Yesterday at work:
Hours worked: 10
Number of Client packets assembled: I lost count around 100
People who tried to help me with this: 3
People who actually helped me: 1
Number of times that my boss took a nap in his office: 1
The number of times I needed him in that time period: 3
The number of times I nearly burst out laughing due to this: I’d say maybe 7
Number of people who hung up on me: Two
The number of fantasies I nursed about telling my boss to fuck himself : only 2, but they were detailed.
The number of people I asked (not at work) to shoot me if I still did this in Ten years: 4, and they all said no.
The number of times I misspelled my bosses name as I signed forms pretending to be him: 3
The amount that I care about this: 0
I think you can get the picture from this.
So, Knitting has been minimal here lately. I finally got up the gumption to restart my Diamond Aran a few nights ago, but it’s only two inches long. You know how when you make a mistake in your knitting, it usually goes twice as fast the second time? That’s what I thought (read: hoped) would happen on this. It hasn’t though. (Though I took a pretty long break from it in its early stages, so I guess it’s moving faster.) I used to be utterly besotted with the orderly diamonds of this pattern, but now they sort of piss me off in their monotony. (I have often counted, and there are indeed four of them.)
I would put a picture up of them, but what is the point, you all know what it looks like.
In other news, I have seen fit, lord knows why, to start another book. (Not like I hand write a page a week in a notebook when I get a minute, the 1,000 word a day nonsense.) I don’t know what possessed me to start up another one of these things, and I am starting to wonder when this whole being a writer madness will stop. Maybe it’s my masochism flaring up again. Maybe it has to do with the absolutely uncreative mind-numbing, brain-killing, meaningless, deadening job that I do all day, and how I need an escape from it. That’s probably it, that and the masochism.
The funny part is, it’s working. I think less and less about work, and more and more of the book. I’m really poor when it comes to not obsessing about things, you probably know this, so instead of obsessing about a third-rate tax preparation company, I find myself dwelling more and more in the realm that I created, culling things out of my life about it, moments, feelings and things that I’ll use to build a book around.
So, that’s good I suppose, though it really cuts into the knitting time. (I’m getting better about being able to belch out my daily work count in a short amount of time. An hour is my best time yet. Oddly enough, the later in the day I write, the fast I do it.)