Work Diary, 1/24/04

Work Diary, 1/24/04

1.I was sitting outside having a cigarette and noticed the difference
in width between my left and right palms. The right is wider - I'm
right-handed, after all - but the lines in the palms are exactly the
same. I don't get it. I'm not a laborer, and my penis is as straight as
a flagpole, so why the difference? I use my left hand to write when my
right gets tired, though the result takes more time to decipher. Also
my left hand, when left to its own devices, can write perfect backwards
cursive. How on earth did it learn to do that? I feel like one of those
worms you cut up in biology class, the ones that grow another head or
tail end or whatever. Though my left hand did show me that my name
spelled backwards is "Nella." Appropriate, somehow.

2.I'm "doing" the downstairs bedroom in preparation for my sister's
arrival. Now that my aunt has died, my sister feels it's time to get on
with her life. She's been watching my aunt's house and taking care of
the minutia we all take for granted. I feel bad for her, in a way,
because she's twice-married and nary-happy. But also I envy her,
because she's barely thirty and blond and funny. She made a spreadsheet
of all my aunt's expenses - bills, mortgages, car payment, etc. - in
order to apply the life insurance money appropriately, and all I could
think is, "Lord, she is just like me, only younger. And blond." How
pathetic is that?

3.My dog had a fight at the groomer's two weeks ago. She's got a scab
under her right eye. The groomer didn't say anything but I know that's
what happened. Poor thing. She's the sweetest thing on Earth until
another animal comes nosing around. Then she becomes this awful,
snarling mess with muscles popping and hackles raised. I think, given
the circumstances, we were meant for one another, though she sleeps in
my ex's bed instead of mine. I can't blame her. It's a nicer bed and
he's certainly smellier.

4.Right now I'm listening to an old recording of Ike and Tina Turner's
songs. I keep lapsing into fantasies of me on the stage, singing and
moving like Beyonce. I can sing, of course - who can't? - but not like
that. I wonder sometimes if I should have a different life.

5.I finished my employee evaluations yesterday. Two of my group will be
fired come mid-February. One is recently married and the other, a
divorcee, has two kids. Like my dog, I fought like a trooper, but all
for naught. I'm no stranger to corporate America but still I'm
appalled. There seems to be nothing I can do in the face of the
Almighty Dollar. I could resist, at the expense of my own job, but I
like what I do and, generally, we do a good thing. My goal is to infuse
that goal - "we do a good thing" - into my employees, because it's
true, and because I wouldn't be there if it weren't. Watch carefully as
I further rationalize?

6.The other day I watched a woman in another car totally rock out. We
were stuck in rush-hour traffic and it was cold and gray outside. This
woman was all but banging her head against the steering wheel, fingers
splayed and shoulders a-hunh-hunh-hunh'ing. Despite her moves I could
tell she was totally relaxed. What a moment of silly joy that was. I
sang out loud all the way home, feeling like an Oprah-ite but not
giving a shit. Driving a car is full of many lessons but that one was
the best.

7.Still, I'm still dancing with the age-old question of "why." Last
night I had a dream about a monkey. The monkey was hungry, so I picked
it up and cradled it and pushed my way through countless nameless faces
to find some food. The monkey clung to my neck, chattering quietly to
itself while I held it and grinned at its softness and overall
cuddle-i-ness. It was brown, with nice toes and teeth, and so endearing
it could be used commercially. Fortunately I'm not an idiot and can
recognize the insipid tokenism in the dream. Or maybe I just want a
monkey. At any rate, the dream left me with this:

8.I can do this. Sometimes I am GLAD. Most of the time I am SAD. It's
not all so BAD. Even when it makes me MAD.

9.And maybe I'll meet a guy named CHAD.

10.Pfffffttttt.