Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Learning Curve
It’s been an eventful few days (what, week, week and a half?) and an expensive one too. And I haven’t even cried, which is surprising. Usually when changes take place, or traumatic things happen I cry. Even if things aren’t all that traumatic I can usually be counted upon to cry.
The first thing, that I’m not really going to talk much about, is that the boy and I had “a talk.” Not in the best sense of the term, either. Despite the fact that things are not perfect between us and that time has to be taken to sort through things, I feel good. I’m okay with where we are and how events are playing out. That’s so unlike me. I’m a private analyzer, usually dissecting conversation and subtle nuance for all hidden meaning and emotion. But not this time. Why is that? Is there something that can be read into that? Anyway, this is one of those scenarios where only time will make a difference to our situation, so, in the absence of anything to fret over we’re enjoying each others company (I assume/hope) and getting to know each other better.
I’ve found the job I want. It’s perfect, and not just ‘cause it pays a lot. I’ve already started spending my new salary and planning the house I’m going to buy. Isn’t that ridiculous? The odds of my actually getting this job are not great, but, for a change, not because I’m under qualified but because everyone and their dog will be applying for it, and they’re likely all qualified too. It will be disappointing not to get this, I can’t even do the mature thing and say that it’ll be okay, other great opportunities will come. Who cares? I want THIS one!
Remember how awhile back I was waxing poetic about how cool it was to have a car, and how grateful I was for it? Yeah, well, one one hundred and seven dollar ticket later I’m less grateful. So completely my fault and I am such a total arse. I was speeding, twenty-two above the speed limit, and I knew I was doing it. I do it every day, all the time. It’s not like I was in a hurry, I was on my way to work, for which I am usually about fifteen minutes early. No one is ever here until nine, and no one gives a rat what I do, but I feel the need to get here really early to check my email. Check my email. Which is all I do for the rest of the day. John Law was standing by the side of the road darting out and flagging down speeding cars. I was one of them. Actually, not the best tactic, ‘cause if I’d been any groggier I would have hit him. He was hauling lots of people over, so at least I wasn’t alone for my fiscal humiliation. There was no point crying, firstly because it’s just money and no one was hurt, and secondly because I’d been wondering how I’ve avoided getting a ticket for this long anyway. I’m not a speed demon or anything, but I am typically at least ten above the limit. It was my time.
I’ve been looking for advice on what to do now. The boy thinks I should go to court and fight this to see if I can get them to knock it down fifteen clicks or so. Sometimes this works. A woman I work with thinks I should go through Points. The prevailing opinion is that if I don’t fight it my insurance rates are going to be fucked. My parents got up on the moral high ground and said (I can’t believe we’re related) “speed limits are posted for a reason.” Drugs are sold for a reason too, that doesn’t mean we should buy them. I don’t know if getting the ticket automatically means I get points, or if it automatically means my insurance rates go up. I don’t know anything. Someone needs to give me some advice. If I go with this Points racket then it means I pay two fifty and they do everything. That sounded like a lot of money, but the woman I work with says you have to pay to go to court. Shouldn’t court be free? Help!
In addition to this speeding thing my tire is giving me problems. The left front tire is baggy. What do I know from car problems? I’ll tell you what: nothing. I enlisted the help of the boy who is knowledgeable in all things automotive. The first order of business was to remove the tire. Here’s where it gets embarrassing.
For some time now I’d been thinking about this baggy tire and about how I really should get a jack so that I can replace it should the need arise. I’d been remiss in not attending to these matters and would likely end up stranded by the side of the road during a serial killer convention. Try to imagine my surprise when he took me on a tour of my trunk and showed me where the tools and jack were kept. I was gibbering in my enthusiasm and excitement. “Shut up! They were here? Really? AS IF! I thought you had to BUY these things. How clever and thoughtful of them…” Thankfully he shut me up at that point or I very likely would have expounded on the joys of Toyota for the rest of the night and well into the next day. Some things were done to my tire to try and keep it from deflating so often, but it’s still on trial. We’ll see.
The last thing that happened was that I got called a bitch. Now, this has happened before, often. “Bitch-ass” used to be a favourite insult for awhile among the girls. The difference this time was that I was called a bitch by someone I didn’t know very well, and not to my face. This got me to thinking. Under ordinary circumstances I wouldn’t have known about this, but I found out because a “friend” decided to tell me. How many other people are out there calling me a bitch that I don’t know about, and why? I’m awesome! I’m a bargain at half the price! I’m cute and friendly and smart and humble…It’s so strange that this should have happened on the same day my mother told me she thinks I’m the nicest person she’s ever met (sorry Val and Matthew, but the truth must be told) and that she doesn’t understand why I haven’t been luckier in love. I don’t get it either. And who’s this “friend” who tells me that some wanker thinks I’m a bitch? I don’t want to know this, especially about someone I rarely if ever see and don’t care a rat about anyway?
The important thing is that I’ve learned plenty over the past week or so, not the least of which is that I’m developing a thicker skin. Things that used to reduce me to pudding are now taken in stride. Either that or I’m becoming a robot.
