I really respect people who manage to blog, and to blog well, every day. I am not really one of them, I don't think, so it's really neat to read writing from the good ones.
So Laura, with her periodic blogging, has now been saddled with not just her own blog--which I love and would not want to change--but with another as well, a blog that is actually "work" that I must keep up Or Else.
As I try to keep that blog going, keep it exciting, and fill it with at least one post a week, I find myself subtracting from the amount of time I spend focused on coming up with really good ideas for this one. I want to make this blog a fun, interesting read, and I am left torn between telling myself it is okay and that I can go back and forth without losing blog quality, or just pouring all my energy into one blog or the other and dealing with the withdrawal from the one that would suffer.
I don't want to make either one suck. I want them both good. But I just don't have the kind of brain that will let me pull that off. It is depressing.
Please bear with me.
Meanwhile, I am awake each day at six in the morning with startling regularity, something that leads me to believe that my days of sleeping in and staying in pajamas as I knit all day are, perhaps, at an end...those were some good weekends. I don't want them to be over for life. I need to find a way to balance my extreme laziness with my work ethic. This might be impossible.
I may just end up being responsible. Think of how my knitting will suffer? When I can't be a Nancy Bush/Stephanie Pearl McPhee junkie because I have work and friends that may want to see me some time this year and I should play with my dog because I don't want her heart to break, and by the way, there is a Star Trek movie that I will die if I can't see on opening weekend.
Gasp!
Meanwhile I am always hungry.
Did I mention that?
I get hungry five minutes after I eat, and we can't snack at the desk unless we want told off, and I am hungry, very hungry, most of the time.
I am hungry at nine thirty almost every morning, because I ate at six and that is all the time it takes. I let my stomach growl for a few hours, then eat at noon or one, depending on who I'm working with, then eat and am hungry in a couple hours.
And did I mention no pop machine in the building?
This means if I want to drink water that hasn't been chlorinated, I have to bring it in, and I work in a library where spillage is considered a problem.
And I am a klutz. I fall all the time, sometimes with things in my hand. I also spill coffees almost on my laptop, and I value that thing big time, so my spillage almost damaging that might be evidence that I could potentially spill something else on something I value less--this time for real. I could short out a computer or maybe ruin book or books, causing me to have a crisis of faith because all books are holy, except the really boring ones.
And those still need to be kept pristine, because they are books.
Meanwhile, I am ordering books for our YA department, but we aren't supposed to order hardcovers for there. But all the books I want are coming out in hardcover, and I am not used to waiting. I am used to buying books when I want them, and I am having a hard time reading all the descriptions and reviews and not going to the stores and buying the books in hardcover for myself as I wait for them to come out in hardcover to buy for the library.
I love books.
But my shelf is full and I shouldn't impulse-buy books when I am reading one for Jen right now so we can talk about it. And she knows good books, so it is bound to be as awesome as I think it will be. So buying myself a random teenage book, like Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, just because I want to see how bad it is, get angry, and blog about it, is inadvisable.
Deep breath.
Then there is the fact I have health insurance.
This, to most people, would be a good thing and it is for me too, but then there is the whole issue of my being used to not having the ability to go out and visit a medical professional, and my being able to now is making me want to for various reasons (contacts, anyone?) and so I now have to find a window in my schedule to visit my eye doctor or maybe a dermatologist because I am sick of my skin and want it fixed for good.
And I have to force myself to stop worrying about being struck with an illness, because that won't be a problem anymore and I'm not ready to relax about that yet.
In short, this new job is teaching me how neurotic I really am. How I can sit all day long cutting out butterflies that I traced from a children's book and blew up on the copy machine. Then I take tissue and place it between two butterflies of the same color with pipe cleaners as antennae, ending up with a beautiful stained-glass-esque butterfly. Or all the time I spent gluing pieces of tissue to a Styrofoam ball in order to create the head of my caterpillar or all the balloons I took the tops of to cover other, smaller, balls in order to create a colorful caterpillar body. Or the time I spent manually operating the hot glue gun to assemble said caterpillar and attach hooks by which to hang it from the ceiling to make this place look like spring.
This whole experience taught my that my mother's craftiness (not the evil kind, the creative kind) has left me brainwashed and eager to make beautiful or cute-sy things in large numbers.
And I am still picking Elmer's glue from my skin, in places it shouldn't have ended up (seriously, my elbow?) and this has been days and I have bathed several times.
Someone tell me I'm not going to lose it, here.
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