Life in the Slow Lane

Sometimes data entry is the bane of my existence. There is nothing exciting about copying names and addresses into a massive data base that may or may not decide to befriend you on any particular day. And the only thing that keeps me typing and tabbing and typing some more is the knowledge that I will need some of this information later. But there are other days when data entry is what keeps me upright at my desk, rather than crawling under it or hiding in the corner of the darkened bathroom and hoping no one realizes just how comforting the tiled darkness is (Really, if the toilets had lids, the bathroom would be quite the perfect place to escape to). But data entry is black and white, short and shorter... everything is made to fit into a box. All day long I can stuff letters and numbers in boxes... and they like it! Tomorrow I may grumble again at the necessary work of data entry, but today I find comfort in straight lines and black and white.

I don't get care to season my life with much news. I sometimes will catch 30 seconds on TV as I walk from my room to the kitchen for breakfast and maybe another four headlines when I sign on to check my email. But some time ago I stopped trying to read through my bloglines subscription to BBC news, and I kind of like it this way. I suspect, however, that something may be going on in the world. Especially since nearly all of the blogs I read are making political comments. I was worried I might have to form some sort of coherent opinion in time for the primaries, or even before then, since I vote by absentee ballot. But sadly, the issue which seemed most likely to push me to do research was the annoying bumper-sticker-covered car who chose to take my parking space out of all of the always-empty spots on the street. But I opened my absentee ballot, and I guess I am off the hook for another several months. You see, I have a problem with indecisiveness, and back when I registered

Periodically, when I need a paperclip, I reach into my handy box of paperclips and pull out one, only to find an entire chain of clips trailing behind. I find this surprisingly irritating as it automatically impedes the normal rhythm of my day, as I must carefully unhook clip after clip. I couldn't understand who had the time or the necessary boredom to link the clips together and then the rudeness to leave them in the supply area where I occasionally went to grab another handful of clips. I am too embarrassed to confess how long it was before I realized that it was I who linked those clips together. Something about a phone call where I am concentrating on what a person is saying, yet not needing to take copious notes, brings out the paperclip-chaining in me. I guess now I have only to figure out what activity I must do to bring out the paperclip- un chaining in me.

On my last birthday I received an address book, beautifully bound and tempting to anyone fond of books and paper. I am one of those perplexing creatures who wander through book stores to stroke books I will never buy and no aisle in discount department stores tempts me more than the stationery aisle, but this address book haunts me. If I knew that any of the friends who joined together to purchase this book read my blog, I would not admit this, but many times I have considered returning the gift... or worse, re-gifting it. Day after day I have eyed it on my night stand, like an untrusted acquaintance , waiting to make a tenuous peace. In my mind there are two types of books: those which are full of words and are not to be written in, and those which are empty and are to be filled with words. But this address book confuses me. It is not empty, as it suggests 32 address entries for every letter of the alphabet, but it is meant to be filled with the flowing script only possible with per

One of the reasons I chose to go back to school now is that people continually told me "It only gets harder, the longer you wait." I had no idea they were referring to memorizing a new student ID number.

I think the next generation of packing boxes should come with a rewind button. "Simply hit 'Rewind' and all of the contents of the box will hurry from the shelves and drawers where you placed them and back to their cardboard home! Guaranteed to make packing a snap... or rather a push of the button!"

When I first turned into the residential neighborhood of smaller, older homes, I began to wonder if maybe I would be spending the week in a room wall to wall with beds. And then I turned up a street that said "No Outlet" and slowly drove up the block, checking the house numbers: 438 and I was looking for 700. In a block with a dead end. But what a dead end! Two stone pillars on either side of a gate with a path stretching up and up and up, through gardens and wonders and... peace. And up two flights of stairs and down a long, long hallway to my room, where I throw open the curtains and find that I am perched just perfectly balanced between the world I left behind me and what lies before me: the world of misty covered mountains and open meadows. I half suspect that if I could manage to open the window without damaging the screen I could find myself in that other world Where lungs fill with an air more pure than any other Where feet walk more surely on craggy peaks Where eyes

I'm sitting in a conference room by myself, pondering my stay here tucked against the mountains, and the semi-silence, self-imposed and otherwise... and one of my professors walks in, picks up an abandoned banana and holds it up to his ear. "Hello? Hello?" And looking confused, he walks back out, still holding the banana. I wonder what sorts of things I will be learning from him.

Last night, as I was falling asleep I thought to myself “Oh! I need to change the month and year on my date stamp.” And this morning I was so proud of myself when I pulled out the stamp and remembered the mental note I made for myself. That is, until I noticed my stamp still read 2006.

A new back pack. A pile of new books. Even a new computer. All dressed up, with that happy-anticipation of a fresh new year... I may just have to take a picture of myself to commemorate.

Recently my desk has been under the weather. Or maybe not under the weather, but I think it has been under everything else. I've got more piles on one end of my desk than ... I forgot what comparison I was going to make. Which brings me to the point: I can be sitting at my desk sorting a stack in my lap into four temporary stacks on top of five less temporary stacks and forget which stacks are which. It has gotten so bad that others are even commenting about the situation: "Wow, you have so many piles on your desk... I guess those are our piles, aren't they? I can't wait until I am trained so that I can take care of some of those piles." or "Look at all your piles! What is this funny one here, tucked behind your computer?" It used to be my rule that I could not go home for the day until all piles were resolved or neatly tucked into a file. Now my rule is I can't go home unless the piles on my desk will be discernible to me as separate in the morn

In the long standing tradition of yester years , I will now bless my faithful readers with New Year's Resolutions: 1. Celebrate National Jigsaw Puzzle Day (January 29) by getting puzzled about something. 2. Play the "left-right" game by taking the following turns from your house and telling me where you end up: Left, left, left, left, right, right, right, right. 3. Don't stub your toe for at least four days straight. 4. Challenge someone to a game of marbles.