the word is out

I went public (as in my workplace public, as opposed to the internet public) with my plans to quit on December 6. So now I have to field the questions of what next.

I DON'T KNOW.

So stop asking me.

Also something that should be a bolster to my self-esteem, but has turned out to be a little creepy is the strong reaction I receive from some people. I have only worked here 18 months. We can't be that close. So stop crying, or telling me how sad it is. Please stop trying to talk me out of it. I now have sound medical advice that backs up what little sanity I have left that considers it for the best of the entire world that I do not remain in this job.

And I have decided, despite the fact that this is a rare opportunity, I should probably pass on the going-away party. Because if I have to plan it, not nice things will happen. As in, Mutually assured destruction not nice. Plus, it's not in the budget. And having spent most of my time here having to be an evil queen of numbers, I should probably not go out with the fanfare. Plus, I'm not fond of brass.

crisis at the message centre

Timmy is injured! Luckily, not a horrible season ending sort of injury, but still, injured. I hate Clumsy James Jones for his futile attempts to stop Timmy's greatness. For that, mr. stupid-leg-in-the-way should be sentenced to the circle of the Inferno where the people where lead robes and are forced to walk in never-ending circles around a roasting fire. That is the weight of guilt. If it had been a acl tear, I don't think Dante described a level severe enough.

This whole incident has been enough to expel the sparkle in my heart which was disguising my space there, and it has brought to the forefront the black spot on my soul.

UPDATE:

Ok, here is something that makes this a tiny bit better.



I love these boys!

Another priceless gem from the vault

So, once again I was sorting through my past emails, and found a wonderful letter that you could either take seriously or as an elaborate joke, take your pick. I will have to cut bits for privacy, and maybe add in some notes to orient the reader, but please, enjoy this offering.

DRAFT OF IMPASSIONED LETTER TO ****** REX

Dearest ****** Rex -

I am not quite sure how to start this letter, there is just so much in my heart to say. I suppose I'll start with this, tucked away in my copy of Wassily Kandinsky's Concerning the Spiritual in Art lays carefully preserved that engagement happy note and ring that you sent to me on that fateful Wednesday that seems so long ago, but remains a constant memory. That may not mean much to you, considering the way I broke things off at dinner group and then became engaged to your roommate, but I implore you to read what I have to say to you.

I my defense, although there is no excuse for my rash actions and callous treatment of your heart, I was young, merely 22, and unprepared for the significant step of becoming betrothed. But as I approach the age of 23, I realize that I was a fool without all the important facts to inform my decisions. Truly, I was short-sighted.

For I hadn't realized that you were in graduate school for electrical engineering. That alone makes you highly attractive. Add in the fact that your middle name is REX and you are nearly irresistible. And furthermore, the absolute coup de gràce, you are both R's cousin, and D G's roommate. What more can I say?

You may have heard the tale of the man who once offered to fill the space in my heart. While he was seriously creepy and caused me to run home and hide in [another apartment] and not answer the phone for days, he was also right. There is a hole in my heart, and I was wondering if you could find it within yourself to forgive me, and try to fill that space. You may also be able to erase the black spot on my soul from the 2000 Sydney Summer Olympics.

I ask that you please disregard any and all information you may have heard recently about my commuter crush. While I do spend ridiculous amounts of time with him, he is just a paltry placeholder; he could never compare to you. The scales have fallen from my eyes, [feather boa blue] hair is now rust colored. His eyes may be the color of a kitchen table, but so are yours.

If you forgive me, and renew your offer of engagement, I promise that I will consider changing my last name to [yours], but not seriously and only for a short time.

What more can I say? I am not sure I have the words to articulate the things I could say.

Questions or comments? Please feel free to write or phone.

Adoringly and obsessed with your middle name,
E

Meanwhile, let's return to our sheep

That's a much funnier phrase in French, trust me.

Still, my dearest coworker Camille informs me that today is "Talk like a Pirate day." In honor of this day, I have taken many a pirate quiz and endured many 'Ahoy' and 'avast' comments. I have also worked on my plan to take over the world, because while talking like a pirate certainly honors their collective memory, nothing shows how much I truly respect and revere them like following in their crooked footsteps. What with my vacant heart and blotted soul, I am well on my way to piracy.

Why I am not a nurse

In some people, empathy lives in never-ending stores, like bottomless wells of the stuff. And in me, I have a small bottle of the stuff.

Is that the mo0st fair way to say this? I don't know. I don't laugh at the sufferers. I just was raised in a bit of a bootstrap environment. As in, "pull yourself up by those bootstraps and stop whining and go kick some butt." And when it came to being sick, it was "stand up straight and smile and you'll feel better by lunchtime." Direct quote. Not joking.

So when Earnesto smashed his finger yesterday morning, and was convinced it was broken, I was "oh well, that sucks." It is broken. and he had to bin his carefully crafted schedule to go to the doctor twice to be told yes it is broken, no, we don't do anything about this kind of break.

It's like he is made of papier-mache. He did have a life-threatening illness within the past five years. That will make you take care of yourself better, be a little more cautious. But when he took more time off for a trifling cold than I did for mono, that's outside of enough. Stand up straight, I want to yell, and make yourself feel better. It's only a ring finger.

Maybe that's why, in the Pirate Quizzes, I always get such a good rating. Black spot on my soul (after the Sydney Olympics), and space in my heart, and the like.