One Who Wanders (abiona) wrote,
One Who Wanders

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Never forget the scent of chicken gone funny, Anne.

When putting together a fish tank, folks often opt for plastic weeds, marine-themed toys such as treasure chests or old-fashioned diving suits, or strangely designed "rocks," which are almost always painted in clashing colors, and which are somehow meant to represent coves. These are all to give the fishies an "interesting" environment in which to live, and more importantly, a place to hide so that they are not stressed. I have known a number of people who start out with one or two of these features, then as their fish die or their interest in the tank takes on new intensity, they invest in yet more underwater accessories. Given how messy my room now is (again), I am wondering if I am the equivalent of both the tank master, adding yet more debris to the floor, and the little fish who hides all day in the flourescent weeds, only coming out every now and then to feed and to gaze at my reflection.

When I'm halfway there against myself, I never know to say whether I'm winning or losing. On the one hand, I rose above my flaws and did something. On the other, I probably could have done so much more, so what is the value of that victory?

Getting up at five a.m. on a regular basis has gotten to me fast, rendering me a snappish cranky exhausted angstbucket. I have only enjoyed seeing this hour of day during those accidents when I lost track of time and stayed up gaming, and then, it wasn't so much that I was pleased at the hour, but more of a blessed ignorance sort of thing - I simply hadn't noticed it arrive. Otherwise, it is a painful introduction to the day for me, and is usually associated with Bad Stressy Things and The Pain of Getting Up. I usually give up on all-nighters around three or four a.m., start crying once I hit five or six a.m., and so in general, much prefer to be completely unconscious when the sun is doing that thing called "rising."

While I am technically on the "Inventory Team," I am often sent off on my own, separated from the group by floor or section. As I find one individual difficult to tolerate and many of the others conversationally dull, am accustomed to working by myself, and in addition am never paying much attention anyway, this situation doesn't really bother me. Today, I encountered the others while on my way upstairs for a new assignment. They moved as a unit, and as soon as they spotted me ascending the escalator, they began to tease me in unison about how I wasn't a part of the team anymore. My first thought was that they were fools for thinking I was ever part of the team to begin with. We are co-workers, yes, but I never invested effort in building up a sense of friendship.

Wanting to make sure that it was quite clear to the upper tiers that I would not be coming in after this Saturday as an employee ever again, I went to the eleventh floor to reiterate my intention to quit. They landed a few surprises on me, saying that I should have spoken to someone else last week, and that I had to fill out page with my name, last day of work, reason for quitting, etc. (I did not feel like giving specifics, so I wrote "Dissatisfaction and lack of intellectual stimulation.") I was bothered by these revelations. If I had to speak to another individual, why was I not informed prior to this? Had I known I was going to have to fill out a form, I would have done so the day I first stated that these two weeks would be my last. I hope they don't assign me hours next week, and then point to the form dated today.

It's been so long since I have drawn anything, I have actually lost some of my sketchbooks. Additional investigative effort yielded two of my smaller ones that I always toted with me to class, but not the larger one I was particularly searching for.

My art history LJ communities have been getting spammed up the wazoo with cam porn girls as of late. Do these people have a generator for the bad quality icon and the generic two lines of text-plus-link that their post inevitably consists of?

[Edit: I love old houses, but I have to admit that when the water cuts off completely in the middle of my shower, and then returns, quite cold, five minutes later ... I sometimes question my devotion.]

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