Journal Entries
Irritability = Vacation
Posted Aug 1, 2000
I have been irritable lately.
And, although I don't normally think twice about feeling like this, it seems this irritability has decided not to budge... no matter how many times I smack it around and tell it to get lost.
To make matters more complex, I tend to find myself trying to pinpoint the cause of this short-temperedness (is that even a word?) but I can't even stub my toe on something concrete. Therefore, my quest for an answer has strengthened this annoying state-of-mind.
I'm 23... Can there be such a thing as a quarter-life crisis?
It's the old cliche: "I'm trying to find myself." How pathetic and unoriginal does that sound? I think I just need something new to take place...
What I really need is time away from this daily routine of mine and do something adventurous. Forget those common vacations of laying on the beach all day and eating until I want to throw up. I want to go somewhere that will give me the opportunity to really learn and expand my common way of thinking... to help others if my skills allow me. That would be my ideal vacation.
Anyone have any suggestions?
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Latest reply: Aug 1, 2000
I'm getting paid though... right?
Posted Jul 26, 2000
I'm trying to decide if this week at work is an exception to the usual mundaneness that I find myself enduring on a daily basis.
The two co-workers that I converse with on a regular basis are on vacation this week (I'm trying not to hold a grudge). My boss is even gone... which is fine because I'm normally trying to avoid him at all costs anyway. Side note: The other day, I was quickly walking back to my desk after noticing that, if I didn't hurry, I would have to encounter this monotoned, no point to anything that rolls out of his mouth, coffeeholic. Not fast enough... had to hear all about his golf game the day before. Does one really think that another wants to hear about each and every individual hole. If you ask me, Ron, sounds like you need to work on your chipping.
So, anyway, the stillness of my work area is almost maddening... and it's only Wednesday... morning. *sigh* I find myself playing the "how long can I go without looking at the time in the bottom, right-hand corner of my screen" game.
I've tried to liven the situation by stealing my vacationing co-worker's radio. But, even as a country fan, I can only take so much of Lonestar.
I think I need a vacation... or a new job.
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Latest reply: Jul 26, 2000
No More Room... I Mean It!
Posted Jul 26, 2000
Why is it when I'm finished eating my supper, I always feel like I must eat dessert? For instance, tonight I had a nice taco salad. It was great and, when I was finished, I was very full. However, I had also gone to the grocery store today which meant I had bought a half gallon of frozen yogurt.
As you may have already guessed, once the salad plate was rinsed off and placed in the dishwasher, my mind drifted (okay... flew) right to that small cardboard box in the freezer. Within minutes, I had a bowl out and ready to go. When it comes to this dessert, I can't help but have a true ritual in my preparation. First I squeeze some chocolate syrup in the bottom of the bowl, next I squeeze some caramel. Then I place it in the microwave for 30 seconds. This makes it all bubble up... yum! Then I put some frozen yogurt on top of this, followed by a small amount of whip cream, and then I sprinkle some granola on top of all that.
How did I feel after eating (okay... licking) every last drop of it from my bowl? Uhhh... 
Was this obvious addiction worth how I felt when all was said and done? Uhhh... 
Probably not... but it will probably be repeated tomorrow night.
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Latest reply: Jul 26, 2000
Intellectually Speaking
Posted Jun 29, 2000
A couple weeks ago, I had to fly out to Oregon to attend a marketing conference. During a layover in Chicago, I decided to buy a magazine to pass the time. So, I stroll into the airport bookstore and head to the back. I walk back and forth a few times, scanning the limited but diverse selection. "Glamour?" Nah... too beauty-oriented. "People?" Nope... I'm tired of realizing I will never look like a star. "Time?"... ugh, too political (gives me indigestion). "Scientific American?" Well, I think we have a winner folks.
I have always loved science. My number one goal as I finished college was to become a scientific writer. But, as you may know, I now work in a credit union... OH! THE HORROR!! My favorite all-time class was genetics/molecular genetics. This issue just happened to have a double helix sprawled across the cover. How could I pass it up?
The time comes for me to board the plane. I sit down in my aisle seat and patiently wait... hoping no one will sit between the man by the window and myself. All the while, I'm engrossed in an article about the advancements for Alzheimers patients. Then suddenly, from nowhere, a man lifts his bag over my head to the luggage bin and explains that his seat is 15B. Fine.
For the next three and a half hours, the two men and I discussed topics ranging from snow skiing to cars (mostly male-oriented). But, proudly, not once did I lack any personal input. Surprisingly, I was offering facts right and left. How was I doing it? I usually never have the nerve to volunteer information if it offers the slight possibility of being wrong. At one point during our flight, a silence fell among the three of us... so I reached for my magazine out of the seat pocket in front of me. I was now half-way through reading it. One of the men politely asked, "What on earth made you want to read 'Scientific American'?" So I explained myself. It was at that point that I came to a silent revelation. This science-loaded grouping of pages just exercised my dormant brain. The reading I had been doing had me concentrate on what I was taking in; many sentences had to be read over a couple times before I could understand what it was explaining. I was finally thinking in clear patterns... oh, it felt good.
I ended up casually placing the magazine back into the seat pocket and the three of us resumed our "manly" conversations. I felt good; I felt proud. The plane lands, we say our good-byes, and I make my way to the baggage claim and then on out to grab a taxi. On my way to the hotel that evening, I wonder to myself what I will do after dinner. Perhaps I will continue reading my "brain dumbell." Suddenly a wave of panic washes over me... my magazine still remained in the seat pocket of seat 15C.
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Latest reply: Jun 29, 2000
Monsuana Aubiana
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