Work Woes (Whoas?)

A mass email was sent out this morning enforcing the dress code, and I am guilty of multiple infractions. I am wearing flip-flops, "jean-like" pants (regardless of color!), and a t-shirt.

Suitable pants suggestions are: comfortable slacks (not stated but implied is that they do NOT have "jean styling"), stirrup pants, jumpsuits, culottes/skorts, denim skirts/jumpers (isn't denim "jean-like"??), or pleated corduroy pants. My feet should sport sandals, clogs, mules, slides, or sling-back shoes. My torso should be covered in a golf shirt with collar, blouse, turtleneck, sweater, or sports jacket.

Yeah, right.

When you give me enough of a raise to warrant blowing $30 on appropriate sandals, I will run right out to Rack Room and buy them. Until then, I'll stock up on $2 flip-flops from Wal-Mart, thankyouverymuch.

Maybe I'm over-reacting, because no one has spoken to me yet. But I feel their scorn. I feel their jealousy at my youth and closet lacking business-appropriate clothing. I just feel like it's going to be a repeat of senior year, when they implemented school uniforms and I had to buy a new wardrobe for 9 short months. As a precaution, I put a collared sweater on over my tee. I'm walking 50% slower so my flip-flops don't flip and flop and give me away - maybe they will be mistaken for nice plastic sandals?

I bought some temporary tattoos from the dollar bin last night. I think I may sport some on Thursday, for shits and giggles.

During my last week here, I will be balls-to-the-wall.
Monday: Tank top and corduroys with jean styling.
Tuesday: Jogging suit and tennis shoes.
Wednesday: Free the West Memphis Three shirt and torn jeans.
Thursday: Toxic Twins World Tour shirt featuring a skull and crossbones with shorts that don't touch my knees.
Friday: Anything that showcases my tattoos. All of them.

EDIT: I just caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. With my collared, blazer-like gray sweater over a gray t-shirt, with my hair pulled back in a bun and my bangs swooping across my forehead, I look like a model Young Republican, the next First Lady. Take THAT, job!

Encourage me

Flatter me, and I may not believe you. Criticize me, and I may not like you. Ignore me, and I may not forgive you. Encourage me, and I will not forget you.
~William Arthur Ward
Last night I went to see Bausch to update him on my grad school status. He knew I was accepted into GMU, because he went there and later taught there, and apparently keeps in touch with some faculty and administration. I kinda figured that those connections, plus the amazing letter he wrote, were why I got in. But he didn't know about my funding package and final decision, and I thought it'd be the nice thing to do to let him know, since he was so instrumental in it all.

I told him as much when I got to his office, gushing "Thank you for your advice, your critique, your encouragement, and your letters - they were huge."

"No, they weren't huge. Know how I know? I write similar letters for other students, and they don't get in."

"Well, it's gotta be something, because the only other place I got in was Maryland."

"It's your writing, kid. I only got in to Iowa, and I applied to..." he started listing off the schools he tried for. I felt a lot better.

He asked if I was excited. I nodded, then added "And scared."

"You have no reason to be scared. Everyone else is in the same boat. I was in the same boat. You're going to do great. And if you don't like it, or if they're mean to you, you let me know."

A broad smile spread across my face. "You got my back, huh?"

He smiled, too. "I got your back, kid."

He showed me the galleys for the British edition of his latest book, Peace. "Here, just take one. No wait, let me write to you."

I stood uncomfortably in front of his desk while he inscribed something long. I never know what to say in those situations. "Must be a leftie thing, eh?" I asked, picking up a pen and demonstrating that I held it the same way as him. No reply. I'm too awkward.

Finally he handed over the book, asked me to keep in touch, and sent me off with a hug. I stopped in the stairwell to read what he wrote. It's sweet, thoughtful, and encouraging. The last two lines are "You are a writer. Don't forget it."

A year ago was the time I started really thriving, really writing. I can feel it in the air now. I'm listening to the same album I listened to in his workshop - it's the perfect album for the transition into summer. My funk is lifting, my fingers are tingling, and my blood is flowing with more energy than it has in the past month.

I think it's him, his encouragement. The way he calls me "kid."

But also, I just drank a Monster.

I dreamed a dream

Ok, as much as I hate Internet trends and the like, I'm going to jump on the Susan Boyle bandwagon.

I saw her name plastered all over GoogleNews last week, but never paid much attention because it was not only in the "Entertainment" section, but the backdrop of the picture looked like "American Idol," which I loathe. So I was able to ignore her until Friday, when my mom made me watch the video.

And I fell in love with that little lady.

I don't care for the song much, and I can't relate to her goal of singing before a huge audience, but it's good she has dreams, and I'm more than happy she was able to obtain them. She seems to be a good person, a sympathetic character, so I was interested in that aspect, as well.

