This past week has been the smooth 30 feet of track at the end of the rollercoaster. I still worked both of my jobs, but everyone succumbed to the zombie-like bite of the holidays. People trudged along slowly, sapped of motivation and initiative and just ready to pass out on a sofa somewhere with cookie debris tumbling from mouth to stomach. I felt it too. At UC there was some sort of departmental banquet nearly every day, and being one of the few spirits still haunting the campus, I could lurk among the bigwigs and secret away plates of roast beef, potatoes, and cake at least once a day.
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It’s cold outside. Like Alaska, or Antarctica, or maybe worse. I guess I’m like most human beings in that I only like the weather about three days a year, and on those lucky days I only notice it while I’m in the street fumbling with my car keys. Then I forget all about it. I’m sure I’ll never write, “Gee, what a great day today,” unless maybe a warm breeze blows a twenty dollar bill into my face. But in any case, I recently purchased a space heater because my room is also pretty frigid. My little $10 magic heater works well for keeping my feet toasty while I work at my desk, but I was hoping for something to bring the bugs and lizards back to life throughout the entire room.
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The Japanese restaurant that I work at has a peculiar way of handling its employees. I don’t know if this is common among Asian restaurants (I suspect that it is) or just how mine happens to operate, but in case you’ve ever wondered why you see the same people working every time you go out for Chinese, here’s why.
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I think I’m finally starting to crack and get sick. Breakfast today was coffee and Tylenol. I’m just glad I’ve been able to hold out until my last week of classes and Cincinnati Magazine. Things are still pretty heated in both arenas though. I just got an email from my editor at the magazine asking me to put in some extra work on my day off (after spending five and a half straight hours working the phones fact checking yesterday). I’ll defend unpaid internships up to a point, but 15 – 20 hours a week with just some words on glossy paper to show for it is starting to take years off the end of my life. Anyway, it’s about done and I’m sure all the people in my life right now will be glad when I stop having it to whine about. In a slightly more pleasurable writing experience, I’m working on a story for school about counterfeit shoes. As I alluded to in my last post, I think I’m starting to become a sneakerhead. I never saw it before, but there’s something magical about shoes. It’s like, shoes are where art and function intersect. You can have some totally sick (as in “good”) looking kicks that are also feel really great on your feet. Maybe I’m just crazy. Or in love…
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