Late

Depending on the moon or some such...I've noticed I seem to go through phases...dramatic phases....food taste, sleep habits, fashion, little things like...oh...partners...apartments...cities. And I used to go through phases that made me feel like I had to catch up with the rest of the world after having raced past everyone for long stretches. Racing towards what, I'm still not clear. The Hare pulling desperately at the ropes I tied around the necks of those behind me. Then I would stop, or collapse, and suddenly age 125 years and grow a thick, poly-sided shell to hide under all while still trying to keep up the old pace.

This morning something happened to the trains. They weren't redecorated unfortunately, they just stopped running. I get my news from overhearing conversations or whatever Greg tells me so I'm not sure why the trains weren't running. The storm last night...trash on the tracks...alien invasion. I get out of the stop before mine so I can call my temp agency...try to remember the number of the HR gal who signs my timesheets and I realize the streets are packed and everyone is doing the same thing I am. Some decide to treat themselves to Starbucks...good for them I say!

"Wait a second...this isn't me running late...this isn't the start of one of my turtle phases...I don't have to prep myself for how I'm going to catch up to everyone else..."

I show up at the gig. I don't know what I expect. A group of suits lined up with their arms crossed, big cartoon heads with scrunchy eyebrows and steam coming out of their ears. Someone in the elevator...perky Asian girl, sassy hair cut, tennis shoes tied to her bag...Starbucks, "what a mess it is out there!" The elevator opens to a silent floor. I race past reception. In case she cares, make a small joke about tardiness. She barely lifts her eyes. Run to the desk - stop for coffee of course - pass my friend's office and pause blankly, "It is 9:30a." He laughs.

I sit down and race to do the morning thing...turn on Mr. Man's office lights (so his colleagues think he's in...seriously...). Call my HR person again. Quiet. I look around. I'm the only gal Friday here. My phone rings. HR woman thanks me for coming in. She might not make it. The phones start ringing, another Mr. Man needs me to set up a meeting. I'm doing stuff. And I'm the only 'secretary' here.

This city is such a delicate balance. One thing goes wrong and the ripple effect is massive. The day the lights went out, hell, the day the planes hit, everyone was still trying to get to work. Everyone thought it was a little glitch in the system. (Mr. Man, who's lights I turn on, just came in...bags under his eyes as usual...he sneezed...I blessed him...nothing...) Sometimes we are so busy trying to GET somewhere we don't see what is happening in front of our faces right now.

The other Mr. Man's assistant calls, "OH MY GOD...things are a mess...did his meeting arrive? I'll be there soon but I have to clean the mud off my legs...can you get Ms. Woman a car? Never mind, I'll do that when I come in..."

Folks trickle in now complaining about the commute. Different! Fun! I've settled in to my morning of witty bloggy banter.

Balance. Presense. Now-ness. (?)

I'm going to buy a bike. With a basket. And put cute things in it.

While I'm in a typity mood...

I thought I would share with the world that Greg recently took me to Amsterdam where I met amazingly talented, gracious and generous people... and where I rediscovered hope in the world. And I'm not talking about drugs...I'm talking about bicycles...with baskets attached with little dogs and babies and flowers inside...for reals. See my face in the happy pic.

Blogging

I never ever thought I would do this. I also never thought I would be one of those women who treat their little dogs like a baby. But alas, I am writing to the virtual world of all to see and I am going to stop letting my dog sleep in the bed with me. Damn it. Is it ok if the blog thingy is rambly and ranty? What about spelling? I can't spell. Will there be a button to click on to do that for me?

I'm here at 'work'. I'm temping. I've been hired to sit in front of some offices to answer the phone IF it rings and IF they decide they want to schedule something and don't feel like doing either of those things themselves. Which they usually do, 'cause they are bored too. I wonder what they do.

These are strange times. All of the "secretaries" sit in front of the "professionals'" offices and I can't help but think (like many things we do societally) this is some sort of left over tradition from the days of Roman kings (ooo...wait...I was just asked to copy something......I might have to take a nap after this...I'll be back...I say this like we are in real-time here...)...anyhoo....I was needed. Carrie Fishers tied to temples...some of us shouldn't wear the outfit though...

Is it weird that I kind of like this? I'm being paid to sit here and discover blogging. And they don't seem to have any other expectations for me. Like sneaking candy in church. It is very quiet. Strange times. I've been here for two days now, and nobody has asked me my name.

I think I'm going to commence a group hug at three. I'll send an email.

Test

I'm a testing this yes I am. I'm singing this song as I type across the land. Hand. Spam. Testing....