interactive

[threeplusfire]

It doesn't even feel as if I had a weekend now. I'm back in the same pool of doom. It's frustrating to no end not to have enough work to fill my hours with, not to mention the quiet climate of fear that is slowly growing thanks to not so smart comments by management. It reminds me of my PcO days, and I hate it.

So I do my work slowly, excruciatingly slow and think about grad school instead. Download the multitude of forms needed for name changes and try to figure out exactly how many forms of ID I need to show. I truly don't want to go to the Social Security office, but neither do I want to mail them my passport, birth certificate and drivers license. Oddly enough, the passport is the easiest thing to fix and doesn't cost me anything. This is such a pain. I want to do it though.

My livejournal shirt came in the mail today. It is cool. I am also working on a humorous short story about my D&D character Meier.

In the interest of taking advantage of this oh-so-interactive medium, and to help alleviate my incredible boredom, I call upon those people reading right now. Comment, and ask me a question, request I write about something in paticular, etc. Like the interview meme but with less regulation. What do you really want to hear from me today? I'm usually very selfish with my journal and what I write about, so this is your opportunity. Request away.

Comments

[tsarina.livejournal.com]

I was born in the Potter County hospital in Amarillo, a featureless white building sticking up in the plain. Potter County has the highest mortality rate in the state, which really just comes down to being poor. My parents lived in a little house with a dusty yard on the wrong side of the railroad tracks, the part of town reserved for "people of color" and other poor folk a few decades ago. My father told me once there were weekly shootings and blue-red police lights almost every weekend. He saved scraps of sod and grass from his job to make a real yard.

We didn't move very far the first time, just across the hard flat panhandle to Lubbock. Our windows were up against the ceiling, because of the tornados and dust storms. My dad was lost in a dust storm once, and the world turned brown and gritty for an afternoon. We had tulips in a patch near the front of the house, and evergreen trees planted in a row down the driveway like a castle wall. They were perhaps as tall as five year old girl.

The house in Lubbock is where my earliest memories come from, looking up at a black silent dog. The dogs kept watch over me, a wayward pup without fur. The yard felt enormous, running from one end to the other, climbing up on the fence in the back where the honeysuckles vines grew. I spent hours in the sand box in the early evening gloom, afternoons of bright sunlight watering the vegetable garden and creating rivers between the corn and the zuchinni plants in my bathing suit. I remember snow once, white and grey and cold, and trying to tunnel through it. A crab apple tree grew next door, with hard fruit just big enough to fit in my fist. Outside my high bedroom windows, I could just see the feathery leaves of a mimosa tree, not far from the airconditioner unit.

I remember it being very flat, very still. No water running over the ground, and the trees were not so big as the ones I would see later. Mostly I remember it always seemed to be sunny, except for the tornado days. Brilliant, shining sunlight and green grass surrounded by a tall wooden fence, and a sky so far overhead.

[evilgeniuskatie.livejournal.com]

Thanks. ~KMK