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Thursday, October 21, 2004

Paper-writing delusions are setting in

Two pages of Plato paper done. No thesis in sight. What am I talking about?

It does remind me that I ate a really good sandwich at Bartlett today whose goodness prompted me to wonder whether I was not eating the Platonic form of the sandwich--that supremely perfect idea of sandwichness from which all other sandwiches are derived. If I was, that's really too bad, because Socrates never says what happens to the forms if they accidentally wind up on someone's lunch tray and get eaten. It may well be that sandwiches will be removed from existence as a result. If that's the case, I apologize. But, that was a good tuna sandwich-form.

Prepare for updates on the hour as paper-writing drags on into infinity.

Monday, October 11, 2004

Work

Unusual as it may be, I actually like my job. Maybe that's just because it requires slightly more mental exertion than a cockroach is capable of, which was more or less how much my previous jobs required. And I do sometimes like to consider myself superior to the roaches, even if I must concede their hardiness in the face of possible nuclear holocaust. But book publishing is relatively interesting, and certainly a great deal more so than popcorn popping. I also like it because it's a totally stereotypical office job complete with dull gray cubicles, potted plants, tacky photo frames, and people talking about nothing around the coffee maker. I thought jobs like this were only in movies about real life, not in real life itself. So I'm excited to have a real movie-reality experience, after I've seen the movies about that inform me that this is reality, of course. (If this is confusing, think American Beauty. Think how much it wasn't like your real suburban life, but how much you were convinced it was realistic anyway.)

Plus, my boss is really nice, and not a
A) stupid fat man who runs a movie theater and sends spies in to check on his employees' salesmanship and has them arrested in public to send everyone else the appropriate message that if they should even contemplate stealing the Milk Duds, they will be killed.
B) possibly retarded head library shelver who forgets your name every day for three months but makes you drive her home to her mother's house, where she still resides.
C) eater of your lunch, which she tells you to put in her personal refrigerator because it might get stolen if you put it in the lounge, when obviously no matter where you put it, it won't be there by lunchtime.

Plus, my current boss seems to be very patient with my complete ineptitude at simple tasks, like How To Send A Fax 101, or Colloquium: How To Make Double-Sided Copies. Still, I'm not quite as friendly or personable in real life as at interviews, and I think she may be a little disappointed that I'm way less sharp than she may have initially believed. Way. Less.

Wednesday, October 06, 2004

This is so illegal

So I finally figured out when I have free time: at work. I have about 30 minutes of actual work to do, then two hours of pretending I'm doing work when I'm actually checking my email. This is much, much harder to pull off than it sounds. There are only so many times you can make laps around the floor holding some random papers before someone asks if you're lost. And then you're screwed, because he'll ask what you're supposed to be doing, and the paper you're holding says something like "Look up this guy's address on Google" and you'll have to explain how you can't find your own computer in your own cubicle, which is why you're in the marketing wing. So I check my email and stuff. Except the email checking is done in a state of utter terror and paranoia that one of my bosses will walk by and notice and promptly fire me. And I like my job. Still, I'm slowly gaining courage. Yesterday, email checking. Today, blogging. But when I sense either of my bosses making the slightest gesture toward standing up in their offices, I jump a mile and promptly close all my Internet Explorer windows. Courage is slow in coming.