There’s a lot of love and hate going on. I am a fish of extremes. There’s really no middle.
Let’s start with the hate. I hate mass shootings. I’m so tired of the media reporting conclusions instead of fact, politicians using tragedy as political leverage to push their agendas, and people dying in the name of religion, bigotry, hatred and whatever other man-made folly people purport to be a reason to kill. I’m tired of hate. I’m tired of death; I’ve been swimming in it for over a year.
Human beliefs, whatever they are, are not more important than life. No one has the right to kill someone ever, not even over something as cosmologically inconsequential as belief. We’re all the same species. To the friends, family, and the entire LGBTQ community, I’m so sorry for your loss. Don’t let it beat you.
In lighter news, I hate this weather. It is currently 90° (32.2C) outside and it’s only 11am. The temperature keeps steadily rising, so that by Monday, it’s forecast to be 109 (42.9C).
It could be worse; I could live in Arizona, which is currently experiencing the same heat wave as California, but add another 10 degrees. How does anyone live in Arizona? 120 degrees is absolutely uninhabitable. In any event, here in comparatively cool California, I feel like I’m being slow cooked.
Fortunately, I have central AC, which was just fixed last year during yet another heat wave, so I should be good (fingers crossed). I plan to leave the house as little as possible. Summer in LA is like winter back east; stuck inside for months, because if you’re outside for too long, you’ll die. I hate it. I need to move somewhere more temperate or afford a house by the ocean (not likely–someone buy me a house by the ocean).
I also hate my job. This whole working at work thing is sucking all the life out of me. I can’t internet. I can’t even draw my little animal doodles since they made me turn my monitor so everyone can see what I’m doing. In short, it sucks. They don’t pay me enough to work full-time.
There’s also the matter of deadlines. Since I have to work at work now, I can’t work too fast, otherwise, they’ll realize that I’d been goofing off for a year. So, I take my sweet ass time about it, and you know what? I’m producing quality work. The proofers still find errors, because I’m not perfect and I don’t care about numbers; my job is about looks. Since I’m not slapping together a three-week project in two days anymore, the quality of my work has certainly improved. I’ve even created some things that are portfolio worthy. The work is the only thing I like about work.
We have a new employee who I want to punch in the face most days. He sits cattycorner from my cubicle, so if I’m not wearing headphones, he and the other loud salespeople are all I can hear.
Have you ever seen a BBC show called The IT Crowd? Our new employee is Maurice. He talks like him, dresses like him, and has similar mannerisms, only less British. He even looks like him with less amazing hair.
The real difference between the BBC’s Maurice Moss and my Maurice (which, of course, I’ve taken to calling him in my head) is that my Maurice never ever says anything funny, but he thinks he’s hilarious.
As a truly funny person (flips hair over shoulder), the most awful of character traits (other than say, liars, clowns and a predilection to pedophilia) is someone who thinks they’re hilarious, but is, in fact, not at all funny ever. I would take someone who isn’t at all funny and doesn’t think they are in a heartbeat over the thinks-he’s-funny-and-so-isn’t type. Humor is a fine art and this guy is making construction paper turkeys with crayons and paste.
Now, on to the love. Last time, I told you I made this and ordered it on Redbubble:
Well, I’m happy to report that the end result of project pillow is flippin’ awesome:
Unlike some products I’ve ordered from Redbubble (primarily phone cases and t-shirts) where the color isn’t exactly right, the colors on the pillow are almost spot on. I love my new pillow. It makes my entire bed–still a work in progress–look less hot pink.
Though, I really should have sprung for the large size instead of a medium. One forgets that, when you get all that fluff in there, the pillow’s overall dimensions shrink sidewise in favor of a rotund direction, giving the whole pillow a fubsy stature. When you have a bed the size of a small continent that is now entirely hot pink, size matters. Still, it makes me smile every time I see it, which is something.
I’ve been talking an excessive amount about pillows over the last couple of weeks. I apologize to all the pillow haters. Pillow talk is now over.
I also love my new car. It is so nice driving a car where I’m not worried about the transmission failing or the coolant system spilling its contents all over my garage or having the dog roll the windows down, turn the hazards on or shift me into neutral while I’m on the freeway (true story).
I’m getting used the height of it, so that most days, it doesn’t feel much higher than a regular car. Feeling like I was driving on stilts and about to topple over at any second was the biggest change going from an excessively low sports car where I was sitting roughly a foot off the ground to a pint-sized SUV. Also, I can now go over bumps and hollows in the road without bottoming out. If I’m not paying attention, I still find myself driving like a granny over a bump when I don’t need to at all.
I also love my dog. She is the best thing I ever did for my mental health and I’m not sure how I would have made it through all the grief without her. Last night, she was sleeping on the very edge of the bed when she suddenly fell off. She righted herself, looked at me and then banished herself to the corner of my room, where she sat for at least five minutes, entirely confused about life and the laws of gravity. Once I made sure she was okay, I couldn’t stop laughing. That is why I have a dog. Most days, a good portion of my smiles and laughs and love is generated by her.
I recently found out that I don’t have to pay a second $1,000 pet deposit if I get another dog. I’ve been laboring under that misconception since I moved in. I’m not sure where that faulty information came from, but apparently, I can have multiple dogs without paying another deposit, which makes much more sense than having to pay $1,000 for each dog. This, of course, planted the notion of getting another one.
I was talking to a coworker the other day and mentioned this. She said that all of her animals found her. I said the same. I wasn’t looking for a dog when I found mine. She said, “Well, put it out there in the universe that you want another dog and maybe one will come to you.” I normally poo-poo such notions as faith-based personification of an inanimate cosmos, but what the hell? I would like another dog, universe. Send me one.
I also love you. Thanks for being here, even though it hasn’t been very reciprocal lately. Tell me something going on in your world. What do you love and hate right now?