True to form, I have been too productive, and my temp job is over early. The deadline for completing everything was the end of the month, and I got it done with a week and a half to spare. Now, to some people, this is silly. They would argue that I have shot myself in the foot- after all, I could have moved more slowly, taken my time, and made bank for another week and a half. To me, though, this attitude is ridiculous. I was stuck in a windowless office, pulling staples out of papers and feeding them into a scanner for 8 hours a day, and when I ran out of papers, I got to pull more boxes of papers out of the warehouse, and sort them by year, vendor, and then date. Why would I want to prolong this? For money? I'll take my happiness, thank you.
So here I am now, out of a job 10 days early. I'm not terribly worried about this though, for two reasons. One is that, due to living off student loans, I have become very frugal, and have made enough in the 5 weeks that I did work to support myself for the entire summer. Not extravagantly, mind you, but enough to pay all my bills
and maybe splurge on a bag of licorice now and then. The second reason is that, on Monday of this week, I had gotten far enough ahead in my work that I had time, between feeding papers into the scanner, to send myself about 17 job posting for permanent, part-time jobs off of Craigslist. I finished out the workday, went home, and sat down to get serious about finding a job. Unfortunately, since I'd been sitting at a computer all day already, I got bored and stopped after sending off just one cover letter and resumé. "I can do this later", I figured, "I'm set for the summer, there's no rush to find a job".
Amazingly, the next day, I got a phone call from that one resumé I sent out, asking if I could come in on Wednesday for an interview. I, of course, immediately accepted, which is why I find myself shining shoes and ironing clothing on my first day off in 5 weeks. I did, however, allow myself the luxury of sleeping in. Interview or no, I deserved that. It may be that nothing comes of it, or it may be that I've found the place I'll work for the next two years, but in either case, I'd like to go into it well-rested.
Another interesting thing that's happened to me recently actually took place on Facebook, something I never figured would be anything other than a passing interest. My Irish dance teacher, Elizabeth, runs two classes for the adults and kids in Boulder. One is at the Knights of Columbus lodge, which has a lovely floor and mirror setup, and is large enough to accommodate us all. The other, which is where I first started dancing with her, is at the Boulder Rec Center, which is chronically poorly administered, rather small, and very, very badly ventilated. Being as the weather has been hitting the 90s on a regular basis out here, last night she posted this:
"This is proof that Irish dancing is HARD CORE...rec centers are never, ever cool enough...so hot in the studio...I'm dying here! I thought people did workouts at rec centers???"
Now, anyone who's ever done dance knows that it's difficult. Yes, it looks all refined and graceful on the stage, but what the audience never knows is that you're dying up there, trying to ignore the river of sweat you're sure is streaming off of you and flowing into the aisles. Fun, yes; but also a real workout. So, since I feel like my friends could always use a chuckle, I reply with this:
"'Workout' means getting gently sweaty and breathing slightly faster than before. 'Irish dance' means dripping sweat, breathing like you're running uphill in a spaceship with a hole in the hull and smiling like an idiot, trying to hide it."
I've tried any number of workouts, dance styles, contraptions and good, old-fashioned running before, and nothing, I mean nothing, makes me sweat, gasp, wheeze, and want to fall over as much as Irish dance. Amusingly, there's one dance called "The Butterfly", set to very light, bouncy music, that looks graceful as can be, and kills me every time. Especially when you're on stage and you can't show that you're gasping for air. Don't get me wrong, I love Irish dance, and have put literally everything else in my life on hold- including raiding in WoW, other classes, and even the guy I was dating- in order to not miss a class. I wouldn't trade it for the world, but it'll show you just how out of shape you are, even after doing it for 3 years.
Anyhow, Elizabeth was kind enough to repost my comment as her status, and it appears to be generally appreciated by dancers. One friend was even kind enough to say that she hopes I write, because she loved my description. While I appreciate the compliment, I think I do better simply lending my flair for the silly to those around me. You guys are blessed (or cursed!) with having all the gestures, facial expressions and voice changes that, I feel, are what make my stories really come alive. And in my opinion, stories are what makes the world go 'round. Cheers!
So here I am now, out of a job 10 days early. I'm not terribly worried about this though, for two reasons. One is that, due to living off student loans, I have become very frugal, and have made enough in the 5 weeks that I did work to support myself for the entire summer. Not extravagantly, mind you, but enough to pay all my bills
and maybe splurge on a bag of licorice now and then. The second reason is that, on Monday of this week, I had gotten far enough ahead in my work that I had time, between feeding papers into the scanner, to send myself about 17 job posting for permanent, part-time jobs off of Craigslist. I finished out the workday, went home, and sat down to get serious about finding a job. Unfortunately, since I'd been sitting at a computer all day already, I got bored and stopped after sending off just one cover letter and resumé. "I can do this later", I figured, "I'm set for the summer, there's no rush to find a job".
Amazingly, the next day, I got a phone call from that one resumé I sent out, asking if I could come in on Wednesday for an interview. I, of course, immediately accepted, which is why I find myself shining shoes and ironing clothing on my first day off in 5 weeks. I did, however, allow myself the luxury of sleeping in. Interview or no, I deserved that. It may be that nothing comes of it, or it may be that I've found the place I'll work for the next two years, but in either case, I'd like to go into it well-rested.
Another interesting thing that's happened to me recently actually took place on Facebook, something I never figured would be anything other than a passing interest. My Irish dance teacher, Elizabeth, runs two classes for the adults and kids in Boulder. One is at the Knights of Columbus lodge, which has a lovely floor and mirror setup, and is large enough to accommodate us all. The other, which is where I first started dancing with her, is at the Boulder Rec Center, which is chronically poorly administered, rather small, and very, very badly ventilated. Being as the weather has been hitting the 90s on a regular basis out here, last night she posted this:
"This is proof that Irish dancing is HARD CORE...rec centers are never, ever cool enough...so hot in the studio...I'm dying here! I thought people did workouts at rec centers???"
Now, anyone who's ever done dance knows that it's difficult. Yes, it looks all refined and graceful on the stage, but what the audience never knows is that you're dying up there, trying to ignore the river of sweat you're sure is streaming off of you and flowing into the aisles. Fun, yes; but also a real workout. So, since I feel like my friends could always use a chuckle, I reply with this:
"'Workout' means getting gently sweaty and breathing slightly faster than before. 'Irish dance' means dripping sweat, breathing like you're running uphill in a spaceship with a hole in the hull and smiling like an idiot, trying to hide it."
I've tried any number of workouts, dance styles, contraptions and good, old-fashioned running before, and nothing, I mean nothing, makes me sweat, gasp, wheeze, and want to fall over as much as Irish dance. Amusingly, there's one dance called "The Butterfly", set to very light, bouncy music, that looks graceful as can be, and kills me every time. Especially when you're on stage and you can't show that you're gasping for air. Don't get me wrong, I love Irish dance, and have put literally everything else in my life on hold- including raiding in WoW, other classes, and even the guy I was dating- in order to not miss a class. I wouldn't trade it for the world, but it'll show you just how out of shape you are, even after doing it for 3 years.
Anyhow, Elizabeth was kind enough to repost my comment as her status, and it appears to be generally appreciated by dancers. One friend was even kind enough to say that she hopes I write, because she loved my description. While I appreciate the compliment, I think I do better simply lending my flair for the silly to those around me. You guys are blessed (or cursed!) with having all the gestures, facial expressions and voice changes that, I feel, are what make my stories really come alive. And in my opinion, stories are what makes the world go 'round. Cheers!
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