Thursday, August 4

I hate answering phones

I realize it's August 4th already, but I'm going to start Blog Every Day August anyway. It's high time I accomplish something, and BEDA it shall be. So here goes:

As it stands right now I have been at work for the past six hours. Whilst this doesn't seem like a long time, I have been filing quite literally 800 of identical-looking pages since 9AM this morning. I have been staring at the exact same spot of these identical pages (looking for three little numbers that distinguish them from the rest of the pack) for the past five hours. FIVE HOURS. I'm at the point right now where if I don't stop and do something different and get out of my chair and stop answering the phone I'm going to go stir crazy.

So, let the stir crazy commence.

When I work long days like this I often find myself going glossy-eyed and letting my mind go somewhere else entirely. Just a second ago I caught myself flipping a book of Post-its and imagining a meadow with dragonflies buzzing about and wildflowers and daisies and sundresses and a gentle breeze. And then the song changes on the playlist and I realize I'm at my work desk and the boss is looking at me funny.

I just counted and I have four paper cuts from the past five hours. And one of them is a gusher. (Still doesn't beat my record from Winter O' Death 2010 though.)

You know what's weird? I'm different when I'm not in Seattle. In Seattle I'm blindingly self conscious and terrified all the time and I never feel like I'm good enough. When I was in Paris I was brave - and I don't mean simply the fact that I was in my Paris all by my-non-French-speaking-self. I went on a rollercoaster I wouldn't dare go on here. I took shortcuts through creepy shaded parks at all hours of the night. I talked openly with strangers (in London and Nice, anyway), I walked right past police arrests and didn't bat an eye, I got in the way to get what I wanted. I took risks - there's no other way to put it. When I'm away from Seattle I'm a stranger - I'm completely unrecognizable. So it's no wonder that people are shocked that I travel alone, because here I don't dare cross the street unless the light permits me.

When I was younger and we would travel to San Diego the same thing would occur on a lesser scale. I think that's part of the reason I love going down there so much - I get a break from being myself. Lately with my daily crippling anxiety attacks and the various holes I've dug myself into, I could really use a break from being me.

You know what inappropriate? Middle aged women in braided pigtails. Come on now...

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