Happy Birthday to ellen

I did have a nice birthday on Saturday.  I was tired from driving home from Georgia the day before so I slept late.  While I was still in bed, Greg gave me my present: a Kindle!  I've been wanting one, and I have to say, it is really, really neat.  Greg brought the laptop to me in bed, and I set up my Amazon account with my Kindle, and then connected our local library, and downloaded a couple of library books. 

 

I ended up staying in bed until noon, playing with my new Kindle.  When I finally got up, Greg and I went to Tibby's New Orleans Kitchen and had crawfish, fried green tomatoes, seafood gumbo, jambalaya, and beignets. I swear my mouth is watering right now just thinking about it. 

 

That night we cuddled up on the couch and watched all the tv shows on our DVR that we'd missed while I was in Georgia. A friend gave me an Amazon gift certificate and I downloaded Skipping Towards Gomorrah by Dan Savage, and it was all very low-key and comfortable and nice.

 

And yesterday I was back at work.  I was expecting a whole new sharper cloud of doom spitting teeth and raining blood, but according to the latest forecast it won't show up for a few days yet, so the same old fuzzy cloud of doom is settled back quietly but menacingly over my head. 

 

And I am, as predicted, 46 years old.  

I Still Don't Know What I Was Waiting For

"I still don't know what I was waiting for

And my time was running wild

A million dead end streets

Every time I thought I'd got it made

It seemed the taste was not so sweet

Then I turned myself to face me

But I never caught a glimpse

Of how the others must see the faker

I'm much too fast to take that test."

~ Changes, David Bowie

Every time I think things at work are so bad, just SO very bad, they get worse. It's darkly hilarious to me now that just a few months ago I was worried about vital programs not working, about not being adequately trained, and more recently about having a smaller desk in a noisier place.

I have always struggled with how much to write about my job. I wouldn't want to be Dooced. And really, people whining about incomprehensible corporate policies, their annoying co-workers quoting nonsense from Fox News, or the unfairness of being passed over for a raise is, typically, pretty boring, right? Blah blah blah. Who cares.

"Oh, you hate your job? There's a support group for that, it's called everybody, and they meet at the bar." ~ Drew Carey

I've spent 16 years at this company working at a job that is good enough. It's not my life's work, I've never felt that it was any kind of calling. I look at lists of numbers and put numbers into reports and spreadsheets. It's not like I'm saving people's lives or anything. It's not meaningful.

Next week I'm driving up to Georgia to visit Mom. I wonder if I ought to cancel the trip, but I can't, she's looked forward to it for so long, and I know that she would be deeply disappointed. So would I. I'll drive back on Friday, and be home with my sweetie for my birthday on Saturday.

Then back at work for whatever Monday brings.

I'll be 46 years old. Everything is changing.

David Bowie performing Changes live 1973