Categories
personal work

Thoughts and plans

I’ve little thought of what I might do once I reach Olympia. Evergreen had a good job open, but I missed the deadline to apply (which was just the day after I noticed the position) and Yelm is just too far to drive (45 minutes) to apply for the library job that is open there.

Zero consequences …
… that’s the offering a book of matches gives in an episode of Smalleville – Zero Consequences. I try to think of something, anything, with which that cryptic saying might hold true. Nothing comes to mind. Actions like pebbles in a pond and there will always be ripples. I’d like to think my actions make nice, concentric circles somehow emanate from me, pulsating lily pads and reflecting lines of sunlight. More likely my actions are like the kid who cannonballs at the pool, soaking people who don’t want to get soaked and getting water up my nose in the process. Is the consequence of a consequence called a reconsequence? re – con – se – que – nce — RElaxCONsiderSEveralQUEstionablemiNCEmeatpies. Don’t worry, I won’t quit my day job. Well, except that I am, and then I’m moving across the country, and then I don’t know what I’ll do for a day job, which thought started me off, somehow, on this tangent in the first place.

Dinner tonight is long-grained brown rice, topped with plain cottage cheese and Braggs. The meal of choice for every connoisseur who can’t cook his way out of a paper bag (which would really only require the ability to steam, I would think). I can really cook a variety of things: bagels, eggs, potatoes, pancakes, waffles, rice … umm, cold cereal. I’m quite good at reheating, though. And I cook a good frozen pizza, no mistake (meaning it’s usually no longer frozen by the time I’m done with it). Okay, it’s really not that bad, I promise. Maybe nearly that bad, but not quite.

Strange, but considering questionable mincemeat pies really is kind of relaxing. No stranger a custom than trying to count sheep jumping over a fence as a way to fall asleep. Something, I might add, which has never, ever, ever worked one whit for me.

I’m embarrassed to admit that my meal for the evening has become a two-egg-and-bagel sandwich. I refuse, however, to admit why. I’m sure you can work that out on your own.