Where's a good hole to crawl into when you need one, eh?
Not really getting the most out of life lately. I am appalled by all the 'junk' Greg and I have collected in just the past 3 years and I feel overburdened by the task of sorting through it all and tossing out the unnecessaries. We are hoarders, if feels wrong to throw things away. But sometimes, it just has to be done, and I will have less a problem with that than Greg. It doesn't hurt that I've had a few manic episodes that resulted in my boxing up and burning most of my possessions, so I know how to get rid of items when it's their time to go.
The house we live in also needs a thorough scrubbing, and we are redoing the kitchen and the bathroom, and none of this will ever be done and I just want to drop a fucking bomb on the place and start over with just a box. I really wish Greg hadn't purchased the house, that I hadn't supported Greg's decision, because now we're trapped there for 3 years in order to get the tax credit that Greg really needs. I am just so overwhelmed by all the work that needs to be done...I just want to crawl into my little hole and pretend the whole world has gone away and left me to my peace.
But I can keep on dreaming because the house and all its filth and all the possessions I've put there, well, none of it is going anywhere so I better start working.
Which I will have plenty of time to do once I run out of hours at my 'real' job as a part-time little bitch for the NASA library. A master's degree and the consequent debt and all I get are fucking scraps of menial projects tossed at me at the end of the fiscal year. I am the master of monotony, the brazen bester of the boring, I tame the tedious and wrestle with the repetitive. And hate my fucking job.
Yes, it's that kind of a day. Luckily I have some xanax in my bag, and I'm going out for dinner tonight, as encumbered with debt as Greg and I are, and getting some STRONG drinks.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Geriatrics
Driving to work today, my frustration and rage were kindled by the slow-driving elderly men overpopulating the roads and highways. I turned to my typical pattern of cursing and fist raising at these crippled impotents, until I reflected on my thoughts and actions and reminded myself that I too will one day inherit the title of Senior Citizen. And as medicine and health science are constantly improving the quality of life for the old, perhaps I should stop viewing a full head of gray hair as a symbol of a feeble mind and stubborn attachment to long-forgotten ways. I was reminded of a New Year's Resolution posted in the Cleveland Scene, something about letting go of criticizing the elderly, that it's time the young realize they will not always be so.
Yet, pondering deeply on this idea, before I leaped into volunteer work at a nursing home, I concluded that, no, I do not agree I should have patience with the elderly and see myself in their tired old loafers. I get it, all fruit not consumed in its youth and glory will one day wither and wrinkle and dry. Yet, not all fresh fruit will become a prune. These feet-in-their-graves were little more than tired plums anyway, they were not better when they were young, and now they are fiber at best. But I, I am a pineapple, a mango, a gobi fruit, and when I am dessicated and shriveling, my flavor will not be lost but altered subtly, still tropical to the tongue and delivering a full palate of uniqueness and individuality. My flavor will age, surely, but it will not transmute into something bitter and foul that cannot drive faster than 10 below the speed limit.
Yet, pondering deeply on this idea, before I leaped into volunteer work at a nursing home, I concluded that, no, I do not agree I should have patience with the elderly and see myself in their tired old loafers. I get it, all fruit not consumed in its youth and glory will one day wither and wrinkle and dry. Yet, not all fresh fruit will become a prune. These feet-in-their-graves were little more than tired plums anyway, they were not better when they were young, and now they are fiber at best. But I, I am a pineapple, a mango, a gobi fruit, and when I am dessicated and shriveling, my flavor will not be lost but altered subtly, still tropical to the tongue and delivering a full palate of uniqueness and individuality. My flavor will age, surely, but it will not transmute into something bitter and foul that cannot drive faster than 10 below the speed limit.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
A slight, regular backstep
This has been my bleak week, one out of every four, a bitter gray sort of week, and I’m reflecting the brooding Ohio sky. Every day a drain, weakening my spirit and sapping my strength, for no reason other than this happens cyclically and regularly. The kind of week that makes me frighteningly grateful to be trapped in a carpet-walled cubicle farm, to do my 8 hours of time in an icy, dim hall of cells, a somber zoo of quiet cages. Though the intrusive silence has stretched the hours at my desk into those watching-the-second-hand-seem-to-move-slower kinds of days lulling my heavy eyes to sleep. That, and the headphones I have to wear to drown out the offensive cacophony of that NOBODY in cubicle 4 have been droning ambient and experimental, apocalyptic folk, practically the soundtracks for my dreams, making me all but defenseless against that damn Sandman.
