Almost five months into the year and only now am I thinking of when I'll use my vacation days. As always, I'm taking the week of my birthday and the week of Sept. 11 off, especially since this year will be the 10th anniversary of the attacks and I imagine those of us in the media are going to be inundated with stories, pictures and letters to the editor. I'll be more than happy to miss it all. As for the third and final week, I still don't know.
There was this exchange somewhere in the mix though...
Co-worker: "I was in the eighth grade on Sept. 11."
Me: "Go fuck yourself."
Said - and taken - playfully, of course. But it did make me feel old. I was stoned off my gord on a new anti-depressant that morning (side effects kicking in), one eye on the TV in the office and the other on my computer screen as the stories and pictures flooded over for the afternoon paper and then an extra edition on top of it. She was probably sitting in a math class or waiting for a the bell to ring so she could talk to friends in a hallway, largely unaware of the severity of what was happening. I'm really not that sentimental about that day, but, again, the comment made me feel old - even if it was also meant in play.
Good kid, though. We talk often and she's helped breathe some life and good spirits back into our part of the room.
There was this exchange somewhere in the mix though...
Co-worker: "I was in the eighth grade on Sept. 11."
Me: "Go fuck yourself."
Said - and taken - playfully, of course. But it did make me feel old. I was stoned off my gord on a new anti-depressant that morning (side effects kicking in), one eye on the TV in the office and the other on my computer screen as the stories and pictures flooded over for the afternoon paper and then an extra edition on top of it. She was probably sitting in a math class or waiting for a the bell to ring so she could talk to friends in a hallway, largely unaware of the severity of what was happening. I'm really not that sentimental about that day, but, again, the comment made me feel old - even if it was also meant in play.
Good kid, though. We talk often and she's helped breathe some life and good spirits back into our part of the room.
What I don't approve of: Sept. 11th. It fuckin sucked, to phrase it delicately.
If it makes you feel any better, I work with teenagers, who never miss a chance to tell me how old I am. Then I remind them that we're all going to die someday, and the class gets strangely quiet.