Faith, Or The Opposite Of Pride
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Some Kind of Verb, Some Kind Of Moving Thing.
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Mood:
Annoyed
Again, the excerpt from the Field Guide will be added later.
Location: Work
New Cubicle Icons: Three "lucky cats" from Japan.
Listening: "Super Bon Bon" ~Soul Coughing (Propellerheads remix)
Actually, I'm not "Annoyed"--I'm simply demonstrating the exceptional level of personal attention offered by the management here at Journalscape. I casually mentioned in my previous entry, at about one o'clock this morning, that I wished there was a selection in the pull-down "mood menu" for "annoyed" as "grumpy" was the closest I could get when I was writing in a snit. I logged in a few moments ago--at half after nine on the same morning--and there it was in the pull-down, ready to go the next time I need it. In terms of service, it doesn't get any better. So if I could get a moment of mad, phat props for Kenny--move aside and let the man go through.
Not annoyed--sad, actually. A malaise has dropped on Peter. It's been gradually dropping for some time now, with the obstacles he's been encountering with "Rituals" and "Echoes" and now "One Sunday" and the coincidence of these with the passing of his June deadline. Now he's also working with his mother's illness--and while he and I share the same methods of dealing with certain things (which, oftentimes, have led to each of us being labelled as "callous" or "unresponsive"), and I therefore understood when he calmly informed me of her prognosis...I also know that it's exhausting on multiple levels. Then his car disappeared--no doubt into the custody of the LBPD--and, as my grandmother says, "it was all over but the shoutin'". He prowled around on the Web for a while, posting resume information, and then immersed himself in Counter Strike for several hours. As much as I dislike cable, in this case, the cable modem was a necessity to prevent the boy from imploding and I was glad it was there.
For my part, I did what I always do in the face of stress--I cleaned. I gave myself over to blind will for a few hours and managed to get about two loads of dishes, the hall, the bathroom and three loads of laundry done before settling down to my "Teach Yourself Swahili" book for a little while (more on this later). We then had a small dinner, watched An Officer And A Gentleman and went to bed. We laid awake in the still, stifling air for about half an hour before Peter returned to the den and I turned on the light, cursed my neighbors for allowing their children to scream in the courtyard at two in the morning, tried to read but absorbed nothing, and finally went to sleep with what felt like a lead weight in my stomach.
Situations such as this have always been difficult for me because my first instincts are to circle the wagons, track down and beat the stuffing out of whatever is causing the problem, and then fuss over and pet the offended until the situation is forgotten. While this works well with animals and small children, this rarely works well with adults--least of all myself and, considering our similarities, I think I can safely assume that this is not the route to take.
...or perhaps it is. I'll never assume that what I consider to be my psychoses involving being taken care of are shared by anyone else.
Location: Work
New Cubicle Icons: Three "lucky cats" from Japan.
Listening: "Super Bon Bon" ~Soul Coughing (Propellerheads remix)
Actually, I'm not "Annoyed"--I'm simply demonstrating the exceptional level of personal attention offered by the management here at Journalscape. I casually mentioned in my previous entry, at about one o'clock this morning, that I wished there was a selection in the pull-down "mood menu" for "annoyed" as "grumpy" was the closest I could get when I was writing in a snit. I logged in a few moments ago--at half after nine on the same morning--and there it was in the pull-down, ready to go the next time I need it. In terms of service, it doesn't get any better. So if I could get a moment of mad, phat props for Kenny--move aside and let the man go through.
Not annoyed--sad, actually. A malaise has dropped on Peter. It's been gradually dropping for some time now, with the obstacles he's been encountering with "Rituals" and "Echoes" and now "One Sunday" and the coincidence of these with the passing of his June deadline. Now he's also working with his mother's illness--and while he and I share the same methods of dealing with certain things (which, oftentimes, have led to each of us being labelled as "callous" or "unresponsive"), and I therefore understood when he calmly informed me of her prognosis...I also know that it's exhausting on multiple levels. Then his car disappeared--no doubt into the custody of the LBPD--and, as my grandmother says, "it was all over but the shoutin'". He prowled around on the Web for a while, posting resume information, and then immersed himself in Counter Strike for several hours. As much as I dislike cable, in this case, the cable modem was a necessity to prevent the boy from imploding and I was glad it was there.
For my part, I did what I always do in the face of stress--I cleaned. I gave myself over to blind will for a few hours and managed to get about two loads of dishes, the hall, the bathroom and three loads of laundry done before settling down to my "Teach Yourself Swahili" book for a little while (more on this later). We then had a small dinner, watched An Officer And A Gentleman and went to bed. We laid awake in the still, stifling air for about half an hour before Peter returned to the den and I turned on the light, cursed my neighbors for allowing their children to scream in the courtyard at two in the morning, tried to read but absorbed nothing, and finally went to sleep with what felt like a lead weight in my stomach.
Situations such as this have always been difficult for me because my first instincts are to circle the wagons, track down and beat the stuffing out of whatever is causing the problem, and then fuss over and pet the offended until the situation is forgotten. While this works well with animals and small children, this rarely works well with adults--least of all myself and, considering our similarities, I think I can safely assume that this is not the route to take.
...or perhaps it is. I'll never assume that what I consider to be my psychoses involving being taken care of are shared by anyone else.
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