my attitude, feel I have been insubordinate...oh, well. I am outta there. Not saying it is happening this year but if things roil to a boil, as they did a few weeks ago, I can turn my back on the whole thing and retire. Mayhap that is what the PTB would like. I am a mere cog in the system and Lou Anna isn't going to lose any sleep over me; actually, I doubt many people would. But the solace that the option to retire brings me is sweet. Ideally I would like to stay until 65, three more years or so, but I don't have to. Bring on the goodbye song...Na, na, na, na. Na, na, na, na. Hey, Hey, Goodbye.
On a more serious note, how about a C#?
No, but seriously...I am thinking of changing therapists. I have a test drive this week with a new psychologist. It's not that I am tremendously unhappy with Terry but one of the prime reasons I am going there is I can walk to the office and quite frankly that is not enough to keep me there. This one has a Ph.D. in psychology and Terry is a social worker. With the Ph.D. you get egg rolls. She also specializes in people with bipolar and I have been thinking that I am Terry's first, which may be sweet but isn't all that satisfying. And the main problem with Terry's office is I can't get a set appointment...some weeks I can get an appointment, some I have to wait two weeks to get in. Not very helpful if you are in a crisis, which I seems to have been in for a bit. Also as the original Hyphen is not going to return to practice that inevitability makes me want to find some one for the long haul. Terry seems more involved with keeping up with MSU sport teams and making time to take road trips to see the boys in Green and White play than in having a practice...It just seems...So I am going to the booby hatch on Saturday and I will take it from there. So, to my friends Jack and Aaron (and some less than stellar commentators) the Angst over therapy resumes. Hyphen 2.0 would have dropped me in retirement and I would be at the same place I was months ago. And while I felt a strong connection to 2.0, I do not feel the same towards Terry. To wit, to woo, I move on.
And now this. If you self publish a book, which I am planning to do with this blog (much as Cheryl Strayed did with Dear Sugar (not that I am equating myself with this writer)), should you be "validated" by getting a cheese board honorific with people who themselves have researched and writ books, people that, IMNSHO, are true authors? The fact that I can go to Amazon and self publish a book and have it available for print on demand or pay to get an ISBN number diminishes the whole notion of being a published author. Amazon and the Espresso Book publishing experience is to publishing what the printing press was to the craft of writing...something that broadened the world, sparked revolutions, drove literary movements, and also created the whole concept of hack writers...of which I am one. I can do paint by numbers but that does not make me an artist or should that be an artiste? I am just wondering...out loud, as usual...And I was, once again, heartened by the fact that one self-publish author did not get his cheese board honorific...but maybe I shall receive one next year, or is it send in the clowns, well, maybe next year, or I am here, but only for a little while longer...
On a more serious note, how about a C#?
No, but seriously...I am thinking of changing therapists. I have a test drive this week with a new psychologist. It's not that I am tremendously unhappy with Terry but one of the prime reasons I am going there is I can walk to the office and quite frankly that is not enough to keep me there. This one has a Ph.D. in psychology and Terry is a social worker. With the Ph.D. you get egg rolls. She also specializes in people with bipolar and I have been thinking that I am Terry's first, which may be sweet but isn't all that satisfying. And the main problem with Terry's office is I can't get a set appointment...some weeks I can get an appointment, some I have to wait two weeks to get in. Not very helpful if you are in a crisis, which I seems to have been in for a bit. Also as the original Hyphen is not going to return to practice that inevitability makes me want to find some one for the long haul. Terry seems more involved with keeping up with MSU sport teams and making time to take road trips to see the boys in Green and White play than in having a practice...It just seems...So I am going to the booby hatch on Saturday and I will take it from there. So, to my friends Jack and Aaron (and some less than stellar commentators) the Angst over therapy resumes. Hyphen 2.0 would have dropped me in retirement and I would be at the same place I was months ago. And while I felt a strong connection to 2.0, I do not feel the same towards Terry. To wit, to woo, I move on.
And now this. If you self publish a book, which I am planning to do with this blog (much as Cheryl Strayed did with Dear Sugar (not that I am equating myself with this writer)), should you be "validated" by getting a cheese board honorific with people who themselves have researched and writ books, people that, IMNSHO, are true authors? The fact that I can go to Amazon and self publish a book and have it available for print on demand or pay to get an ISBN number diminishes the whole notion of being a published author. Amazon and the Espresso Book publishing experience is to publishing what the printing press was to the craft of writing...something that broadened the world, sparked revolutions, drove literary movements, and also created the whole concept of hack writers...of which I am one. I can do paint by numbers but that does not make me an artist or should that be an artiste? I am just wondering...out loud, as usual...And I was, once again, heartened by the fact that one self-publish author did not get his cheese board honorific...but maybe I shall receive one next year, or is it send in the clowns, well, maybe next year, or I am here, but only for a little while longer...