It’s been an eventful few days (what, week, week and a half?) and an expensive one too. And I haven’t even cried, which is surprising. Usually when changes take place, or traumatic things happen I cry. Even if things aren’t all that traumatic I can usually be counted upon to cry.
The first thing, that I’m not really going to talk much about, is that the boy and I had “a talk.” Not in the best sense of the term, either. Despite the fact that things are not perfect between us and that time has to be taken to sort through things, I feel good. I’m okay with where we are and how events are playing out. That’s so unlike me. I’m a private analyzer, usually dissecting conversation and subtle nuance for all hidden meaning and emotion. But not this time. Why is that? Is there something that can be read into that? Anyway, this is one of those scenarios where only time will make a difference to our situation, so, in the absence of anything to fret over we’re enjoying each others company (I assume/hope) and getting to know each other better.
I’ve found the job I want. It’s perfect, and not just ‘cause it pays a lot. I’ve already started spending my new salary and planning the house I’m going to buy. Isn’t that ridiculous? The odds of my actually getting this job are not great, but, for a change, not because I’m under qualified but because everyone and their dog will be applying for it, and they’re likely all qualified too. It will be disappointing not to get this, I can’t even do the mature thing and say that it’ll be okay, other great opportunities will come. Who cares? I want THIS one!
Remember how awhile back I was waxing poetic about how cool it was to have a car, and how grateful I was for it? Yeah, well, one one hundred and seven dollar ticket later I’m less grateful. So completely my fault and I am such a total arse. I was speeding, twenty-two above the speed limit, and I knew I was doing it. I do it every day, all the time. It’s not like I was in a hurry, I was on my way to work, for which I am usually about fifteen minutes early. No one is ever here until nine, and no one gives a rat what I do, but I feel the need to get here really early to check my email. Check my email. Which is all I do for the rest of the day. John Law was standing by the side of the road darting out and flagging down speeding cars. I was one of them. Actually, not the best tactic, ‘cause if I’d been any groggier I would have hit him. He was hauling lots of people over, so at least I wasn’t alone for my fiscal humiliation. There was no point crying, firstly because it’s just money and no one was hurt, and secondly because I’d been wondering how I’ve avoided getting a ticket for this long anyway. I’m not a speed demon or anything, but I am typically at least ten above the limit. It was my time.
I’ve been looking for advice on what to do now. The boy thinks I should go to court and fight this to see if I can get them to knock it down fifteen clicks or so. Sometimes this works. A woman I work with thinks I should go through Points. The prevailing opinion is that if I don’t fight it my insurance rates are going to be fucked. My parents got up on the moral high ground and said (I can’t believe we’re related) “speed limits are posted for a reason.” Drugs are sold for a reason too, that doesn’t mean we should buy them. I don’t know if getting the ticket automatically means I get points, or if it automatically means my insurance rates go up. I don’t know anything. Someone needs to give me some advice. If I go with this Points racket then it means I pay two fifty and they do everything. That sounded like a lot of money, but the woman I work with says you have to pay to go to court. Shouldn’t court be free? Help!
In addition to this speeding thing my tire is giving me problems. The left front tire is baggy. What do I know from car problems? I’ll tell you what: nothing. I enlisted the help of the boy who is knowledgeable in all things automotive. The first order of business was to remove the tire. Here’s where it gets embarrassing.
For some time now I’d been thinking about this baggy tire and about how I really should get a jack so that I can replace it should the need arise. I’d been remiss in not attending to these matters and would likely end up stranded by the side of the road during a serial killer convention. Try to imagine my surprise when he took me on a tour of my trunk and showed me where the tools and jack were kept. I was gibbering in my enthusiasm and excitement. “Shut up! They were here? Really? AS IF! I thought you had to BUY these things. How clever and thoughtful of them…” Thankfully he shut me up at that point or I very likely would have expounded on the joys of Toyota for the rest of the night and well into the next day. Some things were done to my tire to try and keep it from deflating so often, but it’s still on trial. We’ll see.
The last thing that happened was that I got called a bitch. Now, this has happened before, often. “Bitch-ass” used to be a favourite insult for awhile among the girls. The difference this time was that I was called a bitch by someone I didn’t know very well, and not to my face. This got me to thinking. Under ordinary circumstances I wouldn’t have known about this, but I found out because a “friend” decided to tell me. How many other people are out there calling me a bitch that I don’t know about, and why? I’m awesome! I’m a bargain at half the price! I’m cute and friendly and smart and humble…It’s so strange that this should have happened on the same day my mother told me she thinks I’m the nicest person she’s ever met (sorry Val and Matthew, but the truth must be told) and that she doesn’t understand why I haven’t been luckier in love. I don’t get it either. And who’s this “friend” who tells me that some wanker thinks I’m a bitch? I don’t want to know this, especially about someone I rarely if ever see and don’t care a rat about anyway?
The important thing is that I’ve learned plenty over the past week or so, not the least of which is that I’m developing a thicker skin. Things that used to reduce me to pudding are now taken in stride. Either that or I’m becoming a robot.
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