I believe that there is a type of exhaustion that is unique to working retail. Although, there is something to be said about working retail in the summer because it is always so much fun--at times. There are times where the anger comes through [when helping customers, or picking up books thrown on the floor by badly disciplined children, etc], but usually there are better times that poke through when working with young people full of aspirations.
I have a book that I won't mention in my bag right now. It's being released on my birthday and I am way too excited about having it in my posession right now. Way too excited. I'll talk about it once I read more of it. I'm afraid it will be as shitty as Douglas Coupland's last book--talk about a waste of words and ink.
The other one that I checked out today is The Case of the Female Orgasm: Bias in the Science of Evolution. Honestly, you don't think I could pass that one up. The other book that I'm going to read after these two is one that was just published about children soldiers. Supposedly, it's the foremost printed with refined information. We'll see. I honestly haven't looked that much into books published in the united states about children warriors.
The other day, I took some books to my sister written by different authors from different backgrounds. Pulitzer prize winners, different minority groups, bla bla bla. The next step is to introduce her to the @ers here at the university and maybe she'll start thinking about herself as a piece in a larger puzzle. Maybe she'll only drink free trade coffee for the next four years.
I've been in the weirdest moods for the last few days--for various reasons. It bothers me that everyone I talk to about the bombings in London assumes an angry expression and says, I KNOW IT SUCKS. Then everything stops.
Not sure what else anyone would say, but it doesn't seem right. Like enough.
I think this ties back into the restlessness to leave. To go camping in the middle of nowhere for a few days.
Before I left work, I meant to ask people what award they'd want to win if they could get any one that they'd pick. Suppose I forgot.
I have a book that I won't mention in my bag right now. It's being released on my birthday and I am way too excited about having it in my posession right now. Way too excited. I'll talk about it once I read more of it. I'm afraid it will be as shitty as Douglas Coupland's last book--talk about a waste of words and ink.
The other one that I checked out today is The Case of the Female Orgasm: Bias in the Science of Evolution. Honestly, you don't think I could pass that one up. The other book that I'm going to read after these two is one that was just published about children soldiers. Supposedly, it's the foremost printed with refined information. We'll see. I honestly haven't looked that much into books published in the united states about children warriors.
The other day, I took some books to my sister written by different authors from different backgrounds. Pulitzer prize winners, different minority groups, bla bla bla. The next step is to introduce her to the @ers here at the university and maybe she'll start thinking about herself as a piece in a larger puzzle. Maybe she'll only drink free trade coffee for the next four years.
I've been in the weirdest moods for the last few days--for various reasons. It bothers me that everyone I talk to about the bombings in London assumes an angry expression and says, I KNOW IT SUCKS. Then everything stops.
Not sure what else anyone would say, but it doesn't seem right. Like enough.
I think this ties back into the restlessness to leave. To go camping in the middle of nowhere for a few days.
Before I left work, I meant to ask people what award they'd want to win if they could get any one that they'd pick. Suppose I forgot.
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