Boxed In

Despite efforts, my cubicle is really a terrible place. Not surprisingly; it's a cubicle. The walls are made of carpet and tacks. I have no foot rest.

Cubicle items that should make me laugh:

Calendar filled w/ pictures of my high school friends
This seems jolly enough. But, I have to cover most of the pictures with sticky notes. I couldn't even use the entire month of July (true to life, July is a particularly garish month). My cubicle censors me.

Plastic glow-in-the-dark fairies
These are quite lovely, but I never see them glow because I live in fluorescent lighting. My cubicle blinds me.

A tiny rubber chicken
No complaints. This is pretty awesome.

Vintage-esque coaster
I can't put beer on it. My cubicle sobers me.

Pictures of friends and family
...whom I never see. My cubicle alienates me.

Sticky notes decorated with hula girls
I would enjoy using these to write passive aggressive notes or wearing them as nipple pasties, but they are instead covered with (mostly) work-related scrawls that need deciphering. The note in front of me says Feltes, 8/5-8/6, Gov, Xerox, Ags and a picture of a flower. My cubicle is in code. And prudish.

So it goes...

"There's no normal life, Wyatt. There's just life. Now get on with it," said Doc Holiday.

"But he didn't mention how much my heart would ache," said D.

I loved this poem in middle school. Still do.

Nature's first green is gold, her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower, but only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief, so dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

LQ

Logical Love

I've never been accused of being overemotional or irrational, and I generally consider myself level-headed. As a teenager, I wasn't angsty, though I managed to have a breakdown or two. (E.g. Collapsing into tears when my parents discovered me 15 and drunk, choking-out my first boyfriend because....well, who knows why, etc.) But as I get older, and life gets more complicated, the hormonal and anxious teen my parents rarely saw has emerged.

Video chat with my man:

"I have less vacation days than I thought. This messes up my entire year," says I.
"Well, that's what happens when you have a real job. It won't mess up your year," says he.

Yeah. No shit. But, that doesn't make me feel any different.

"I am worried if I live too far from home for too long, all my family will die by the time I go back," says I.
"Well, unfortunately that's part of life. That's what sucks about getting older," says he.

Again, I know. But, seriously. What if they're all dead right now.

I cry and accuse him of being (gasp!) logical and easy-going. He agrees and yet can't fathom why this is a bad thing. (Ok...it's not a bad thing unless I'm acting illogical and neurotic.)

I explain that sometimes I just need to FEEL. Sometimes I get really pissed a TV commercials. Sometimes I need to listen to sad music to intentionally feel terrible. Sometimes I need to prepare myself for everyone I love to die, even if it won't happen anytime soon. I know it doesn't make sense.

He, being the superb person that he is, understands and let's me win this non-battle.

We admittedly think very different. But, at least when I tell him to stop making so much sense, he tries his hardest.

Apathetic Alice

Okayy...I might not hate school.  But I am entirely devoid of any enthusiasm for it.  I have to swallow my laughs when a prof. dares assign me homework.  Read chapter 8?  Really? Hahahahhahaa.  Yeah, right.

Laughing at a prof. is better than kicking the shit out of him (or seriously considering kicking the shit out of him).  Those days happen too.  I hope blogging that doesn't count as a "threat."  For all I know, my blog is incredibly popular in the e-world.  The administration could be reading this.

I've spent the first hour of my graphic design class listening to my iPod and printing off pictures of my dad (free color printing!).  And now blogging.  I suck.  But I don't care.  :)

Current Track: Bob Dylan, Trying to Get to Heaven.  Bob Dylan does not have a great voice.  But, he makes some great music.

LQ