random thoughts – Day 1,596 – (Wednesday) – time and news

Tuesday was a weird in-office work day. It was Intern Development Day, and we hosted three interns in our department. It was the first time any interns were interested in checking out marketing. The morning was fun and then they were off to the next phase of their day. It was over in a blink. Then the afternoon hit, and good gawd it was the longest afternoon in the history of work. The weird part was that five of us at the office all felt the same way. Tick. (Very long space of time – probably enough to run a marathon). Tock. Time dragged and the afternoon felt like a week. Awareness of the passage of time is so weird.

Cool building near work.

This morning dawned fresh and kind of cloudy on the way to cloudier and a couple heavy downpours. The walk from garage to office was pleasant until suddenly it wasn’t. Very near the office and across the street sits a cool looking building on the corner with a rounded end wall with windows. On the approach to the building, I noticed an open door in the wall facing Merrimack Street. Inside, there was a lot of construction material as if a renovation is underway.

Coming soon!

A few steps further, I noticed the window displays of what was not that long ago a nightclub and stopped in my tracks. I can’t remember what used to hang in the windows, but I vaguely remember a dark blue fabric swag type thing. Whatever it used to be, it was gone, replaced by fresh, white lace curtains in all the windows. A Hello Kitty shopping bag and some small toys sat in one window display area. A pillow and an old timey telephone in another. Some cards with cute pictures. And the most informative element of all – a poster declaring “Coming Soon – Lazy Cat Lounge Cat Café.” A Cat Café!!! Right near work! That pleasant morning walk had just taken a turn to informative and spectacular. 

I couldn’t wait to share the news with a colleague. We imagined spending our lunch breaks cuddling kitties. We did some recon to see how long it will be before we can do so in real life. Fall. We have to wait until late fall, maybe even early winter.

Kiki on the run because I looked at her.

Based on our experience with the passage of time yesterday afternoon, the wait will either be quick or an eternity. Or both. Maybe we’ll be able to keep busy enough to not fully notice how long it’s taking. We can hope.

 In the meantime, I will keep working on Kiki. Maybe some day hopefully soon she won’t run away when I move my hand too quickly or worse, just look at her. Maybe some day I can pick her up and hold her for a second. Maybe some day she’ll sit with me on the couch. Or maybe she won’t. Either way, some day I’ll be able to go cuddle some strange cats in a local café.

random thoughts – Day 1,595 – (Tuesday) – sock it

NOTE: Originally posted July 19, 2019. The sock drawer was reorganized since then, and is also back to being a hot mess due to more acquisitions. Things haven't really changed. 

I haven’t been able to close my sock drawer. Not easily, anyway. Not without forcibly shoving socks down and back and further into the space. It's a mess that needs to be emptied and reorganized, but that ranks pretty low on the fun meter, even with my rock-bottom standards, so it hasn’t been done. 

Sock drawer madness.

Instead, I regularly paw through the jumble of socks bought for special activities like hiking, skiing, and roller derby; for winter warmth and summer sweat; for dress pumps and oxfords and booties and gym shoes. I rifle through socks that are stretched out, too small, or too grungy, in search of the missing mate to that favorite pair that is perfect for those specific shoes that will complete whatever outfit was chosen for the day.  

Once upon another lifetime, in a different dwelling with different furniture, the sock drawer was a different story.  It was a tale of socks neatly rolled and arranged by color to provide a pleasing appearance when the drawer glided open. I imagined myself a shopkeeper in a tiny boutique with a lovely sock display ready for my imaginary customers to marvel at. It felt artistic. It was probably more the case that I was strung a bit too tight that I cared so deeply and entertained such delusions over the contents of a private space that no one would ever see unless they were really doing some snooping. I mean, I certainly didn’t invite guests in to see my sock drawer.  

In any event, it’s quite different now. 

Somewhere along the twisting and turning path of life, my sense of sock drawer design decorum was lost. The drawer no longer serves as a creative outlet. It probably doesn’t help that I sold that particular piece of furniture with the wonderful deep and inspirational drawers before I moved from Tennessee back to Massachusetts. 

The departure from caring about my sock drawer was roughly around the same time as a tragic loss of sense of humor and interest in once pleasurable aspects of life like creating stained glass, sewing, photography, baking, and social contact with other humans. Maybe it’s a case of some of these things being abandoned by me rather than “lost,” which seems to imply it was more the result of chance than my own neglect (apologies to my former friends and social contacts for the disappearing act). Hard to say. Maybe it’s just a solid six-year run of ennui or depression or “don’t give a shit-itus.” 

In any event, the current overcrowded sock conditions have recently been compounded by a strange desire for more socks. I’m not saying I shop with the intent of buying (ok, hoarding) socks, but when out to restock dog biscuits, granola bars, ramen, and makeup remover wipes, there is often a trip down the sock aisle of Family Dollar, Ocean State Job Lot, or Dollar Buy (I’m a very fancy shopper) to see what is available.

There is rarely disappointment, especially at Ocean State Job Lot, which boasts a full wall of socks, tights, and leggings and where a nine pack of Nine West low-cut socks was recently bought. NINE PACK!! For $4.99. That’s just 55.4 cents per pair! These beauties were in a range of neutral tones including light gray, blush, tan, tan and blush, tan and gray, and of course, the obligatory one pair of white. C’mon, how do you pass that up? I surely couldn’t, especially after running the usual calculations and evaluations including “how long do I have to work to pay for this,” (about 12 minutes), “do I really need this” (well, maybe not really, but the colors are nice), and “how will this improve my life” (more socks means fewer times doing laundry just for clean socks!).