I recognized just this moment my supervisor is likely to read this, so I should mention here, the system and regularity, the patterns and routine of my various projects, have been the only things keeping me awake. I’ve likely done more work this week than in weeks I’m exuberant and outgoing, because those weeks I actually have the drive and desire to do something other than my often dull and dreary work.
Yet this is the type of week that reminds me just why I wake up to the pitch black of pre-dawn and force myself into the conventional costume of the office: the people I work with. If it weren’t for the perfect union of personalities I find not only tolerable but likable, and the few people that are more than coworkers, are truly friends, I could not, would not (eat green eggs and ham) do it. My workspace is not without its share of monsters and Grendels, most especially that certain Nameless I’ve written of before, but my library team, and a few orbiting contractors that have been assimilated into our crew*, often give me the courage and strength to bare these ‘just-shove-it-up-your-ass’ kind of days.
*One of those orbiting contractors, the only one likely to be reading this, is more than the subject of assimilation, but a unique force that has altered the chemistry of our prior library circle. He is, in fact, one of those actual friends that gives me the will to start my engine and pull out of the driveway as the first cup of coffee is wearing off and my steering wheels is starting to take on the shape of a pillow.
I recognized just this moment my supervisor is likely to read this, so I should mention here, the system and regularity, the patterns and routine of my various projects, have been the only things keeping me awake. I’ve likely done more work this week than in weeks I’m exuberant and outgoing, because those weeks I actually have the drive and desire to do something other than my often dull and dreary work.
Yet this is the type of week that reminds me just why I wake up to the pitch black of pre-dawn and force myself into the conventional costume of the office: the people I work with. If it weren’t for the perfect union of personalities I find not only tolerable but likable, and the few people that are more than coworkers, are truly friends, I could not, would not (eat green eggs and ham) do it. My workspace is not without its share of monsters and Grendels, most especially that certain Nameless I’ve written of before, but my library team, and a few orbiting contractors that have been assimilated into our crew*, often give me the courage and strength to bare these ‘just-shove-it-up-your-ass’ kind of days.
*One of those orbiting contractors, the only one likely to be reading this, is more than the subject of assimilation, but a unique force that has altered the chemistry of our prior library circle. He is, in fact, one of those actual friends that gives me the will to start my engine and pull out of the driveway as the first cup of coffee is wearing off and my steering wheels is starting to take on the shape of a pillow.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Enemies
It's hard to believe I've yet to rant about mine enemy, my arch nemesis, the vile cloud of C02 that fuels my explosive rage, (name removed to protect myself), the resident of Cubicle **** (I camp out in cube two). Nameless is the most disgusting and disturbing union of fat and flesh I've ever encountered, ever, and until he is eternally removed from existence, or moved to a different part of the building, I will be unable to focus on my job during the (thankfully) few hours he decides to come into work.
I describe Nameless as looking like Humpty Dumpty, because he is completely egg shaped and rocks back and forth when he walks b/c of some hip surgeries he's had. He is a chain smoker and his voice is a grating, whiny, nasal sort of awful with a hint of gruffness from the cancer I hope is growing in his throat. He is the type of diabetic who buys an entire pie from a bake sale (I wanted to hand him the spoon and tell him to dig in). He phones his wife numerous times throughout the day, and calls her momma and mommy. "Hi mommy. Did you wash my undershirts today?" "Hey momma, yeah, I'm eating carrots today." (So I can blame her for the godawfullyechoingloud crunching and munching?) "Mommy, my stocks went down today, yeah, I don't know what's wrong with this country" (watch the news?) "Hey mommy, can you come up to NASA and change my diaper, I'm not sure how." (Ok, I made that one up).
Every time he is present, he speaks so freaking loudly EVERYONE in his vicinity (and many who aren't) can hear his conversations verbatim. In fact, last week I learned his checking account number, routing number, password, and the total amt. of money in the account. Nothing is private for this man. His wife wears XL. I figured. His daughter's boyfriend hates him (who wouldn't?). He likes to drive around in fat-people carts when he goes on vacation (he didn't call them fat people carts, but that's what they are). The details abound. But I'll spare you, my imaginary reader, from what could be a novel-length list of facts and figures about the monstrosity that is Nameless.
