The Way Things Are






Past the point of caring
2004-07-15, 1:49 p.m.

Tired of, just of

Of having my work emotions stretched to the breaking point over and over and over again, and having my ability to give a shit suddenly break. I think I talked about this yesterday, although I'm not sure. I feel like I lost a little bit of my soul. You should see my office - paper piling up, and I don't care. Deadlines, commitments, past due bills. What's going to happen? Nothing that I won't live through. I don't care.

I do feel like I got a little bit of my soul back this morning. The tiniest wiry little man came very hesitantly into my office off the street. He held a little packet of papers in his hand, and asked if this was the office for the apartments. I said no, but what apartments was he looking for, and he showed me his papers with the Aurora scrawled across the top. So I offered to walk him over there. I needed to take the rent to them, anyway.

We chatted a bit as we walked down the street, and I assured him that the manager was a very nice lady and would take care of him and get him all fixed up. He was appreciative, shook my hand as I dropped him off at Rosemary's office, gave her the rent check which she seemed surprised to get (I don't think she knew it was missing), and I walked back to my office.

I did a random act of kindness for the representative of the demograhic I love most: polite little old men. A country sort - a Mexican cowboy sort. In his pressed jeans, boots, long sleeved workshirt and straw hat, I can see who he is, a little bit. It's almost like extending myself a little bit toward Friday, my grandfather who passed away on Christmas Eve 2000 after fighting Alzheimers for several years. This little man was the kind that Friday would have broken out his laborer Spanish on, and it would have been a tight relationship. Friday would have found him some work to do, I'm sure. Helping him survey, whatever.

Hopefully by tending to some housecleaning issues around here (paper! so much paper!) and being nice to someone, I can get a little bit of my soul and caring back and make some headway here.

What could possibly make me feel better about my job than to file all the crap that needs filing, send all the crap that needs sending, delegating all the crap that needs delegating, and paying the crap that needs paying? Getting the shit off the floor (not literally shit - it's paper, fucking paper) and finding the top of my desk again will go a long way toward sanity. I know I sound more than a little bit unhinged by the paper, but I hate paper only second to the ringing telephone. Piles of paper arrive that I have to handle, process, copy, send and file. I am the queen of identifying and disposing of junk mail.

I 'spose that if I'm to make some headway and make myself a little bit happy today, I should get at it.

Just in closing the South Beach diet is still working, and I walked 3 miles in 40 minutes this morning. That is significant for two reasons: one, that's better than a 4 mph clip, and two, that's the same time it takes me to jog/walk. I walk as fast as I jog/walk.

Happy Thursday!

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