Unimportant Observations

With Sandy's abrupt and intense arrival early this week, it has taken me several days to put a name to what it is I've had lately.  Then I remembered: I believe it's called down time.  After working more hours than I can count since the start of September, I was surprised at how quickly I adjusted to working from home in my pajamas.  There's really nothing quite like it, and the rest of corporate America could take a cue from the drawstring pajama pant. The fact that I'm writing a blog post at all signifies just how remarkably lucky I am to have power, Internet, an un-flooded apartment and all of my belongings. Despite a few moments of flickering power during the storm, my roommates and I sat chatting and eating as if New Jersey wasn't being destroyed a few miles away. Sure my visiting friend, Kristi, got stuck here for a few days past her intended departure date, but it was nothing that a quick drive to Philadelphia couldn't fix.  She was happy to get hom...

I tend to attract certain types of people.  These types include the elderly, young children, and guys who are total weirdos.  I don't mean that these are the only people who like me.  I simply mean that members from these populations have a unique way of finding me and clinging.  This has been the case my entire life, especially as far as the last group goes, and I've never quite been able to shake them. I love that children take to me easily, so I don't feel the need to expand much on that.  It has made my job as a teacher and perpetual babysitter much easier.  I like to think it is some irresistible, pure-hearted character trait that draws children to me, but many times I think that children simply recognize me as someone who probably keeps twizzlers nearby. Elderly people find me in public spaces like airports, coffee shops, and libraries.  "Ah, went with the Americano I see.  heh.  Never did take to the taste of expresso myself. ...

There are many places I like to avoid.  Renaissance fairs.  The back of those white rapey vans that have no windows.  Classrooms with calculus happening in them.  But one place that proves difficult to avoid and has haunted me for years is the women's dressing room.  Several factors contribute to my aversion, and I mostly blame florescent lighting.  I had a recent run in with the dressing room in Macy's, and my experience there did more than remind me of the virtues of online shopping.  Even so, I went willingly into the dressing room then, and I imagine I will continue doing so for many years to come.  Why?  Because I am a girl, and we are crazy. I needed a dress for an event at work.  When I say need, I'm openly lying.  I have a talent for ignoring the mental images of perfectly wearable clothes already hanging in my closet, and I will tell myself, "you don't have anything."  This is a lie that always works, and this day is...

Things are pretty bleak.  I'm healthy and all - physically at least, and I'm not in crisis per se, but since returning from winter break, life has quickly gone from an episode of  Hope and Gloria  to  Dr. Zhivago .   You might be wondering why this is so.  Seasonal blues?  Maybe.  Stress at work?  Not really.  I'm unreasonably theatrical?  Yes, but the distressed state of my life does correlate to specific happenings, which are ongoing and worth complaining about. Bliss and I returned from Texas over a month ago to find that we now share the apartment with creatures.  Mice, to be specific.  Tiny, baby, disgusting mice that have the audacity to show themselves at all hours of the day.  Not having dealt much with indoor rodents (I never envied my friends who were allowed to have hamsters), I always imagined mice to be sort of like burglars in the hours they kept.  People who break and enter generally wait to get t...