I just think that many hours in a row of one thing is kind of bad for the brain. Like, Clockwork Orange bad. My dreams last night were ridiculous. So ridiculous, in fact, that I woke up during one of them and had to write it down. For you. Please don’t miss the ending, as it has a very special guest star.
Okay, so Kate, Jack and Sawyer are walking through the jungle when Jack casually mentions he wishes he could have some Chinese food. Kate smirks and says, “Follow me.”
She leads them down this windy, rainy path until she pushes through two trees and uncovers: Chinatown. They wind through the crowded streets and into a Chinese restaurant. Kate finds a table around a corner where they can eat protected from being seen. Jack, breathless from the journey, looks at Kate as sweat rolls down his forehead. “Nice work,” he pants. She smiles. Continue reading
We moved into our new offices for Season Two on Monday morning. It’s been five days now, and I still keep getting lost. So much so that Correne made the kind gesture to make this sign just for me, so I can find my essentials.
Monday and Tuesday I gave myself excuses. I figured I kept getting turned around because I was distracted, or used to the old offices. In fact, both mornings I walked to our old offices until I remembered. But I’m not the only one who walks into a hallway, only to turn a full circle and stare, wondering which direction is which.
At least five times this week I walked into the kitchen when I meant to walk into the bathroom. And speaking of the bathroom — where the towels should be is a tampon dispenser. I can’t even tell you how many times this week I went to dry my hands only to have to turn in a circle. The towels are by the stalls. The tampons are by the sink. I know I have a lousy sense of direction, but this place makes no sense.
My new office is the opposite of the old one. I’m now tucked away in a corner, so easily hidden that two days ago during lunch I overheard my coworkers discussing me until it got suddenly silent, as one must have started wildly gesturing towards my door.
So, I keep spinning in the hallway, trying to figure out which direction I meant to be headed. I’ll get it eventually, but with virtually no break between season one and season two, and yet everything changing in the meantime, it’ll take a few days to get adjusted. I really like my new office, and will just have to get used to the fact that I have to be aware when lunch is over and we’re back to work, instead of hearing everyone chatting around the table.
Like… oh, I think right now. Gotta go.
At least I know where to find the coffee.
I have a long history with being right. When I was a kid, I was right all the time. Knew the answers, knew why I knew the answers, knew what the next questions would be. Moving all the time meant I was always being given another series of placement tests, and I knew what those would be like, too.
I didn’t know everything, but I found a way to be right about what I did know.
One of the cruelest (and probably best) things about getting older is I find I’m not right as often. In fact, these days I’m usually wrong. I’ve found that my main tool for always being right — my memory — isn’t doing its job as well as it used to. I don’t think I’m getting dumber, I think I’m starting to understand how much more I just don’t know, and because there are all these things I don’t know, I can’t possibly be completely right about what I do know anymore. The bravado I needed to be sure and confident through my teens and twenties isn’t necessary right now. In fact, I seem to need to not know things in order to learn anything anymore. I have to enjoy being wrong.
Because I’m wrong a lot, I now really appreciate when I’m right. When I know I’m right, anyway. I can have a hunch I’m right, but when I’m right with facts and proof, it’s a pretty good feeling, as it doesn’t happen as often as it used to. Probably because I no longer spend much time taking math tests. Continue reading
Song: “Good Girls, Bad Guys”
I’ve been working sixty hour weeks at the show, which means my brain pretty much sounds like a DMX track these days. “What?” “WHAT?” “WOO!”
Oh, so tired. I’m writing an entry because my last one had such a dirty word in it, twice, and whenever that’s at the top of the page I know that’s the day Mom settles down to catch up on some pamie.com. I don’t want to hear her tsking from three time zones away.
But man, I am tired. This morning I woke up with a feeling like I’d smoked a pack of cigarettes. Then I realized it’s that I haven’t been this tired from comedy since I lived in Austin, which is when I was covered in cigarettes at all times. So this isn’t the feeling of smoking too much, it’s the feeling of working very hard without enough sleep. Continue reading