Gossip Central

Monday morning. In the cubicle across the hallway, a lady complaining about how her work station was set up while she was gone on vacation. Next to her, two co-workers are talking about a brawl at the Shiloh Inn, started at a Center Partners party. I used to work there. Hearing that a brawl broke out at their party does not surprise me in the least. A good working environment there, yes, but some strong-willed, hard-drinking people. (Add to that statement that if you want drugs in Idaho Falls, all you have to do is go to the Center Partners parking lot. But you didn't hear it from me.) So glad I don't work in telemarketing any more. That was the low year of my life. 2005, never come back.

I hear a lot in my cubicle. I work in a mobile trailer about 1/4 of a mile from some of the nastiest radioactive waste on the planet. I have not yet acquired my own personal glow, but I have met radioactive rabbits, marmots and seen the spot where the radioactive stink bug was squashed on the sidewalk outside. Each month, a happy, bearded man comes through our building and swabs random desks, keyboards, et cetera, taking samples of our dust to see how radioactive we are. Funny thing is, we never get reports back. . .

Anyway, I hear a lot in my cubicle. I'm positioned next to the boss' cubicle, so I can eavesdrop on conversations, phone calls, et cetera. I don't make a habit of it. He has loud visitors and makes loud conversation, so I can't help what shoots over the wall above my head. Once and a while when something extra juicy is going on next door, Karen (the assistant boss) will slip into my extra chair and listen in as well. I'm used to all the visitors.

Did finally get the Toyota working, against the odds. I figured that at minimum we'd have to buy a new battery, at maximum, replace the doodads responsible for charging said battery. But so far, so good. I've probably jinxed myself now.

I turn 36 years old this week. I'm not worried about that.

What else happened this weekend?

• Shopped our brains out in Idaho Falls on Satuday. Hate that. But we hadn't been to the grocery in a month, so we had to go. The kids were going absolutely nuts by the end. Their highlights included exchanging a faulty Ratatouille DVD and getting Liam a new coat at Target, then playing on the escalators at Dillards. My highlight was the drive home, when they all fell asleep and all the whining stopped. I wanted time to stop at that moment so I could continue driving down a dark, quiet road with only the radio playing. But we got home and they woke up. Like zombies or something.
• Started our new church schedule. 1 to 4 p.m. Yuck. By the time church is over, the day is over.

What's new in thought today? I'm in uneasy anticipation about these new classes. And tired. So I go back to work to earn that money which makes this madcap life possible.

But then I come back. It's a slow day. In the past two days, however, I have harrassed our poor USQ person with no fewer than fourteen documents for her to review. That's a record, I think. It's just nice to get all this stuff off my desk and onto the desks of others. But get too much off the desk and the next thing you know is you're having nightmares about the next round of layoffs, which we're told will be coming regularly, each quarter. No such thing as job security here. Our fire protection engineer just left to start a similar job at the Smithsonian in Washington. I kept wanting to hide in his luggage. But no such luck.

I had a weird dream last night. I was on some busy street, endlessly coughing up Starburst wrappers, waiting in line at some ATM-like machine that may have been giving out money or may have been giving out dental floss. All the time I was trying to get away from this rather intent couple filling me in on the many virtues of living in some ratbag little town in Oregon. They told me the name, but I sure can't remember what it was. Thus ends my Virginia Woolf post of the week.