Lunch Breaks

So, I’m sitting here at my new desk at my new job, hating the hour-long lunch break that I have. If I’m not going somewhere or actually doing something, I’d much rather have a 15- or 30-minute break and then get on with things. But, unfortunately, I’m hourly here and it’s preferred that I’m here 8:30 – 5:00. And, by golly, I want to avoid working like I’m salaried if I’m actually not (even if I enjoy the work…workers have to stand up for themselves, you know).

I think I’ll enjoy this position, except for two things:

  • Parking at Wash U. Staff members have the choice between two types of parking permits: an >$800 one, and a >$300 one. Ugh! I’m going to try public transporation for a while because we get free Metro passes (and because it’s less wasteful).
  • The 8:30-5:00 bit. I appreciate the 7.5 hour work day, but I enjoy more autonomous schedules which allow me greater flexibility with arrival and departure times. I hate getting home after 5:00.

Other updates…

I finished my latest project last night. It’s not exactly what I pictured…but that’s what happens when you stray from the pattern and use different yarn. Ah well. Maybe I’ll post a picture later.

Manic Episodes
I talked to my sister last night for nearly an hour. Hearing about her boyfriend’s little breakdown was much less traumatic coming from my sister’s perspective rather than my mom’s.

My mom has this way of speaking and delivering news that makes everything sound SO. BAD. For example, once when I was in high school, my mom accidentally turned a pot of beef tips onto high (instead of off) when she left the house for a couple of hours. When she came back, the house was full of smoke and everything stunk to high heaven. So, when I came home from school, she met me outside and said in a very low, grave voice, “Carrie, I need to tell you something.” OHMYGOD! I thought: THIS IS IT…MY PARENTS ARE DIVORCING. OR, MY DOG DIED. OR, MY SISTER/BROTHER IS IN A COMA. But, no, it was just that the house was stinky. She could have just met me outside and laughed and said, “you’re never going to believe this…” instead of scaring the daylights out of me.

Anyway, so my sister’s version was much less stressful.

And it was actually quite comical.

I mean, you have to laugh about being at Atlanta’s public hospital at 1:00 AM Saturday morning with your boyfriend who keeps running through the metal detectors and laughing while you tell the security guard that you are going to the 13TH FLOOR (i.e., the psych ward) and that you need an escort because of (nod nod to your boyfriend who is playing with the security equipment). And, once you get to the 13th floor, you find people who have been waiting in the lobby for more than 12 hours for a prescription refill. And that, when you try to leave the psych ward, the registration desk tries to stop you, even though they can’t legally hold you there.

And, during all of this, your boyfriend keeps telling you about all of the fun that you all are going to have.

If you don’t laugh, you’d cry, right?

Anyway, my sister is totally exhausted. But her boyfriend is safe in Florida with his mom, who is, quite coincidentally, a therapist of some variety. My sister says that he’s on mood stabilizers, seems happy, but still seems to think that he proved the existence of 11 dimensions using quantum mechanics. Or something like that.

A New Blog
Check out our friend Kathy’s blog, Five Months in Chile. Like the title says, Kathy has started her five-month stay in Chile, where she will be making all sorts of art (and learning more Spanish!). Yay!!

This Weekend
Don’t forget! Renegade Craft Fair! Chicago!

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