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2002-05-09 I'm having a hard time caring right now. The other day I was struggling very hard to write something for work, and it was just not coming out. I was trying to say something intelligent but every time it's the same. I start out writing, "Our mission is to leverage our existing infrastructure of legacy content within the framework of..." and all I read back is "I don't care I don't care I don't care I don't care..." Public radio is having its pledge drive. I should really give them money. But I just can't really be bothered to deal with the damn thank-you gifts. Fucking thank-you gifts are keeping me from giving them my money. They'll want me to pick something, and I don't want anything. Well, that's not true. What I wanted as a thank you gift—what I wanted to give to the Boyfriend, anyway—they don't have available on their Web site any more. That means if I want it I have to call and try to strike a deal, and speak to a human. It should be a well-established fact that I don't like speaking to humans on the phone under most any circumstance. At least I'm not alone in this. I think the Boyfriend has a touch of it too. I've certainly seen my share of Web friends with postings like "Sorry I haven't posted lately" or "Down for maintenance" or "Yeah, Whatever, Like I Care You Loser." Ok, maybe that last one was just in my email. (No, I'm kidding, of course. I've just been getting disturbing porn spam for email: "Unconscious Girls Never Say No!" Shudder. If I was in the mood to care, I'm sure that would either anger or depress me, or possibly both. Glad I was unmoved by it when it came to me at work and at home. Yup. Doing my best not to care. Uh-huh. [Long silence.]) I ought to go see a doctor (No, nothing in particular; just a checkup) but I haven't had the motivation to even bother sending email to the people in Human Resources to find out why I don't have a new HMO membership card yet. Open enrollment was in November of last year. I couldn't be bothered to find out what happened. So my teeth are falling out. So my eyes are scratchy with allergies. So my wrist still hurts. So? I just don't care. The Roommate comes home and tells me about various things he's doing with the Sisters. I'm glad he's finding fulfillment in these philanthropic activities, but I still can't keep my eyes from glazing over. Anything that's not directly related to feeding, sleeping or orgasm gets the same passive "eh." ("But I can express more emotions than laughter, anger, and 'Let's fuck.'") I'm sure I've been delightful as hell on the phone. Oh, were you talking? Was I supposed to respond here? I was too busy concentrating on my game of Bejeweled to notice. And, as is painfully clear, not caring does not make for nice copy, either. Truth be told, while I've been slowly writing all of the above, I have since checked with my insurance company and changed doctors, donated money to the pledge drive (and asked for the mug I wanted,) been complimented on not just the writing project, but also on another eloquent email response that I had sent earlier in the day. And while I may be a little icy, I can be melted. The Boyfriend and I went to our friends' Kentucky Derby party last weekend. That was fun. The horse I picked didn't win, of course, but that's what happens when you pick a horse based on the color of the jockey's silks. (The odds on the horse were 95 to 1 or something like that, but he was the only one wearing black. How could I not pick him?) I saw some old friends. We had some good food. And we had a good excuse to drink bourbon at one in the afternoon. I can care about that, Like I cared about dinner and a movie. Or lying on the bed listening to the radio together. That's pretty good stuff. This work crap has got to go, though. Oh, and hey, look at that: my plastic, printed nameplate has finally arrived for my office. I guess I'm a real employee here after all; I was starting to wonder if I needed to update my resume, since I've had my name on a piece of paper taped on the placard there since we moved to this office in October. So I guess somebody cares, anyway.
2003-03-29 - Moving Notice |
