Title: Anyone have some Prozac I can borrow?
Hearing: Ben Folds Five, Whatever and Ever, Amen
Drinking: Coke Classic
Feeling: Need a nap.
Reading: Nerds 2.0.1: A Brief History of the Internet
It's ten til five PM on a Friday afternoon. Nobody from The Kindergarten Class has needed anything from me ALL WEEK. Having very little motivation to do any work of my own, I have been bored shitless. Now, suddenly, I'm getting requests for some obscure library to be installed on our newest Solaris server. At five o'clock. On a Friday afternoon. Right before I'm about to take off and finish cleaning out house so we can get it listed and sold. Right when I start this entry, after a soul-deadening of day of accomplishing nothing, due to the sloth-like appearance of our development staff. Despite my repeated mantra of, "I'm leaving at five today." Argh.
Gotta love being a sysadmin.
. . .
Okay, it's thirty minutes later, and the poor boy got his software installed. He hung over my shoulder the whole time trying to coach me through installing software from source, as if I don't know how to do it, but it's done, and I didn't even kill him. Be proud of me. Maybe I can go home now. Ha.
Whose House? Run's House:
So Ian and I spent yesterday evening getting the townhouse cleaned up. Due to one thing and another, it's imperative that we finally get off our asses and get the damn thing sold off. If nothing else, making a mortgage and a rent payment is killing us, financially. Anyone want to buy a 2BA/2BR townhouse in northern Denver? Our lovely and talented real estate agent, Chuck, is noodging me to get this taken care of so he can start showing it this weekend. I don't know if that's going to happen. Moving boxes is one thing; getting all the patching, painting and vacuuming done is something else. We'll see.
I was sitting in the townhouse kitchen yesterday in the sliding glass door area, letting the breeze blow through and generally cooling off with a bottle of Gatorade. I was contemplating this whole divorce thing. Somehow packing up the boxes from our old room made it much more real. Finding our marriage certificate in the pile of papers under Ian's desk didn't help, either. It is appropriate that we're selling this place where we spent one-third of our married life at the same time we're about to start divorce proceedings. Even though we both agree and know this is for the best, it still astounds me how damn hard it is. One of the ladies at work is going through a divorce too; maybe we should commiserate.
It occurs to me that I should probably be on some kind of happy pill, due to the circumstances of my life at this point. I've got all the symptoms of needing it: up one day, down the next, like a fuckin' rollercoaster. I cry really damn easily these days. It pisses me off. I hate to cry; usually Cynthia is the only one who gets to see that. Lately I've been crying at damn love songs on the radio.
I am a wuss.
Most of the time any more, I want to crawl under my desk when I get to work and not come out. There's so much to do that I'm not getting anything done. I am indeed bitching and complaining, and have been all week. You, my Loyal Minions, get to hear about it. Aren't you lucky?
By the way, I'd apologize for my language, but I feel like I'm entitled to use the word "fuck" right now.
What the hell, I'm going to the house. Home? No, I don't have one of those any more. Maybe someday. Off to feel sorry for myself. Bye now.
-- marcie.