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Dec. 5th, 2018 04:13 pmI wish I could feel mentally good and physically good on the same day, for once. At least I’m sleeping better again; I was right, I started sleeping when Lily came home from the hospital. And I’m very happy she’s not so skinny any more. I have a reasonable expectation of finding a live cat when I get home; having her poorly medicated was bad enough, and then unmedicated was worse.
I really want to go to the Dunster House Messiah sing, but it starts at 8:00 and I’d be hauling my carcass home from Cambridge entirely too late, again. What I really want to do is leave work at 4:30, get on the M2, go to Harvard Square and buy a lot of chocolates from Burdick’s, go to Santouka Ramen, and THEN go to the Messiah sing. I never get to do fun stuff like that on an actual chorus night.
I also want quiet; I’m tired of hearing other people’s phone conversations even when I’m not listening to them.
Mostly I just want to stop being my boss for a while (she's out this week, and last week, and I'm her spare brain). And I need to have the conversation about responsibility and authority. I’m getting to the point where my responsibilities are outrunning my authority, and that makes me unhappy.
OK, now at least I’ve got quiet. And I can stop being my boss, at least for today, having talked to three DPH candidates about the MMSc in Dental Ed (wish I could have done it with all three together, but DPH isn’t that organized). I want a nap, but I’m not going to get one. What I am going to get is out of here at 4:30 in lieu of lunch, though. Because everybody else around here has semi-flexible schedules, so why can’t I for once?
I’d really like to take Fridays off from January through March. I’d REALLY like to take Fridays off until I run out of vacation days, but that would be late July, and going back to five-day weeks after seven months would suck.
I don’t need three or four SnorgTees, but I’m in the sort of mood that appreciates silly shirts and I’m considering inflicting them on the parental units. I can’t decide whether Dad needs “This is not a drill”, or “Schroedinger’s dog” or “Peter Cotton Ale”, and I don’t know what Mom needs. If I were buying silly shirts for myself, I’d get the astronaut sneeze or “I found this humerus”, or both. But I don’t really need silly shirts. What I need is work-appropriate sweaters.
Oh well. Never mind. I’m sure someday four accreditations from now, when I’m retired at 70 or so, I can wear all the silly shirts I want.
I really want to go to the Dunster House Messiah sing, but it starts at 8:00 and I’d be hauling my carcass home from Cambridge entirely too late, again. What I really want to do is leave work at 4:30, get on the M2, go to Harvard Square and buy a lot of chocolates from Burdick’s, go to Santouka Ramen, and THEN go to the Messiah sing. I never get to do fun stuff like that on an actual chorus night.
I also want quiet; I’m tired of hearing other people’s phone conversations even when I’m not listening to them.
Mostly I just want to stop being my boss for a while (she's out this week, and last week, and I'm her spare brain). And I need to have the conversation about responsibility and authority. I’m getting to the point where my responsibilities are outrunning my authority, and that makes me unhappy.
OK, now at least I’ve got quiet. And I can stop being my boss, at least for today, having talked to three DPH candidates about the MMSc in Dental Ed (wish I could have done it with all three together, but DPH isn’t that organized). I want a nap, but I’m not going to get one. What I am going to get is out of here at 4:30 in lieu of lunch, though. Because everybody else around here has semi-flexible schedules, so why can’t I for once?
I’d really like to take Fridays off from January through March. I’d REALLY like to take Fridays off until I run out of vacation days, but that would be late July, and going back to five-day weeks after seven months would suck.
I don’t need three or four SnorgTees, but I’m in the sort of mood that appreciates silly shirts and I’m considering inflicting them on the parental units. I can’t decide whether Dad needs “This is not a drill”, or “Schroedinger’s dog” or “Peter Cotton Ale”, and I don’t know what Mom needs. If I were buying silly shirts for myself, I’d get the astronaut sneeze or “I found this humerus”, or both. But I don’t really need silly shirts. What I need is work-appropriate sweaters.
Oh well. Never mind. I’m sure someday four accreditations from now, when I’m retired at 70 or so, I can wear all the silly shirts I want.