Nameless is also really good at one-liners:
"It's because I drank too much lighter fluid as a kid" (No doubt)
"I used to ride the short bus" (I figured as much)
"When you squeeze the turkey's neck an onion pops out its but" (what? what what? omg)
The point is, Nameless is an abomination that must be stopped. I'm by no means the most philanthropic individual on earth, I'm regularly over-critical of the vast majority of my species, but Nameless really stands out from the masses of ignorance and filth I'm used to being surrounded by. I've written a list of grievances against him, and I hear it might actually lead to results. Others in the building have complained about him as well, so management knows I'm not just hyper-sensitive to abrasive personalities. But Nameless must not be permitted to continue his assault against my senses, he must not be perceived as an accepted member of a species that is capable of DaVinci's and Descartes. He must be forced to wear a dunce cap and a scarlet "I" for idiot. He must be segregated from the rest of us trying to improve existence for ourselves and others, those of us who are not chain-smoking, twinky-addicted, pig-trough-munching, beverage-slurping, pre-Oedipal, fat-cart-driving, whiny, obese pigs.
Sorry. I had to expel this filth from my head. He's a slow-working poison.
I describe Nameless as looking like Humpty Dumpty, because he is completely egg shaped and rocks back and forth when he walks b/c of some hip surgeries he's had. He is a chain smoker and his voice is a grating, whiny, nasal sort of awful with a hint of gruffness from the cancer I hope is growing in his throat. He is the type of diabetic who buys an entire pie from a bake sale (I wanted to hand him the spoon and tell him to dig in). He phones his wife numerous times throughout the day, and calls her momma and mommy. "Hi mommy. Did you wash my undershirts today?" "Hey momma, yeah, I'm eating carrots today." (So I can blame her for the godawfullyechoingloud crunching and munching?) "Mommy, my stocks went down today, yeah, I don't know what's wrong with this country" (watch the news?) "Hey mommy, can you come up to NASA and change my diaper, I'm not sure how." (Ok, I made that one up).
Every time he is present, he speaks so freaking loudly EVERYONE in his vicinity (and many who aren't) can hear his conversations verbatim. In fact, last week I learned his checking account number, routing number, password, and the total amt. of money in the account. Nothing is private for this man. His wife wears XL. I figured. His daughter's boyfriend hates him (who wouldn't?). He likes to drive around in fat-people carts when he goes on vacation (he didn't call them fat people carts, but that's what they are). The details abound. But I'll spare you, my imaginary reader, from what could be a novel-length list of facts and figures about the monstrosity that is Nameless.
Nameless is also really good at one-liners:
"It's because I drank too much lighter fluid as a kid" (No doubt)
"I used to ride the short bus" (I figured as much)
"When you squeeze the turkey's neck an onion pops out its but" (what? what what? omg)
The point is, Nameless is an abomination that must be stopped. I'm by no means the most philanthropic individual on earth, I'm regularly over-critical of the vast majority of my species, but Nameless really stands out from the masses of ignorance and filth I'm used to being surrounded by. I've written a list of grievances against him, and I hear it might actually lead to results. Others in the building have complained about him as well, so management knows I'm not just hyper-sensitive to abrasive personalities. But Nameless must not be permitted to continue his assault against my senses, he must not be perceived as an accepted member of a species that is capable of DaVinci's and Descartes. He must be forced to wear a dunce cap and a scarlet "I" for idiot. He must be segregated from the rest of us trying to improve existence for ourselves and others, those of us who are not chain-smoking, twinky-addicted, pig-trough-munching, beverage-slurping, pre-Oedipal, fat-cart-driving, whiny, obese pigs.
Sorry. I had to expel this filth from my head. He's a slow-working poison.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
The mouths of babes? Eck.
Two marvelous quotes, the second's raunchy humor derived from the context developed by the first.
"I was bathing with my dad at eighteen"
I was luckily able to resolve that eighteen implied months and not years. And shortly following:
"We're talking about rearing babies"
If you haven't figured out what's wrong with the second quote, you'll probably not derive much from my blog at all.
I will try to offer something more substantive in the future, perhaps even today.
"I was bathing with my dad at eighteen"
I was luckily able to resolve that eighteen implied months and not years. And shortly following:
"We're talking about rearing babies"
If you haven't figured out what's wrong with the second quote, you'll probably not derive much from my blog at all.
I will try to offer something more substantive in the future, perhaps even today.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
What he hears though never listening....