Monday, April 11, 2016
If I have been remiss...
in my blogging, dear reader, it is because I am assiduously avoiding getting myself in trouble for what I perceive as my Czarina self-dedicated high jinks. Oh, yes, when I see a problem I go straight for the jugular, which is not always the most prudent option. Sometimes it is best to wait things out. But as I have absolutely no patience I tend to be like a bull in a china shop who is trying to right some cosmic wrong. Where I perceive something that is wrong in my work I try to get the problem resolved through channels (initially anyway...) and failing that the bull takes over and soon I an "bullying" someone who apparently has no concept of the actual meaning of the term bully. And the incident with the cousin and his ergonomic device turned into a total cluster fux, which Aunt Marilyn advised me to seek the ear of the PTB and lay out the exactly what had transpired. Only once I did that he assumed I was there to seek reasonable accommodations for being bipolar under the Americans With Disabilities Act (ADA). Nothing could have been farther from my mind, such as it is. I was seeking understanding for what it is like to be bipolar yes, but not reasonable accommodations. Understanding, yes, for all the static in my brain that sometimes dictates my behavior and not always in my best interests. Understanding for what is a quick temper (but at least I no longer punch out walls, a practice that ultimately resulted in a broken hand). Maybe this temper is what others see as my bullying or trying "to get my way", but that is not my intent. And if you are that weak of spirit and intent maybe you should be seeking real help, not me. Oh, oh, there I go again, speaking my mind not in my best interests. I am not bullying anyone. In one instance I was endeavoring to get someone to modify their behavior regards the wearing of cologne. It should have never come to the point that it did. The library currently has no policy on colognes in the workplace only food smells and this was the travesty I was trying to address. I don't' know whether that person was being stupid, inconsiderate or stubborn but after a supervisor asked her three times not to wear cologne, once in the most ingenious of ways, this person persisted, prompting a move which lead to yet another person taking direct action regards the Queen of Avon's cologne fixation. So now the PTB are going to institute a cologne policy. Granted I was over the top in my language regards this person's cologne usage, but this was a situation management clearly tried to address but needed to be more forceful and direct. Much like the bully, eh?
The ergonomic fubar was my fault, I guess for not being "bully" enough to tell my cousin "NO!!! Please don't drive from Chicago to Lansing to drop off a prototype. I have no power here". But time and again, in spite of me telling each person in the ergonomic chain of command what was transpiring, my wheels had somehow come off and he showed up with three prototypes and his partner. I like the concept of his product but wish there were someway to quantify its effectiveness. Which is what my mandated one page report to the ergonomics committee will say. And tomorrow my mandated two week trial will be over with the equipment, which I rather like and may purchase for myself as I am a powerhouse when it comes to me fidgeting. If I were just a hamster on a wheel I could generate enough power to light the library. As it is I have no power, just the fidgets and a constant sense of injustice played upon me for my lack of an appropriate degree which somehow minimizes my intellect. My mighty intellect. My Mensa level IQ (Yes, I am one of those people...as one might imagine Shelley saying "I am the Authority Czarina...look upon my works ye mighty and despair" and yet there would be nothing there to be despaired of).
So all of this activity regards my character and work leaves me to despair. I am now at a place in time where retirement seems like a good option. The issue would be do I have sufficient funds to carry me into old age or even next week. But mentally I am getting prepared for the next stage in my life. And thus I once again leave you with Macbeth (Act V, Scene 5)
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
The ergonomic fubar was my fault, I guess for not being "bully" enough to tell my cousin "NO!!! Please don't drive from Chicago to Lansing to drop off a prototype. I have no power here". But time and again, in spite of me telling each person in the ergonomic chain of command what was transpiring, my wheels had somehow come off and he showed up with three prototypes and his partner. I like the concept of his product but wish there were someway to quantify its effectiveness. Which is what my mandated one page report to the ergonomics committee will say. And tomorrow my mandated two week trial will be over with the equipment, which I rather like and may purchase for myself as I am a powerhouse when it comes to me fidgeting. If I were just a hamster on a wheel I could generate enough power to light the library. As it is I have no power, just the fidgets and a constant sense of injustice played upon me for my lack of an appropriate degree which somehow minimizes my intellect. My mighty intellect. My Mensa level IQ (Yes, I am one of those people...as one might imagine Shelley saying "I am the Authority Czarina...look upon my works ye mighty and despair" and yet there would be nothing there to be despaired of).
