walking with an old lech, being well liked at work, early birthday presents
I was walking with Rick, my co worker who claims to be Humbert Humbert, and I related to him the tale of the beutiful blonde for whom I had read a placement test this afternoon.
"Oh, hell, yes!" he exclaimed, only half sarcastically. We both know that he's no longer wholly impressed by beutiful blondes, but it's fun for each one of us to be in the company of men.
"Yeah," I exclaimed, "and you know what, I thought it might not be so bad to date a girl who had the time, energy and general wherewithal to tan her breasts."
To that he was enthusiastic. Our common bond this evening was that we were both walking around waiting to take the bus home and sleep. We see how well that worked out for me.
At work I was told that I will not have a job fall term. Since I'm one of six people in the office who aren't on federal work study massive budget cuts as well as outsourcing (coming soon to Chemeketa: Unix for Programmers read By Chi Shi in broken Taiwanese!) demand that plain old payroll wage slaves be cut. But, as I remarked to Rick, I must be some kind of golden child over there (he responded, "you're a wonder boy!"), because the second rebecca told me about the firings, she told me that she would be personally retooling the budget so that they could afford to take on one, maybe two, payroll people.
And then they'll call me for a kind of informal interview, "because," she said severely, "we don't want people to think there's favoritism here," and raised her eyebrows; I attempted to look grateful. Not only that, but within ten minutes of the end of my sit down with her, each and every one of my bosses had approached me with a suggestion of a scholarship or grant or crafty scheme that would allow me to continue to work there. So will I have a job come fall? Who can tell.
Tonight on the cigarettes I wrote: who even wants to listen, ...with love and squalor and Never knows Best.
Mom got home sometime between then, when the entry To This Point had been written, and now, and I read her most recent mediation case file.
She bought me two books: With Love and Squalor: 14 Writers Respond to the Work of J.D. Salinger and Letters to J.D. Salinger, just because it's my birthday soon, and in between then and now, I'd bought myself every book on my christmas list.
"Oh, hell, yes!" he exclaimed, only half sarcastically. We both know that he's no longer wholly impressed by beutiful blondes, but it's fun for each one of us to be in the company of men.
"Yeah," I exclaimed, "and you know what, I thought it might not be so bad to date a girl who had the time, energy and general wherewithal to tan her breasts."
To that he was enthusiastic. Our common bond this evening was that we were both walking around waiting to take the bus home and sleep. We see how well that worked out for me.
At work I was told that I will not have a job fall term. Since I'm one of six people in the office who aren't on federal work study massive budget cuts as well as outsourcing (coming soon to Chemeketa: Unix for Programmers read By Chi Shi in broken Taiwanese!) demand that plain old payroll wage slaves be cut. But, as I remarked to Rick, I must be some kind of golden child over there (he responded, "you're a wonder boy!"), because the second rebecca told me about the firings, she told me that she would be personally retooling the budget so that they could afford to take on one, maybe two, payroll people.
And then they'll call me for a kind of informal interview, "because," she said severely, "we don't want people to think there's favoritism here," and raised her eyebrows; I attempted to look grateful. Not only that, but within ten minutes of the end of my sit down with her, each and every one of my bosses had approached me with a suggestion of a scholarship or grant or crafty scheme that would allow me to continue to work there. So will I have a job come fall? Who can tell.
Tonight on the cigarettes I wrote: who even wants to listen, ...with love and squalor and Never knows Best.
Mom got home sometime between then, when the entry To This Point had been written, and now, and I read her most recent mediation case file.
She bought me two books: With Love and Squalor: 14 Writers Respond to the Work of J.D. Salinger and Letters to J.D. Salinger, just because it's my birthday soon, and in between then and now, I'd bought myself every book on my christmas list.