Taking a thirty minute break forty minutes past midnight makes me smile. There is something intrinsically splendid about the fact that once I clock in again, I’ve only fifty minutes till closing time. One last call for alcohol, so finish your whiskey or beer…
I’ve started to settle into the dusty life that is the school, work, breathe, love hullabaloo. Mondays are so full they feel crushing. Tuesday is for work. Wednesday for thinking. Thursday, for color and the bending of light. Friday funk day with the “fill in the blank” English teacher. I cannot change her. In fact, reading over the various comments from my last post here reminded me just how much I need to change in order to deal with her. This is a common thing in school apparently, from writing papers that echo our teacher’s lectures to studying the mindless details that amount to nothing other than easily graded tests, and probably not the last time I encounter such a teacher. She has her students grade the tests while we are sitting in class. I write, “CB (corrected by) Jennie Ketcham.” Usually in purple ink. She likes when the color we grade with is different than the color they’ve written the incorrect answers with. Kind of a shameful practice to take part in, this voyeuristic journey into the success and failures of my classmates. F’s ran rampant in this last quiz about Hedda. Now that I’ve figured out how to study for her insane little exam, I got an A. 95%. Not an A+, but we are working our way there. I realized the secret to taking the test is to ask her what she means. If question one is fuzzy, then I ask for clarity. I’ve never been good at asking for help and I suppose this shouldn’t be any different. Ahh help.
Mr. Man and I have been experiencing some issues at home… not with our relationship, but with the actual physical home. There were a good six days we went without power in the kitchen. Two solid weeks of flickering lights and messages to our landlord that were never returned. Finally, Mr. Man demanded a professional electrician to come check out the grounds, and they hired this man named Rudy, who showed up two hours late and then proceeded to verbally abuse Mr. Man on the phone. Mr. waited and waited, and when Rudy was a no show after an hour and a half, Mr. went to work like the rest of the world. Finally we hired our own electrician. Turns out the wiring that has been split from the front home to ours is not up to code– it is encased in this tubing that is not waterproof, and there are tons of exposed wires on the roof. We demanded these problems be fixed. We also demanded our own mailbox. And hired a mold inspector. Mr. Man’s sickness, coupled with my own bout of bronchitis that is still lingering, raised our suspicion about toxic mold so we hired a mold inspector. We have dry walls, which is excellent news, but the electrical problems and lack of a mailbox remain. For the time being. We will give them 30 days. Like good tenants.
Standing up for my needs has been another difficult thing for me. I always like to think, “I’m fine,” in fact I say it quite a bit, even when I’m not. So tonight, I stood up for my needs at work and asked to be promoted to a serving position. I sold two bottles tonight from my hostess stand. Both bottles were over $250.00 and I told my boss I am a saleswoman, I can sell the shit out of some delicious food and saucy booze, and with the holidays coming up I would love to be on the serving staff. He seemed into it. I even told him, in a moment of absolute “I’m fine” weakness, that I wouldn’t need to always be a server, I could do the hostess thing too. He laughed and said if the owner gives me the green to serve, they wouldn’t be demoting me to mere hostess again. Which made me laugh. This is what my hurdles have become. Totally normal, standard, every day hurdles. So I wait. And see. More will be revealed.
And lastly, the proposal is officially out of my hands and into the capable hands of my sweet sweet literary agent. She goes on her marriage/honeymoon trip for the next month, and soon as she’s back its off to publishers and hustle hustle hustle. She worried that I would be pissed we weren’t sending it out before her special, once-in-a-lifetime-hopefully, love-fest trip, and I told her I have enough on my plate right now to keep me busy. A very full plate. With some tasty kogi tacos and kimchee french fries on the side. I think October will be a tasty month. Which is good. Because I am hungry. And ready to eat.