![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the reward for a long weekend's work...
Aug. 1st, 2005 11:38 am... is being back to the office. There are lots and lots of things that I can get ordered in my mind, but cannot actually do because look! I am not at home! It's a nice feeling.
Not a nice feeling: I am a big doofus at keeping track of contact names here at work. I need to call someone... I know her office, I know her number, but I can't remember her name. I've looked everywhere and seem not to have written it down. Why? Because I talk with her so often. And she works in a guv'ment office, so I can't breeze into her office (first, because there's a security guy, and second, because it's a rabbit warren in there and I get lost even if I defeat the security guy). Rrgh.
And reading good blogs (abortionclinicdays, Bitch. Ph.D) seems to discourage me from writing, instead of compelling me to write more. What's up with that? Aren't these women supposed to be an inspiration to me? A light unto my path? Seems that I always end up thinking, "Hey, I should've said that!" and then clamming up on my own blog. Not even a cohesive post about sex can get me writing.
So, "weekend's work," you ask? On Saturday, we got up early. "Time to make the doughnuts!" we declared. And so we did. Doughnut making is fun and tiring. Doughnut eating is still darn yummy but lots less fun after you watch them get made. On Sunday, we got up late (good) and zipped over to Agnes' place, where we threw all her stuff in a moving truck, drove her to her new place, threw all her stuff back out and carted it up three floors, and then returned the truck, all in six hours. OW. I should have been using the stair climber at the gym on Level 20, these last three months, instead of that funny elliptical machine on Level 8. Even that would not have prepared me for the pain and agony of so many stairs. I feel lucky, though; when it's someone else's stuff, it's heavy and awkward and sweaty, but just something that gets done. When it's MY stuff in boxes being moved, I get major freak-out about all my stuff being displaced. I also want to point out how fabulous and adore-able my friend LP is, for looking over the stuck loveseat and saying, "Oh, let's just tilt it up 30 degrees!" which absolutely worked, though I don't know how, and saved us carrying the furniture two flights down and then two flights back up the other stairs. We were all exhausted and fatalistic, and she was the only one carrying on. She's really cool.
I'm continuing my great experiment in being productive, so it's back to work. Happy Monday, y'all.
Not a nice feeling: I am a big doofus at keeping track of contact names here at work. I need to call someone... I know her office, I know her number, but I can't remember her name. I've looked everywhere and seem not to have written it down. Why? Because I talk with her so often. And she works in a guv'ment office, so I can't breeze into her office (first, because there's a security guy, and second, because it's a rabbit warren in there and I get lost even if I defeat the security guy). Rrgh.
And reading good blogs (abortionclinicdays, Bitch. Ph.D) seems to discourage me from writing, instead of compelling me to write more. What's up with that? Aren't these women supposed to be an inspiration to me? A light unto my path? Seems that I always end up thinking, "Hey, I should've said that!" and then clamming up on my own blog. Not even a cohesive post about sex can get me writing.
So, "weekend's work," you ask? On Saturday, we got up early. "Time to make the doughnuts!" we declared. And so we did. Doughnut making is fun and tiring. Doughnut eating is still darn yummy but lots less fun after you watch them get made. On Sunday, we got up late (good) and zipped over to Agnes' place, where we threw all her stuff in a moving truck, drove her to her new place, threw all her stuff back out and carted it up three floors, and then returned the truck, all in six hours. OW. I should have been using the stair climber at the gym on Level 20, these last three months, instead of that funny elliptical machine on Level 8. Even that would not have prepared me for the pain and agony of so many stairs. I feel lucky, though; when it's someone else's stuff, it's heavy and awkward and sweaty, but just something that gets done. When it's MY stuff in boxes being moved, I get major freak-out about all my stuff being displaced. I also want to point out how fabulous and adore-able my friend LP is, for looking over the stuck loveseat and saying, "Oh, let's just tilt it up 30 degrees!" which absolutely worked, though I don't know how, and saved us carrying the furniture two flights down and then two flights back up the other stairs. We were all exhausted and fatalistic, and she was the only one carrying on. She's really cool.
I'm continuing my great experiment in being productive, so it's back to work. Happy Monday, y'all.
