Wednesday, September 13, 2006

On links, limps and life in general

Guys, I don’t ask much of you. An occasional cursory click through the site to see if I’ve updated (which I almost always have, because despite having a stressful job and a home to run I make the effort to come up with new material every day, no, no, that’s okay, I do it for the love, not the recognition), maybe even a grudging smile or nod once in a while, that sort of thing. I don’t expect plaudits.

But would it have killed one of you to tell me that I’ve had a broken link up there for the past three months?

I mean, alright, I possibly should have checked it myself. And yes, possibly the fact that I constantly berate you all for not loving me enough isn’t in fact working in my favour here. But still. How embarrassing.

Also, one of my links seems to have disappeared altogether, which I find terribly mysterious. I’m at work, so I can’t fix either problem until I get home, and I really shouldn't have mentioned it because none of you would have noticed anyway. But it’s preying on my mind somewhat and I'm in a stream-of-consciousness sort of mood.

The job’s still fascinating, for the record. I’ve been horribly uncreative since beginning it, though; not because I’m tired or overworked but because the stuff I encounter every day is so damn interesting, and often (unintentionally) hilarious that it eclipses anything I could possibly relate.

So what can I tell you about? The fact that I arrange my morning commute so that I walk half a mile to and from the office, and that most of the time this is a really nice little moment of my day, walking briskly along in the fresh air, feeling professional in my neat little suit, heels clicking on the pavement, but that yesterday I stepped out of the office and one of my shoe straps immediately broke, giving me no option but to limp another next seven blocks to the bus stop? The pitying looks of commuters as they passed me, dragging one foot behind myself like I had a congenital defect? The bus ride itself, where no sooner had I settled down with my book and my Diet Coke then the guy three seats behind me sprayed deodorant around his seat, creating a fug that crept through the bus and gave me a headache? The guy immediately behind me, who contributed to said headache by whistling loudly along to his Ipod? My gratitude when I got home and my husband, who’s on leave this week, made me a Cosmo? My frustration when, a few sips later, I knocked the almost-full cocktail over and onto a pile of study material?

None of that conveys how much I like my life at the moment. It doesn’t make for high comedy, I know, but I feel like I’m bubbling over with it, so I have to say it. The weather is nice, work is interesting, my friends are extraordinary and I live with the greatest man in the universe.

And I’d say that even if he hadn’t made me a replacement Cosmopolitan.


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