Monthly Archives: October 2004

If I were dating Abbott, I would begin to think that this was just a fling. Passive/agressive; mixed signals; long sighs are making me wonder if Abbott is really into this relationship. I'm not even an actual employee, for ???'s sake.

I get pampered with a 3rd Quarter Earnings Statement catered lunch, but Abbott doesn't call me back after I leave him the voicemail message about holiday plans. Did I scare him away? Did I come on too strong asking about next year, a presumption about my assumptions about us?

Sometimes I think Abbott doesn't even remember that I exist. We've been together for a month now, and I'm just not getting the attention I expected. Sure, I'm thrown side projects and the occasional copy to edit, but this feels like I'm being thrown a bone. Will Abbott drag this out till we're both ready to quit it, or will I get dumped after the 4th Quarter Earnings Statement rush?

"Honey, I love you- I do. I just want to know what you're thinking. Are you going to still want to hang out after Christmas break?"

I feel whiney when I ask if I'll be re-contracted in '05. I really have no complaints otherwise. I'm being paid well enough to deal with the vague job, but I like knowing what's going on.

My ability to go from loyal supporter to jumping ship is one I've proudly cultured during the past few years. Don't make me flex.

Last night Jason began teaching me the fundamentals of html. Previously, he had attempted to teach me java, but it just didn't take. He thought PHP would be more successful because it has Web applications that might suit me better.

I like html builders that show the Web view of your code. Lots of feedback, and instant gratification. Much like any skill I obtain, I am now craving to get back to it- to learn more, to master it. I never quite master any of these insta-acquire skills, but I feel like I do, and then I discard them like a toy.

Good thing I don't do that with boyfriends anymore.

There is nothing more beautiful than a pregnant woman wearing a cable knit sweater.

I woke up this morning at 6:30, ready to kill. Kill, or curl my knees to my chest. I can't remember. Thinking "I can't do this anymore, and I don't want to move to the suburbs", I slept in till 8:00. Had I gotten up at 6:30, I would have left the apartment at 7:00 to catch a bus that would take me to the train station, which would take me to Lake Bluff, where the Abbott shuttle would pick me up and deposit me at AP6D promptly at 8:50. Just under two hours, and three modes of transportation- four, if you include Tevas.

As I couldn't force myself to do this, I left at 8:30 in my car, dropped Jake off at the Damen stop, and carried on to North Chicago in the Yesmobile. IT TOOK AN HOUR. Half the time, and I was at my desk by 9:30. (Clausal statement: I do not have a set time to arrive at work, so I was not 'late'.)

As I drove this morning, I thought about how I couldn't possibly leave Chicago proper to live in the suburbs, and that I would immediately look online for my new job. As I perused Craigslist and Hotjobs, I realized that not only were there few if any jobs I am qualified for (that I would take), none of them would pay as much as my current job. Stuck, I am.

In fact, surfing the Hotjobs site actually made me like my job here even more. Perhaps my continual vacilation needs a good dose of Monster.com every once in a while when I start getting wishy-washy about whether I should leave or stay.

As I first began thinking about leaving, I thought I'd probably be happier working anywhere else. I'm a good waitress, having been through the trial-by-fire of Village Inn. I would make enough money to pay the rent, and I would continue to look for that better job on the horizon.

Of course, all of these jobs are just temporary, considering my desire to go back to school and become a librarian. It's now been two months of a consistant desire to get my MLS. I don't think I've had this much consistent focus since I wanted to be a catastrophe claims adjuster for State Farm.

Part of me thinks about how I'd rather not work at all. 'Work' being the job you go to daily. I wonder if I have the cajones to up and make photographs for a living. There are plenty of mediocre photographers out there- I could always join their ranks. I'd probably get sickle cell from the fixer.

I have yet to hear back from Mike at Manpower about what options I have, and I haven't had a chance to ask my supervisor here about the possibility of a permanent position. In other words, there's no reason to overanalyze now. Oooh, but it feels so good.

Public Affairs is a business-professional dress office. I'm wearing tights, for Cripes sake. As I am one of the younger employees, my dress and style tend to be more young and hip.

Today while wrestling said tights down to an appropriate spot to pee, I heard someone come in to the restroom. After a great deal of 'shhhhhh'-ing, the heady aroma of sticky floral permeated the bathroom.

Someone had come in with the express purpose of re-hairspraying their hair. I accelerated my routine in order to get a glimpse of the diva, and as I turned the corner down the long hall, I saw a sweet, 80s style 'do walking away from me. In her hand swung a giant, bright red can of hair spray.

THAT'S what I like about PA. I could probably gesture with a tampon on the way to the restroom, and not bat an eye.

Anton suggested peoplewatching as a hobby on my long commutes up to North Chicago. After a week of taking the train, I thought I'd hyperventilate and fall over. Somehow the stress was greater than the eight hours I spent at work.

I followed his advice, and have enjoyed the benefits of peoplewatching as a sport. Well, sport like fishing is a sport. Yesterday I noticed an old old man with leathery hands holding a leather wallet and leather portfolio. The leather of his things were the same color and texture as his skin.

There was a woman with her three children riding into the city on the 5:20. As the conductor handed the change back, one of the children reached out his hands, and the conductor feigned the money into the child's hands. When he actually placed the money in the mother's hand, the little boy made the very specific "I don't understand money, but I know I want it, and I don't see why I can't have the money you just gave my mother."

I remember that from my childhood. Since I didn't know where money came from, there was no reason not to keep it, if some jokey store clerk thought they were being amusing.