|
Reading: Mimi Smartypants |
Friday, May 30th, 2003Signs that I am an old, old woman: - since starting my knitting binge a few weeks ago, I have developped a nice hard callus on my left index finger. All the better to make you socks with, my dear. - while typing a particularly graphic insurance letter (let's just say "de-gloved hand" and leave it at that, shall we?) I suddenly had a pain in my chest. Heart-attack at twenty? Maybe. - I filled a glass bowl with candy and left it on the movie shelf at home. The only way this could be more old lady is if I then left the candies there for months until they all stuck together. But that's not likely to happen. - at the mall last night (returning Cait's shoes) I saw two 14-year old girls almost buy a pair of those ever-so-trendy construction boots in baby pink, and I thought, "If a fashion magazine told them to, they'd wear cats strapped to their feet." (Okay, that's also a sign that I watch too much Buffy and that I have no original thoughts. But I still disapprove of the construction boots. They're so ugly and non-utilitarian.) - I have been considering cutting my hair short (though not yet, thank god, cutting it short and getting it permed. That would be too much.) To continue with my journal-wide theme of Nothing Is Too Personal Or Minute To Chronicle, I cleaned my travel mug out today. Not just the cup, either. I took the lid apart and cleaned the inside of it, which, because I hadn't washed the inside of the lid since ... ever... was pretty disgusting. Aren't you glad I shared that with you? I just received an email from someone I don't know with the subject line, "Want More Get-up-an-go?" Well, I don't know what exactly you are talking about, stranger, but no, no I do not want that. In fact, I would like less rather than more. I would like Stay-down-and-sleep. If you find some, feel free to email me again, thanks. A thought: when I was at the Queen's pre-departure meeting about the academic exchange next year (a big waste of my time, believe you me) the lady presenting talked about the reputation of Canadians in foreign countries as externally friendly but generally uncaring. In particular she mentioned our habit of asking each other "hey, how are you?" as an empty question since we, generally, don't really expect much of an answer. After hearing this, I began to notice that, really, when I ask someone I'm passing on the street how they are, or if they ask me, we don't really stop and wait for an answer. If I've passed you before you've answered, I'm going to keep going, see? Here at work, though, the passing "how are you?" seems to be more a check to see if you're still awake. More than once have I been asked this question only to have my head involuntarily snap up as though caught doing something illicit. Strangely, I can't seem to stop this reaction from happening each and every time. I am not, in fact, doing anything more illicit than skipping back and forth between legitimate work (dockets today, yipee) and writing a half-assed journal entry.
|
|
Archives:
|