And of course I LOVED that everyone thought she was frumpy and ridiculous, then she showed them what was up.

But my favorite thing about her? In the full version, the camera spans around the waiting room to show all the contestants biting their nails, rehearsing, and just generally being nervous.
Then they focus on our hero, Susan Boyle, who is calmly Eating A Sandwich.


YOU GO, GIRL!

I hope it was delicious.

The best part of waking up

is, believe it or not, going to work. Some days.

Today was one. I felt horrible when I woke up. It was one of those days where I just wanted to sit down and cry over nothing and everything. By the time I was halfway to work, I was singing along with good ol' Jon Bon Jovi, and by the time I clocked in I was smiling. I'm a strange bird, no?

I think I've vented here about my work's Internet blocking issues. Sometimes certain sites are blocked, sometimes it's a free-for-all. So I hear... Honestly I do check my email at work, but I try to do it during breaks, and it only takes like two minutes. I think it's a necessary thing - it calms my mind if something is worrying me and I'm waiting to hear back from someone. It distracts me from work for a minute, so when I come back I'm ready to focus because I've had a diversion. At lunch I'll sometimes check blogs, and while I know any non-work-related Internet use is a no-no, I really don't see the harm.

I guess the company is paid up on their Internet blocking, because most external sites are blocked now. I tried Gmail this morning to finalize my campus visit, and it let me log in then blocked me, so I wonder if work is keeping track of who tries what. And maybe, for no real reason, I tried again a couple more times this morning. Hey, it could have been a glitch!

Around 11a, my boss comes flying through my department's door. (He's a fast walker.) He's been freezing me out off and on, because he's mad I'm leaving in August. He walks into my cubicle, pokes my side to scare me, and then mouths "Does your Gmail work?" I whisper "No," and he says "DAMN!" and starts to walk off. I yelled "It's all your fault" because, hey I like to give him hell back, and he's on there WAY more than me. It cracked me up because he hadn't even said good morning, and he wasn't looking at me as he asked - he had his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the carpeted wall. TOO funny.

After lunch, I ran into him as he was coming back from the break room with a fresh cup of frothy coffee. I gave him my other 5 hour energy shot because, WARNING!!! those things SUCK. But he wanted to try it, and I sure as hell didn't want it. I told him to put it in his coffee like a shot in beer, but he wouldn't. Later he came into my cubicle with his hands shaking, raving about the drink - but really he was just mocking me, because my hands shake when I drink Monster (which he got me hooked on). Then he pulled the bottle out of his pocket, opened it, and chugged it right in front of me. About two seconds later he calls from his office, rattles off a whole conversation in half a minute, and hangs up. He was joking again, but my god you had to hear it. I was crying from laughter. He must have rehearsed the whole thing - he was saying real words!

At quittin' time, he stops by my cubicle to say goodnight. I say "See you next week!" and he says "NEXT WEEK?!" I said I was going to GMU for a tour, and he said "They haven't met you yet?" I shot him a confused look and said "Nooo..." Then he smiles and says "What am I so worried about? You'll be working here the rest of your life."

Psh, whatev. I'm going to charm the pants off of them.

Not Poetry

I saw him today, and we talked, and there was nothing. No heart pounding, no face flushing. I was relieved; I felt mature; I thought I had grown out of that phase, but maybe I'm just getting ready to say goodbye to everything here.

I guess I still have the memories, but it's not as exciting, knowing what's gone. I told her about it, because she is the only one who knows, and her eyebrows arched up into her hair. I miss the excitement, the hopefulness, and Innocence is not the word to use here, but I miss that too.



In other news, it was freezing today. A long-sleeved shirt, sweater, and jacket were not enough. Snow flurries predicted for tonight and tomorrow. What the fuck happened to my Spring?

I feel burnt out, worn out, and I'm going to blame my house and the weather. The sheetrock dust hides in my throat and makes me cough and sneeze, and the changing weather exacerbates that. The paint fumes give me a headache, and paired with the cold I just want to sleep. I'm moving every night, unpacking and packing, setting my stuff out so I can get things done (but I never do...) and then packing them up again before I go to bed, much too early in the morning.

I'm not being productive, and that's my own fault; I can't blame Spring Fever anymore. I just want to create! I want to have the energy and desire to read and write. I want these stories clogging my brain to finally spill out onto paper. I want to be excited again, because I'm happy about my life and my future but I just can't muster up the energy. I sit around doing nothing.

I want summer. I want to have creativity fill me up at my 8-5 and spout from my fingers once I'm home. I want warm weather and the freedom to stay out late at night, on the patio at that bar, with her making me laugh so hard I can't finish my drink.