Mondaybusiness

Mondays are these days where I don't have to be at work until 11:30. I have business to complete before then, so I usually end up logging about 30 minutes of work at home which I use towards my day. I always think I'll have this really full afternoon, but Mondays are on a whole pretty slow, and it being a holiday our business was slower than usual. I stretched my day out until 8, taking "lunch" at 6 pm for an hour, which means I worked tonight from 7 pm until 8 pm. Its 8:37 pm at present and I am finally home. Since I woke up at 7 am and did some work, I stretched my work day even further to about 13 hours.

Though admittedly much of this morning was spent in my pajamas and a sweater, drinking coffee and reading the news and chatting with people who really should have been working as well.

I love driving to work, or anywhere really, and looking at the faces of other drivers. There are the perma-surprised faces and ramrod posture of nervous drivers doing 10 mph under the speed-limit. Why are they so nervous? Are they living in constant fear that a bright red bouncy ball will roll under their wheels, followed by an oblivious child? They're squeezing the steering wheel so hard, they could make juice out of it. I also notice a lot of very serious looking young men, who have one hand firmly planted on the top of the steering wheel, and the way their leaning so much, their head actually appears right between the driver's seat and the passenger seat. I guess they get a better perspective that way? Is there some bird poop right in their line of sight if they were to sit straight in their chair?

I love the cars that ride really low and have the bass pumping really high. Bass-pumping cars usually are accompanied by the head-leaners, but not necessarily. Sometime, though, it is a surprise as to who is driving a bass-boat. In the O.C., its possible that the Corolla with the hard-core rap pounding out of it is driven by a blonde high-schooler on her way to Hollister. It is like a mystery. I'm always intrigued to see who it is.

I love onions but they leave behind a funky odor when you eat them. Not just on your breath, but on your hands, especially if those onions are on a sandwich. I'm glad I ate my sandwich for dinner instead of for lunch. That's a really random observation.

I realized when I got to work that everything I wore today was scaled slightly smaller than most clothing, but on purpose. My jeans were pedal-pusher style. My shirt was a snug polo, and my cardigan was a 3/4 sleeve thing. I said to someone that I just wanted to feel long and tall today.

I love photos but I hate putting them into books. I do not understand this hobby of "scrapbooking". What do you do? Put bits of things into a book? "Oh here's the first photo of me and my boyfriend, along with the ticket stub from the movie we bought and a piece of the greasy napkin he used to wipe his hands during dinner...we had burgers. You can tell because I taped a ketchup packet to this page." I want to start a scrapbook of all the things I can collect under my fingernails in any given day. Skin...earwax...makeup...tomato sauce. Oh, here's the day I decided to try clay sculpture. And here's the day I took a wax mold of my belly button. Anyway...So all my photos are in these neat boxes but none are in order. It's like having all your MP3s on random at all times. Sometimes I want to look at photos so I just pull out a box, and start flipping. I'm sure someday I'll want to get more organized about it, but then again, maybe not.

I will be participating in a performance art project this Saturday, created by McM & McM (link to the right there.) I am thrilled. What will I be doing? It is a mystery. Check back for more information...but if you're in the Ventura area say, around February 4th, you can see me doing some art through physical expression.