Putting out the trash

Apparently some boy in Mexico glued himself to his bed so that he wouldn’t have to go back to school after the holidays. I know how he feels, but I’m not clever enough to come up with those kinds of solutions.

I’m off to the doctor again tomorrow, hopefully for the last time, at least for a while. People start to wonder, when you’re sick so much. Either that or they’re jealous that they can’t be sick more often. Sickness is like a gold ticket in my place of work, but one you use cautiously.

Before the holidays, another sales person was fired after only a few weeks. Two new people started yesterday, both from Australia. I’m curious to know why they would choose to come here - from sunny, clean and roomy to crowded, rainy and miserable - but then maybe they would ask me the same thing.

Seeing how tentatively new people interact tends to drive home how integrated I actually am now. It’s nothing I feel proud of. Today somebody screwed me over unintentionally and unapologetically, for a very stupid reason. It’s just part of the culture, when you’re making six figures (I doubt he is, actually, but he certainly makes more than me).

Let’s see, what else can I bore you with…

I’d meant to see some people who were visiting London, but in the end, I only managed lunch with Cloudesely. It was strange to see him in this context, as usually our meetings involve chance run-ins at the pub back home. One of my cats sat with him on the sofa while he had his breakfast, which I tried not to be too jealous of. I hear he reads here sometimes. Hi Cloudesely! (And sorry, Stuart!)

We’re having an influx of overseas visitors in the next five months and I’m going to have to book time off soon and start making my travel plans. I’m not sure how that will work out, as we’re trying to save money right now, for one thing.

I’m only writing here because I’m too tired to go for a walk and I don’t want to be bothered on my lunch hour. I’m almost completely done with writing online. I’d rather just keep up with my friends. When someone I know says, “I read in your blog…” I feel a twinge.

It’s a complicated twinge. On the one hand, I feel like those people who embarassingly circulate newsletters about their lives to friends and relatives, except worse (I post it to strangers). And on the other, I just plain feel bad about not keeping up with close friends in a more direct manner.

It was never my objective to solicit notoriety or respect online, even less so when I saw the standard of its readership (present company excluded, of course). Out of the millions of people out there who make it their business to know someone else’s, I have the email address of every single one that matters (so, five or something). I should try using them sometime.

That’s not to say it isn’t a good time-waster. And my writing muscles have definitely benefited from all the exercise (dangling participles and sentence fragments are a good thing, yeah?).

Bruce is going to be in Jordan next week, so I may be here more often at that time, and during other times of loneliness or stress. The internet makes a good dumping ground at least.

Blah, another half hour to go and then it’s back to work.