Schizoid, A Little

[copied from dland]

I started writing this entry twice already, once last night and once at school. Here, I'll give you a little bit of them:

Last Night

So. Feet. I was looking at my feet just before. I had socks on, of course, as I generally do, and I couldn't help but notice that my feet -- my toes, actually -- are sort of round, like the shape of sneakers, or clogs. Are everybody's feet like that? 'Cause you know, you kind of grow up thinking that the way you are must be kind of the way everybody is, and how much do you really get to compare? I mean, how often do you have the opportunity to ask people, hey, are your toes pointy, like pointy shoes, or are they round, like clogs? You don't ask. You just assume.

So you're not sorry that I gave that one up. And now:

Today At School

So I'm sitting in the library minding my own business, as it were, and about eight people troop in, one of whom is one of the assistant district administrators, all of them with clipboards. They cruise the library, making remarks to each other and checking things off. None of them speak to the SCM or me until we say hello, and then the administrator says hello and goes back to her clipboard. (She did ask me if my leg was better, since I was on crutches the last time she saw me.) The others are construction/building people. They're checking off their "punchlist", which tells them what things still need to be completed or fixed in the library.

I pointed out the circulation-desk-that-isn't-one and asked if it was on their list. They were not only as uninterested as they could possibly be, they seemed a little irritated that we would presume to point anything out to them. It was made clear to us that they were only interested in the items that were already on their list, a list which they had made themselves. They said that twice.

Okay, who isn't sick of that already?

Now

Nothing as fascinating as feet or work-bitching, but we do have this intermittent smell of natural gas in one corner of the new library, and I came home with a killer headache, with that as the most likely cause. (We have called maintenance on this so many times that they don't even come anymore to check it out. Fortunately, our new secretary formerly worked in the office of the head of building and grounds, and she called him directly. Unfortunately, he didn't show up, either. Curiously, the building does not have gas heat, so we can't figure out what the smell actually is. I digress.) Anyway, I was planning to go to the gym but oy, my aching head, so I ran one little errand to Bed, Bath and Beyond and came right home. I'm counting as my success for the day that 1) I did not buy any make-up, and 2) I did not go to a mall.

I think I slept for about three hours last night, or more accurately, this morning. I am so getting too old for this kind of shit. Part of the problem -- have I mentioned this? -- is that the Hubs is such a restless and noisy sleeper until he's been sleeping for a couple of hours that I just can't fall asleep there with him until he's past that point. That's why I try to fall asleep on the couch when I can. He falls asleep the instant he gets into bed, but I don't -- clearly -- so I can't even go to sleep before he does, because I could still be awake when he comes in. Until I'm deeply asleep, it takes nothing at all to wake me up wide awake, any little distraction or sound or anything will do it. In the morning, his alarm goes off, he goes in and out of the room, gets dressed and all, and I don't hear any of it. Maybe when I retire, I'll sleep every night between 3 and 7 am, and that'll be it for me. Wait, that's what I do now, except I get up at 5:45. So maybe I'll sleep more when I retire, eh? Yes, a better plan.

Rambling. Head. Hurts. Some.

Tired. Want. Pie.


WATCHING THE SIMPSONS :: ENTRY #1339