Weird day. Not very busy, but what an emotional rollercoaster. And for no good reason, really. Read on for my rambling narrative of the day…
Woke up late, since my kitty snooze alarm failed to jump on my stomach and wake me up after I turned off my alarm this morning. Didn’t get to shower, so me and my ponytail felt vaguely scuzzy all day. Not the end of the world, though; at least I managed to pack enough lunchie food to keep me away from today’s snack-food potluck. Got to work and clocked in at my usual 15 minutes late. 😛
Spent the morning doing busywork that needed done, and waiting for an e-mail from my contracting gig. We had planned to conference-call at 1pm (during my lunch break, so as not to get me in hot water with management) to get me familiarized with the online timeclock system. Didn’t want to start on anything too time-consuming and complex, since I didn’t want to have to interrupt myself to do the training. Finally got an e-mail invite at 1:05pm for a meeting scheduled at 3pm. Decided to officially take my 20-minute break at 3pm, and ended up clocking out for lunch around 2pm.
I told Aaron I’d go and put air in the tires of the Kia, since it’s been pulling to the left and shimmying and we’re hoping that putting some pressure in the tires will help. (Let’s hear it for positive thinking… don’t want to spend our Japan money on stupid car repairs.) So, I drove the couple of minutes to Barney’s, and discovered that their air compressor thingie costs 75 cents! Jebus. Most of them these days cost 50¢. Anyway, my plan was to go around with the tire gauge and check all the tires, see how much air they all needed, then go in and pretend I’m a paying customer and ask the nice people inside to turn on the air pump for me.
Checked the lowest tire: 35psi. What was it supposed to be? The side of the tire was covered with salt and brine, and I could barely make out the numbers. One number said 35psi, but that couldn’t be right, because the tire was visibly
flat underinflated at 35psi. Then I saw the upside-down, salt-covered numbers. D’oh! Decided to get in the car and back it up just a hair to try to read the numbers. Hadn’t noticed that there was a sporty red something-or-other in line behind me now. Started the car, put it in reverse, edged it back an inch or three — and got the polite little beep-beep that says, “Hey, there’s someone back here, dumbass.”
I stopped. Thought. Felt that last feather settle onto my back and said, Fuck it. Put it in gear and peeled out of the gas station, stopping at the driveway to buckle my seat belt before driving the two minutes back to the office. While I was buckling my seat belt, of course, about four cars chose that time to turn the corner and make me wait before turning out of the driveway, which just made me that much more irritable.
Yes, I know this is all very stupid. I knew it at the time, and was all PMS-ing and didn’t care.
Came back to the office and took my half-hour lunch break walk. That made me feel better.
Three o’clock rolled around, and I called into the long-awaited conference call. Then I got an e-mail giving me the training materials — a Word file that explained the entire process well enough that I’m not quite sure *why* I need someone to walk me through it — accompanied by a message from my contact saying that she had been called into a meeting, and asking for my number so she can call me back afterward. I cheerfully supplied my work number in a return e-mail, although I was seriously miffed by rearranging my entire workflow around this elusive phone call.
She never called back.
I e-mailed her at 4:15 and informed her that I would not be available for the remainder of the workday, but that I would be free after 6pm and on the weekend and on Monday, and for her to let me know what time would work for her. Haven’t received anything back yet, although she should have all my home contact info.
When I got home, I was kind of in a funktastic mood — and not in a P-Funk sort of way, either. Giving Aaron a nice long hug made me feel better, as did the dinner of shell pasta and spaghetti sauce that I made after he went to work. After my evening television (local news, national news, and Good Eats), I managed to finish one of the Photoshop comps that I had thought was so craptacular yesterday — just needed some slightly different proportions and a better background pattern and the right font — and start a new one. I’m definitely on the right track, I think, and will definitely have at least three finished comps by Monday, although it’ll probably be Monday evening and not Sunday night. We’ll see. I might even scan in the sketches of the ones I ended up not doing in comp form and see if they want me to do comps of those.
At any rate: freelance good, contracting not so good; diet OK, exercise not so OK; and we’re losing ANOTHER team member at work on March 9th, but we’re also getting a temp.
Diet goal for the weekend: actually track all my food, even dining out. And make sure my water intake stays high. Weekends count now — they did before, too, but I chose to ignore them, and therein lay my downfall.
Girlie cycle finally started up again, one month after my miscarriage. ‘Bout goddamn time. Being that we’re holding off on conceiving for another several months yet, I’m also starting The Pill for the first time ever. We’ll see how this goes. After having my hormones fucked with by Nature, I kind of lost my original hesitation to have them fucked with by Medicine, and just decided to go for it. Bareback nookie is good stuff.
And before I tiredly blurt out any other TMI, I’m going to go. Maybe not to bed, but somewhere.