Alright, I've come to realize what must be more entertaining to read then a blog about the nature of my work: miscellaneous quotes from NASA out of context! I plan to occasionally document the peculiar things I hear from the Glenn Research Center, and not just what I overhear in my building. I will never assign names to quotes, if I even know the speaker, to protect the personal integrity of my coworkers. As for the integrity of the center as a whole, you can judge that for yourself...
To begin with, a simple three from this morning:
"There's a blood elf trilogy!"
"The dragons are more important..."
"What do you do with your left hand?"
-Do the first two surprise anyone, considering they come from NASA employees?
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
*Dirty Librarian*
I believe that prefaces are necessary to set the tone of any creative expression; whether it be a brief item description set next to a museum display or the literal preface of a novel, it is simply more effective that the author of any work provide his or her audience the necessary fallow period in which to assemble a foundation to support whatever new work is about to be interpreted, instead of throwing the circus prized gold-fish immediately into frigid sink water and hoping it will survive the initial shock. So, here, I offer, although with much brevity, and introduction to myself and to this blog, for the sake of anyone reading, and as a method to avoid the work I know I should be doing instead.
At 23 years of age, I am the youngest member of the NASA Glenn Research Center's Technical Library. My official title is a Part-Time Bibliographic Data/Science Librarian, which puts me as one of only three non-civil servant librarians at this center. Although I often involve myself in department wide concerns, my primary job is to manage the Exploration Soil Bibliographic Database, created by one Dr. Allen Wilkinson as a repository for research into lunar and Martian soils and soil simulants. The database itself is a wiki, and when I am not entering data directly into the 2.0 software, I use a program called JabRef to organize my BibTex citations before uploading them to Dr. Wilkinson's wiki.
Yet, this library thing is certainly a shocking new direction for me, considering my plan only two years ago to pursue my Master and eventually PhD of English Literature. I entered the Kent School of Library and Information Science one year ago because I decided I needed to step away from literature for awhile without leaving the realm of information. I was mostly interested in academic librarianship, and quickly developed an interest in studying the application of Web 2.0 software within the library environment. With a dearth of experience in the field, I spotted a job ad and applied immediately for a part-time library position willing to accept an MLIS student, eager to replace my 3 and 1/2 years of barista work with something more mentally stimulating and relevant.
Funny, the add mentioned nothing about employment at NASA...
Yet here I am, obviously having succeeded in landing the job, and I read about Mars and the moon every day that I am here, and can tell you more about regoliths and Discrete Element Methods then I ever thought I would know! So, I hope with this blog I can document my experience here at the NASA library and maybe offer advice about the union of bibliographic data, lunar and Martian soils, and Web 2.0!
Or maybe a reader will have advice for me....
And given the title I have chosen to represent this blog, mention likely will be made of office shenanigans and my contributions to an obnoxious and liberated working environment.
At 23 years of age, I am the youngest member of the NASA Glenn Research Center's Technical Library. My official title is a Part-Time Bibliographic Data/Science Librarian, which puts me as one of only three non-civil servant librarians at this center. Although I often involve myself in department wide concerns, my primary job is to manage the Exploration Soil Bibliographic Database, created by one Dr. Allen Wilkinson as a repository for research into lunar and Martian soils and soil simulants. The database itself is a wiki, and when I am not entering data directly into the 2.0 software, I use a program called JabRef to organize my BibTex citations before uploading them to Dr. Wilkinson's wiki.
Yet, this library thing is certainly a shocking new direction for me, considering my plan only two years ago to pursue my Master and eventually PhD of English Literature. I entered the Kent School of Library and Information Science one year ago because I decided I needed to step away from literature for awhile without leaving the realm of information. I was mostly interested in academic librarianship, and quickly developed an interest in studying the application of Web 2.0 software within the library environment. With a dearth of experience in the field, I spotted a job ad and applied immediately for a part-time library position willing to accept an MLIS student, eager to replace my 3 and 1/2 years of barista work with something more mentally stimulating and relevant.
Funny, the add mentioned nothing about employment at NASA...
Yet here I am, obviously having succeeded in landing the job, and I read about Mars and the moon every day that I am here, and can tell you more about regoliths and Discrete Element Methods then I ever thought I would know! So, I hope with this blog I can document my experience here at the NASA library and maybe offer advice about the union of bibliographic data, lunar and Martian soils, and Web 2.0!
Or maybe a reader will have advice for me....
And given the title I have chosen to represent this blog, mention likely will be made of office shenanigans and my contributions to an obnoxious and liberated working environment.
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