Day In The Life
Mar. 20th, 2009 11:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
abracanabraI did not sleep well last night, because my stomach was unhappy again* and so I went and slept on the couch at about 2 AM so I could sleep in a sorta-upright position. I was woken up at 11 (after very broken sleep, including conversations with husband and cats when they moved around the house, so I sort of have an excuse) when work called me in to download PDFs. You see, I'm the only one who knows how this particular project handles the downloading of PDFs. And I'm not telling anybody else, because right now that's the only way I'm getting hours**.
I bike-n-bus my way in to work, celebrating the first official day of Spring by actually beginning to bike. Hooray! Later at the bus stop, a man confides in me that he won't ride his bike until it's at least April--in other words, in about a week. It's nice. The breeze is brisk and enlivening, the bike moves as smoothly as it ever did, and the air tastes sweeter when you're working for it.
I work. It is an ordinary day with no particular aggravations. My coworker's radio is turned off (Thank God!!). There's not excessive work; it actually is a pretty quiet day. The birthday cake was all eaten by the time I got into work. Somebody actually cleaned out the work fridge and didn't die of airborne toxins during the process. My coworkers discuss whether or not the office is haunted and come to the conclusion, because of various creepy experiences, that yes, it definitely is. If there are ghosts, I've always gotten along okay with them. I work on into the 2nd shift because I had a very small paycheck last time, and I haven't had any hours this week. I stay until 9 PM, a time that seems reasonable for leaving, even if I do need the money. 2nd shift coworker actually puts in the effort of finding the Microsoft patch that will fix the problem with daylight savings time that our computers have--they keep resetting themselves to the old time, which has led to feeling perpetually unstuck in time.
I go out and bike into downtown. I get cash for the girls' night in that I'm going to tomorrow. I wait at the bus stop, and truthfully tell a panhandler that no, I don't have any change. The night air is cool on my face, the streets are slick with rain that reflects neon signs, and somebody is playing a trumpet. I lean against the street lamp, half in shadow, one hand resting on my bike, and try to pin down the feeling in my memory.
On the bus ride home, I am highly entertained by the intersection between urban black culture and gay culture. The voice put on is between effeminate and gangsta. "Girl" and "my nigga" are used interchangeably. The reassurance that the (friends-only) relationship is still strong: "You know you still my bitch. I love you." The bus-rider seems to be having problems with a femme male friend who's convinced the bus-rider is trying to steal his boyfriend, while the bus-rider is trying to convince him that it's only a financial relationship.
I get home and Phil is collapsed on the couch in the darkened living room. "Nobody brought me beer," he says pathetically. "I'm too tired to watch TV anymore." He goes to sleep. I put away food leftovers and get dishes and laundry started. Then I catch up on the internets.
* And I'm drinking wine right now. For scientific purposes. So I can establish whether the aggravating factor was greasy food (tater-tots) or alcohol. It could not have been the pirate metal, because pirate metal is awesome!
** There's a leetle problem with a coworker who gets in at 4 AM and hoards all the work for herself and tells people, when they call in, that there's not enough work for them to come in. I am not the only person who has observed this.
I bike-n-bus my way in to work, celebrating the first official day of Spring by actually beginning to bike. Hooray! Later at the bus stop, a man confides in me that he won't ride his bike until it's at least April--in other words, in about a week. It's nice. The breeze is brisk and enlivening, the bike moves as smoothly as it ever did, and the air tastes sweeter when you're working for it.
I work. It is an ordinary day with no particular aggravations. My coworker's radio is turned off (Thank God!!). There's not excessive work; it actually is a pretty quiet day. The birthday cake was all eaten by the time I got into work. Somebody actually cleaned out the work fridge and didn't die of airborne toxins during the process. My coworkers discuss whether or not the office is haunted and come to the conclusion, because of various creepy experiences, that yes, it definitely is. If there are ghosts, I've always gotten along okay with them. I work on into the 2nd shift because I had a very small paycheck last time, and I haven't had any hours this week. I stay until 9 PM, a time that seems reasonable for leaving, even if I do need the money. 2nd shift coworker actually puts in the effort of finding the Microsoft patch that will fix the problem with daylight savings time that our computers have--they keep resetting themselves to the old time, which has led to feeling perpetually unstuck in time.
I go out and bike into downtown. I get cash for the girls' night in that I'm going to tomorrow. I wait at the bus stop, and truthfully tell a panhandler that no, I don't have any change. The night air is cool on my face, the streets are slick with rain that reflects neon signs, and somebody is playing a trumpet. I lean against the street lamp, half in shadow, one hand resting on my bike, and try to pin down the feeling in my memory.
On the bus ride home, I am highly entertained by the intersection between urban black culture and gay culture. The voice put on is between effeminate and gangsta. "Girl" and "my nigga" are used interchangeably. The reassurance that the (friends-only) relationship is still strong: "You know you still my bitch. I love you." The bus-rider seems to be having problems with a femme male friend who's convinced the bus-rider is trying to steal his boyfriend, while the bus-rider is trying to convince him that it's only a financial relationship.
I get home and Phil is collapsed on the couch in the darkened living room. "Nobody brought me beer," he says pathetically. "I'm too tired to watch TV anymore." He goes to sleep. I put away food leftovers and get dishes and laundry started. Then I catch up on the internets.
* And I'm drinking wine right now. For scientific purposes. So I can establish whether the aggravating factor was greasy food (tater-tots) or alcohol. It could not have been the pirate metal, because pirate metal is awesome!
** There's a leetle problem with a coworker who gets in at 4 AM and hoards all the work for herself and tells people, when they call in, that there's not enough work for them to come in. I am not the only person who has observed this.