So all of this activity regards my character and work leaves me to despair. I am now at a place in time where retirement seems like a good option. The issue would be do I have sufficient funds to carry me into old age or even next week. But mentally I am getting prepared for the next stage in my life. And thus I once again leave you with Macbeth (Act V, Scene 5)
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Tuesday, April 5, 2016
The return of Ursula
Officially, as of April 1, and this is no joke, Ursula Ulcer has returned with a vengeance. I had my suspicions about her return; the almost constant belly ache that shot right through to my back and the need to be constantly placated with food, not unlike Audrey in the Little Shop of Horrors. So, yes, while I enjoyed a hot dog or two yesterday in honor of the opening of baseball season, I did pay for it dearly later and had to quell the burning with yogurt and my new favorite rice pudding, along with a side of antacids.
Stress, what stress? Work has been a bit of a challenge of late with the dramatics of the Queen of Avon, aka, stinky perfume lady. I think I am at a point in my "career" as it were, where I don't need things like that cluttering my life. Retirement, while a scary undertaking is at most three years away. And it could happen next week. Would you like fries with your order might be my passage to a new and rewarding career as an underpaid service worker.
The Queen of Avon, as in Ding, Dong, Avon Calling, has been relocated but the stench lives on. I don't know if she is stupid, inconsiderate, stubborn or perhaps all three, but in spite of being told by management to stop wearing cologne, she persists in the habit. And two of us peons have spoken to her directly about this issue. Let us leave all of her other delightful characteristics aside for the moment and concentrate on the immediate issue of smells in the workplace. And she does. Oh, she will go for days without the scent, but then it returns with a vengeance. The concept that the smell might cause me, in particular in this case, to develop migraines, with the accompanying nausea has no impact on her. Others have complained about the same issues. And currently there is not a policy in the workplace about cologne odors, just food and its accompanying odors, something the Queen was also called out for (and she didn't bring in enough BBQ for all of us to enjoy)
And then there was the issue over some ergonomic device I wanted to test for a cousin. That turned into a real cluster fux. I did promise not to reveal some of the details of this and conversations about this but if you send a stamped self addressed envelope I will fill you in on the naughty details of my subversive activities.
So with all this hovering about like so many bees, retirement is looking better all the time. I want to have the time to do things: to putter in the yard, take a yoga class, read all the books I have been accumulating and not deal with stress at work. Other physical things factor into this. The arthritic hands, one of which will require surgery within the year, the ulcer...all things health related. My dad worked part time until he was 73 and retired when he had surgery for lung cancer and then passed away three months later. I don't want that for me. Of course no one knows how many ticks of the clock one has but I would like to have the time to enjoy some of those ticks. And coming up on another birthday only serves as a reminder how transient life is. More behind than ahead at this stage of my "career", so send in the clowns...don't bother I'm here.
Stress, what stress? Work has been a bit of a challenge of late with the dramatics of the Queen of Avon, aka, stinky perfume lady. I think I am at a point in my "career" as it were, where I don't need things like that cluttering my life. Retirement, while a scary undertaking is at most three years away. And it could happen next week. Would you like fries with your order might be my passage to a new and rewarding career as an underpaid service worker.
The Queen of Avon, as in Ding, Dong, Avon Calling, has been relocated but the stench lives on. I don't know if she is stupid, inconsiderate, stubborn or perhaps all three, but in spite of being told by management to stop wearing cologne, she persists in the habit. And two of us peons have spoken to her directly about this issue. Let us leave all of her other delightful characteristics aside for the moment and concentrate on the immediate issue of smells in the workplace. And she does. Oh, she will go for days without the scent, but then it returns with a vengeance. The concept that the smell might cause me, in particular in this case, to develop migraines, with the accompanying nausea has no impact on her. Others have complained about the same issues. And currently there is not a policy in the workplace about cologne odors, just food and its accompanying odors, something the Queen was also called out for (and she didn't bring in enough BBQ for all of us to enjoy)
And then there was the issue over some ergonomic device I wanted to test for a cousin. That turned into a real cluster fux. I did promise not to reveal some of the details of this and conversations about this but if you send a stamped self addressed envelope I will fill you in on the naughty details of my subversive activities.
So with all this hovering about like so many bees, retirement is looking better all the time. I want to have the time to do things: to putter in the yard, take a yoga class, read all the books I have been accumulating and not deal with stress at work. Other physical things factor into this. The arthritic hands, one of which will require surgery within the year, the ulcer...all things health related. My dad worked part time until he was 73 and retired when he had surgery for lung cancer and then passed away three months later. I don't want that for me. Of course no one knows how many ticks of the clock one has but I would like to have the time to enjoy some of those ticks. And coming up on another birthday only serves as a reminder how transient life is. More behind than ahead at this stage of my "career", so send in the clowns...don't bother I'm here.
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