Since arriving home, the nine-pack of low-cut socks has languished atop the dresser, still bound in the manufacturer’s wrapper for at least one, and likely closer to two or three months (but really, who is counting?). They don’t fit in the drawer already in need of reorganizing. And apparently, I didn’t need them that much, or even at all. Not right this minute, anyway. But when the sock shortage that will define a generation happens (and we know it’s coming, probably precipitated by a trade war) I will be ready (for a while) with my still new nine-pack of low-cut socks, and all the other socks for every occasion and shoe style.  

 

random thoughts – Day 1,594 – (Monday) – get gone

There was a donation pickup scheduled with a nonprofit today. The pile of sweaters and blouses, ill-fitting dresses and pants had been bagged Sunday night, and labeled as noted in the instructions. It was brought to the curb for 7:00 a.m., along with a shoebox filled with books and I was glad for it to be gone.

Ready to go away.

When the pickup was scheduled, I didn’t think about it being trash day. The bag was set at the end of the driveway kind of near the trash bin. It was unlikely the bag would be taken as trash as it wasn’t in a barrel, but I did imagine a wild west type stand-off in the middle of the street as the trash pickup truck and the charity pickup truck fought for space, similar to me and the ice cream truck last week when it was parked diagonally and blocking access to my driveway while the driver spent forever talking with a neighbor.

Around 12:30, rain began to fall. It was quiet and gentle for a minute, it gained enthusiasm, and then the sky opened with the force of a monsoon. The donation bag still sat at the street and there was a sprint to fetch it and pull it into the porch before the usual puddle lake formed there. The bag had a small tear and the contents had gotten a little wet. The box of books was damp. They were wiped off and set into a heavy-duty contractor bag and relabeled to go back outside when it stopped raining so hard.

Monsoon water feature.

It took no time for the front gutter to expel a magnificent sheet of water from above the front door. Water collected at the foot of the driveway and flowed down the street and the neighbor’s driveway to the drain. When the rain stopped the bag went onto the deck steps because the driveway was flooded. Once the water receded, it went back out to the street.

At 5:00, sautéed summer vegetables and salmon were made for supper. I noticed a missed call and a text message on my phone, allegedly from a Fraud Center claiming to represent the institution holding my checking account. It asked if I used debit card # XXXX at Amazon Prime for $139. Ummm, no, there have been no Amazon orders.

Supper on the stove.

The caller number was different than the one on the back of my card, which seemed suspicious. Bank activity was checked online (no issues). The bank’s call center was telephoned and a callback requested. During the wait, my Amazon account was checked and I saw it was the Prime membership renewal, which I thought was a different amount. 

By this time, I had already responded “no” to the question about authorizing the charge and a new text message informed a block had been placed on my card and to call the number listed immediately. I called. It was a menu scenario and then I was disconnected. Twice. In between, I finally got to eat my no longer hot supper. It was still pretty good.

That’s about when someone knocked on the back door. Despite it being nearly 6:00, I was still in the office, right near the back door, visible through the window since the mini-blind broke two years ago, so I couldn’t even hide. Grudgingly, the door was answered.

It was yet another solar industry salesperson, about the 57^th one since spring and I was in no mood for it. I told the sales dude I was still working and didn’t really have time. (Kind of a lie because I wasn’t working-working, but I was at my desk working on sorting out the “is it fraud or not” mystery.)

He kept talking. He tried his “connect with the target” sales techniques. During the course of his attempt at connecting, he complimented my glasses. He mentioned it was his birthday. I tried to explain I am not interested in solar anything and in past sales pitches, my electric bill hasn’t met the qualification level.

He asked if any others live with me (umm, none of your frigging business, but I absent mindedly said “no.” Then he said “so you live alone,” as if he was mandated to verify the answer. By then I was really irritated with the stranger at the door with the solar company tag hanging from a lanyard.

He said he has an appointment tomorrow with the people across the street who “have a huge energy bill.” (Dude, why are you telling me this? Seriously, why?) He pulled out a tablet to show me an illustration with the houses on the street with little red and orange roofs and pointed out my house and the sun my roof allegedly gets.

He insisted money could be saved on my energy bill (sure, in about 100 years). He said he’s also talking with my neighbors (I don’t care). I was finally able to interrupt the monologue and say, “Look, it’s 6:00 and I’m trying to finish up work. And I’m worn out from all the people showing up and trying to sell me solar stuff. And I have other more immediate issues like the waterfall gutter and the basement and the disintegrating shed and a bunch of other things.” And finally, he said goodbye and was gone from my step. I’m pretty sure I will be his bitchy boomer story of the day.  

I am just so frigging tired of people showing up uninvited, knocking on the door to try and sell me something. This isn’t 1950 and we aren’t a bunch of housewives with no transportation just sitting around waiting for someone to come sell us a vacuum cleaner or some brushes or some makeup or a set of knives. Send me an email I can delete or a postcard I can throw away and spare me dealing with a salesperson who won’t listen to me when I say “no thanks.” I regret not buying the doormat that says “Go Away.”

When I went back outside around 7:00 to check if the donation bag was gone yet, it wasn’t. It was hauled inside again. I also noticed the sales dude also wasn’t gone. He was still standing on the porch next door, talking with the neighbor. I wonder if she’ll be impressed by our other neighbor's huge bill and if she'll cave and book the presentation sales pitch.