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Wednesday, Mar. 27, 2002 / 11:45 a.m. ~Dealing With the Cycles~ It�s one of those days. Every little thing is too much. Listerine is doing the humming thing again, and I want to ask her to stop, I want to shout it from the roof, or just stand up and scream it, here, in the cube, but I�ve asked her before, that one time when she went beyond me, to the Manager (M) to see if she could move, to ask can�t she hum? We�ve been through this, we shouldn�t have to go through it again. Everything here is cyclical, all these women, all these hormones, all these cycles, it�s too much. And let�s not forget the Full Moon, shall we? It was great to come in and tell the Manager (M) about what happened on �24� last night. She is the one who got me hooked on it, and now she is always distracted on Tuesday nights at 9:00, somehow. So, I can come in on a Wednesday, look her in the eye and she gets this sudden recognition, she says, �Oh, I forgot to watch!�, or �Oh, you know I had to miss it! What happened?!�, and I tell her and we get excited about it, both of us. As this morning. Penelope says she flipped channels last night and watched it for the first time, so we talked about it too, and I realized I just need to find a message board online. One can always find like-minded souls, online� Because I need to talk about it. I am indeed the ENFJ, that was no fluke, I need to communicate with people, but I have no need to do it live and in person, the Internet will do nicely. I played the Big Game, as always, one ticket, one Quick Pick, Cash Option, as I always do, and I can�t get through on the hotline to get the winning numbers, it�s been busy all morning. I like to hold on to my ticket and pretend I won. Lulu was asking me about it and when I told her the jackpot she started in on all the cars she�d buy if she won, the estate with separate wings for herself and her children (she always sounds like she�d like to get away from her kids, and judging from the sheer volume of phone calls she gets from them, here, at work, once they get home from school, I�d say they�re quite needy), and as she held her bible in her lap, reading some underlined passage before we began fantasizing, I pointed at the book, said, �You should do what it says in there.�, never having read it, of course. But I have this idea that Christianity is all about loving people and living simply and purely, giving of yourself to those in need, not incessantly acquiring for one�s self, with a fiendish greed. She amazes me with her hypocrisy. So I turned away, reminded of how she disgusts me, of how she lied, of who she really is, reminded that she is someone to turn to and ask, �Hey, did you watch �Amazing Race� last night?!�, not more, not less. She says something to the effect of her god wanting her to live an �abundant� life, but frankly, my best guess is that she�s misinterpreting that. I doubt her god wants her to have the Mercedes, the SUV and the Jaguar, my guess is her god wants her to be happy, abundantly filled with love and joy and a giving spirit, not material wealth and possessions. And as they once again throw massive quantities of envelopes in their trashcans as we open these child support requests, staple the contents, gather them in stacks, this project we�ve undertaken, I think about how they just do not know where the garbage goes. We bury our garbage, in landfills. There are vast underground piles of garbage, we run out of room to put it all, and to lessen the pile, in any way we can, to reuse, to recycle, is the goal, to ensure a safe and sustainable environment for future generations, for THEIR future generations, how can they refuse to see it? I�ve been asking Lulu to recycle her paper since she started here, and she simply refuses. She simply refuses to stack it on her desk, or walk it over to the bins. How far away are they? Mmmm� I�d say 20 feet. A little more, a little less. This work site won an award from the state for its recycling efforts. The man with the recycling truck comes every so often and loads up on all the office paper, the cardboard, and the facilities manager takes the aluminum cans to the recycling center herself. Is it that difficult? Why don�t people think? What is wrong with Americans? Why are we so wasteful? How did we get here? Why do we generate so much garbage and not care about where it goes, where it ends up? Right now it�s making me really angry, I think because of this project we have going, and because I know if I went around with the big blue bin and tried to collect everyone�s paper they�d give me a really hard time, because I get no respect. And should I care about personal respect or lack thereof, or cutting down on recyclables going into landfills? I�m just angry. Hey, there goes the humming again. What would YOU do? Picture this, the first time she did it, you were so nice, you said, �Look, Listerine, I hate to say this, but could you please stop humming? I know you're enjoying it, but it�s bothering me.� And she goes to the Manager (M), straight to her, tells you the next day that she said to hum louder. So naturally you freak out, run to the Manager (M) and say, �Do you want me to be miserable?�, and immediately realize that was a mistake, but she says she told Listerine to hum �lower�, not �louder�, and maybe you misunderstood her accent, and it was such a big fucking hairy deal, with Listerine asking to move cubicles, and being told she couldn�t, and well, after the lynching photos she left on your desk you know she�s evil, but you�ve been through this, and now it�s here, again, when the phones are slow, and you have time to sit and type a really long diary entry, the humming starts up, stops, at random, and you have the fan on, pressed up against the wall of the cube, so it sounds like you�re on an airplane, but it doesn�t block the sound. And you want to SCREAM every time it starts, and you feel this tremendous loss of control, so what do you do? What. Do. You. Do? I don�t know either. When I take a sip of water I hold it in my mouth. Why do I do that? I like to fill out my cheeks with it, hold it there, rinse with it, before I swallow. P.S. I said something to D., the Supervisor, and after complaining that she only stared at me and I felt awkward, she then went to the group and asked us all to put our paper in the bins. Is this a small victory for the planet? Cost of the War in Iraq
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