Killing Time
17 July 1998
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Killing Time
17 July 1998
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6:12 PM: Empty mailbox sigh.
7:48: Short break. Today is better here, actual coding for a change, the parade of New Things to Do has hit a gap, probably because people's minds are on their Friday nights and their weekends. Weird how important that is to people, is it just what comes of working normal hours?
Next week I'm supposed to work on a project with someone, and so get in a bit earlier - like before NOON would be nice, geez. Thinking about the horror of actually getting up at 9 AM, I realized that if I got to work by 10, I could leave by 6 PM. Six! That's practically the middle of the day. I could shop, eat, nap AND go out. Not that I would, not very often, but the theory of it. Bizarre.
Beyond the jet lag problems of dragging my body clock back into this time zone, what I worry about most when I think of changing my schedule is my upstairs neighbor. The walls in our building are made of a special acoustically transparent material, clearly some kind of experiment in group living that lost its funding. You not only know when your neighbor goes to the bathroom, you get a fair idea of what he had for dinner. My neighbor, Freddie, is a kind man, but he's a large man, and he keeps the same hours I do now. So if I start having alarm sounds and clock radio music and shower noise and plumbing use at 9 AM, it's all happening in the middle of his night. And you know how if you happen to wake up in the middle of the night, and you're trying to go back to sleep, how loud everything is? And how irritating noise can be, when it's just over that threshold that you could ignore? And how so you lie there, sleepless, thinking of who's making that noise and what you'd like to do them to make them be quiet? Did I mention the large part?
Maybe I'll shower at work.
9:39: Did I say that today was going better than usual? Was that before or after the computer crashed and five hours of work vanished?
11:27: Still empty mailbox sigh.
Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.
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All names are fake, most places are real, the
author is definitely
unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep.
© 1998-1999 Lighthouse for the Deaf. All rights reserved and stuff. The motto at the top of the page is a graffito I saw on Brunswick Street in Melbourne. | ||||
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