friday night, finally (arriving on wednesday morning, but you take your little holidays when you can)
thing is, I actually LOOK FORWARD to going to work. last night was an exception, but mostly because I get annoyed by wierd little things. I like where I work because it gives me plenty of time to read (of course, if anyone from the Dept. of Corrections is reading this, what I mean by that is "Plenty of time to read the Post Orders," natch)--generally about 6& a half hours out of 8 can be spent snuggling between the covers of a book, &, for the most part, whoever I'm paired up with in whatever Housing Unit I'm assigned to is of the same mind, which is why there's not much complaint about there being Nothing To Do on Graveyard.
(for me, getting settled into a Unit for the night & having the other officer pull out a book gives me the same sort of feeling you get when you would go into a classroom in high school & see a projector set up.)
Last night I'd brought one of those books that I'd been meaning to read for a long time but hadn't gotten around to ("Helter Skelter", Vincent Bugliosi)--I'd read the first half the night before & expected to finish it, & I got paired up with an officer who wanted to CHAT.
I've nothing against small-talk, I just never got the hang of it, myself, & at such times I really don't know what to do but sit there, nod occasionally, & give the occasional monosyllabic reply ("yeah" "wow" "uh-huh"), with the book in my lap, marking my place with my thumb or OPEN--TO THE PAGE I'M READING--CAN YOU NOT SEE THAT?
& I feel like an asshole, & I am, I strongly suspect, actually BEING an asshole, but it seems like what is usually being talked about (as was last night) is a recent trip which, around here, translates as Someplace With a Wal-Mart. which means What Was Purchased at the Wal-Mart, which means Where The Wal-Mart Was, What Else Was At The Wal-Mart, the Funny Thing that Happened in the Wal-Mart Parking Lot, & a monologue on Why Don't We Have A Wal-Mart Here, Huh?
(okay, I'm simplifying. sometimes it's about CostCo)
& the rest of the time it's about Spouse&offspring.
anyway, dumb little rant about dumb things that bug me.
---
heading to SLC later this afternoon. decided for my Costume I'd attempt to die my trench-coat blue-black, scour the thrift-stores for a tuxedo shirt, aviator sunglasses, bow-tie (or cowskull bolo, if I can find one), cummberbund (maybe), blue carnation--buy a couple packs of Old Golds--buy or rent a top-hat, & fill my pockets with hearts cut out of blue construction paper & go as Tom Waits.
--Happy Halloween, y'all.
thing is, I actually LOOK FORWARD to going to work. last night was an exception, but mostly because I get annoyed by wierd little things. I like where I work because it gives me plenty of time to read (of course, if anyone from the Dept. of Corrections is reading this, what I mean by that is "Plenty of time to read the Post Orders," natch)--generally about 6& a half hours out of 8 can be spent snuggling between the covers of a book, &, for the most part, whoever I'm paired up with in whatever Housing Unit I'm assigned to is of the same mind, which is why there's not much complaint about there being Nothing To Do on Graveyard.
(for me, getting settled into a Unit for the night & having the other officer pull out a book gives me the same sort of feeling you get when you would go into a classroom in high school & see a projector set up.)
Last night I'd brought one of those books that I'd been meaning to read for a long time but hadn't gotten around to ("Helter Skelter", Vincent Bugliosi)--I'd read the first half the night before & expected to finish it, & I got paired up with an officer who wanted to CHAT.
I've nothing against small-talk, I just never got the hang of it, myself, & at such times I really don't know what to do but sit there, nod occasionally, & give the occasional monosyllabic reply ("yeah" "wow" "uh-huh"), with the book in my lap, marking my place with my thumb or OPEN--TO THE PAGE I'M READING--CAN YOU NOT SEE THAT?
& I feel like an asshole, & I am, I strongly suspect, actually BEING an asshole, but it seems like what is usually being talked about (as was last night) is a recent trip which, around here, translates as Someplace With a Wal-Mart. which means What Was Purchased at the Wal-Mart, which means Where The Wal-Mart Was, What Else Was At The Wal-Mart, the Funny Thing that Happened in the Wal-Mart Parking Lot, & a monologue on Why Don't We Have A Wal-Mart Here, Huh?
(okay, I'm simplifying. sometimes it's about CostCo)
& the rest of the time it's about Spouse&offspring.
anyway, dumb little rant about dumb things that bug me.
---
heading to SLC later this afternoon. decided for my Costume I'd attempt to die my trench-coat blue-black, scour the thrift-stores for a tuxedo shirt, aviator sunglasses, bow-tie (or cowskull bolo, if I can find one), cummberbund (maybe), blue carnation--buy a couple packs of Old Golds--buy or rent a top-hat, & fill my pockets with hearts cut out of blue construction paper & go as Tom Waits.
--Happy Halloween, y'all.
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that feeling of emotional blockage sucks.