In which I link to myself, madly

I did a new yoga DVD last night, and this morning I feel like someone is thwacking me in the legs and ass with sharp rocks wrapped in plastic – painful in a dull ache sort of way.  I know that means good things for the legs and ass (building and stretching muscle, etc.), but I wish the whole thing could be slightly less uncomfortable.  Going to bed last night I decided that yoga is like drinking – it’s kind of fun while you’re doing it, right afterward you feel really great, and then the next morning you feel sort of ass and the only way to feel less ass is the hair of the dog that bit you (more drinking or more yoga).  Apparently it’s an addictive, nasty cycle.  Speaking of yoga, if you’ve never read YogaBeans?  Please go do so, especially if you’ve ever done yoga yourself.  My favorite is the pirate one, probably because we have that same pirate and squid set at my house.  Also, she espouses the theory (over at her regular everyday blog) that yoga is, perhaps, addictive and can ruin your life, so I’m in good company on the yoga/booze comparison.

***************************
My thoughts are totally scattered lately, which is part of why I haven’t been posting much – I keep feeling like I need to put together a whole essay and all I have are miscellaneous paragraphs that don’t mesh together.  But if your thoughts don’t mesh together, if everything’s disjointed and weird in your head, then why shouldn’t what you write follow suit?  I guess if I just sit here and wait for things to gel into something long and lovely and poignant, I’ll sit here forever.

***************************

My job description will be changing next week, and I’m not really happy about it but don’t have much of a choice.  It was pretty much “do this or go away”, though said much more nicely with smiling and high fives and stuff.  It’s something I thought had been staved off last time, when I said “no, no, no” and was given until December to see if I was still deemed “necessary”.  My boss had originally told me not to worry, I was totally necessary – and now it appears that I am necessary, but only if I will follow orders and be moved to the Siberia of the warehouse receiving area.  Heil!

It’s funny, I think I’m one of the only people in the world who dreams of working in a cubicle, chained to a desk and a computer, and I just can’t seem to catch a break.  The first couple years I was here, I shared a desk and had to keep a sort of low profile (my pictures kept getting stuffed behind the monitor by my stupid “cubiclemate”).  Now, finally, I have my own freaking cubicle, and I have all my shit hung up and I can anally file everything in my weird compulsive way, and now I have to move to an open-plan shared sort of desk again.  It sucks.  Right now I am feeling so disillusioned with my job and I’ve spent the past three afternoons dicking off and playing Spider Solitaire because I can’t bring myself to bust ass quite so hard anymore.  I am pissed and being childish about it.  I have such a fucking sense of entitlement, like I should be treated all princessy, and I hate that about myself, and yet I can’t seem to stop feeling all “well, I do all the fucking WORK around here, even if I do goof off a lot, why can’t they just sort of WORSHIP me and give me all sorts of fancy days off or something?  Or at least let me keep my fucking cubicle and not be threatened with joblessness?”

Oh, oh, oh, also!  To add to the joy!  We are being evicted!!!  Because life is always awesome, and then it just gets awesomer.  You can read about the whole stupid neighbors-noise complaint thing here.  Yesterday, we got the “Notice to Quit” and now we have til the end of the month to find a new place.  And with rent being so freaking high and E being out of work, this is just peachy, you know?  He’s been scrabbling to call apartments and make appointments all day, and we’re crossing our fingers.  It sucks because the nicest one he found means W would have to change schools, from the nice brand-new school they just built to an old, slightly skanky one with a not-great reputation (according to one mom from his preschool).  So who knows, maybe we’ll get a cute house and be able to get a dog and have to change schools, so it’ll even out.  Or maybe we’ll get a not-as-nice place and stay in the school system.  Or maybe I’ll go hide my head in a vat of chocolate pudding and not come up for a few years until life gets less stressful.