Interestingly, I have had this identical conversation with my boyfriend about three times.
Him: "Your boobs sure got small."
Me: "That's what happens when you lose weight."
Him: "So they're just fat?"
Me: "Yep."
Him: "They really got small."
Me: "Do you wish they were bigger?"
Him: "No."
Me: "I could get fat again."
I'm trying to create more time for myself. Time management. Multitasking. Looking at how long it takes me to do stuff. Instead of putting 1:00 (for one minute) into the microwave, which requires 3 digits, (a one and two zeroes) I punched in 60. That's only two digits, instead of three. I saved the time it would take me to put in that extra digit. Also, the distance between the six and the zero is closer than the one and zero, so my finger doesn't have to travel as far. That means its quicker.
So if I put in 60 instead of 1:00 into the microwave like fifty times, I will have saved maybe one second. Pretty impressive, huh? (and then I spent 20 minutes blogging about it.) But seriously, from when I get up to when I return home from work, making dinner, cleaning, putting away my mail, etc., I have less than
an hour and a half per weekday to do anything related to MY life, MY joy. This was a suprise. I'm reading
Time Management From the Inside Out by Julie Morgenstern. (Love her stuff) Been looking at ways to save time here and there to make time for important things...like joy and pleasure.
I'm trying to study it. Today I loaded groceries onto the checkout counter by what goes in the fridge, what goes in the cupboards, etc., so they're grouped like that in the bags. When I got home, all the fridge stuff was in the same bags, so I could put everything in the fridge at once. Noticing things like the microwave thing, which was more amusing than timesaving, but hey, I'm still looking. I have a job where I can't manage time. I'm given orders to fill
OMG!!!
I forgot to tell you guys!
I no longer do admin asst work at the funeral home, GLORY HALLELUJAH! What a shit job that was.
I never have to deal with gross stuff again! No frikkin' family member wanting me to brush their corpse relative's hair. OMG, what a nightmare that was. What was I supposed to say? "That's not in my job description..." Yeah, that'd go over well.
The nightmare is finally over. Thank you God.
I'm doing some desktop publishing stuff. For those of you who took media classes with me in college, remember the digital imaging and computer classes where we'd have to print some large format item out, and there was only one large format printer for a zillion students, and we'd be there till 3 a.m. waiting for it, or getting there at 5 am and finding people still there waiting for it??? Anyway, that's sort of like my job now. I get up at a super early time when people shouldn't be getting up, and I print stuff out on old printers that don't work, and everyone yells at me because nothing is centered. They all think I'm totally inept, the new print-person.
I have not explained to them that I have spent hours with tech support people, 2 men have come out and spent hours on the printer and still haven't been able to fix it. One guy from the company that makes the printers (Riso, whoever heard of them) was supposed to train me on it. He spent 3 hours on the phone with HIS tech support, because he couldn't get the damn thing to work, and then told me, "Um, I have to go. We'll have to schedule a training for another time..." and I never heard from him again. I know why, because he didn't know what the frick was going on.
But on the bright side, people can complain about me, but I'm new, and the last person quit rather abruptly so there was no one there to train me properly. I've had to figure it out all trial and error. Hopefully I'll get it down soon.
I really like the job, except for the malfunctioning equipment. It is the first job that I've ever sort of liked. And I'm so relieved to be out of the nightmare. I couldn't even write about the former job because I found it so disturbing.
Shit like some family wanting their dead daughters clothes back, and you have to tell them that they're too bloody because the girl died in a car accident, and bloody stuff means biohazard, so you can't give them back. I mean, what a fucking nightmare.
Imagine that. Imaging having to tell a grieving family that they cannot have their daughter's clothing back, and then having to tell them why.
For poverty wages.
Not to mention thinking about the families sometimes, like how sick can you be to ask for stuff like that under those circumstances? I'd be on the phone or looking at them like, "you've got to be kidding."
It was horrible. I can't tell you the nightmare that job was.
It is like a my life is now a huge sigh of relief.
Now I only need time to forget about that other job.
