Lately, the smoke alarm in my apartment has been triggered by my hair dryer. By "lately" I mean every time I use it for more than three minutes at a time. I am not certain which one is defective, the dryer or the alarm. I know only that for my cats to begin acting blase about one of the most piercing alarms I've had in my many, many apartments, it is time for something to give. I'm pretty sure my upstairs neighbor is harboring a deep resentment for me, the kind that can only be born at 6am on a Monday morning but considering that she has very loud sex at inopportune hours, we might be able to agree to disagree. Also, I don't know why, but I feel extraordinarily lazy about doing anything about this daily occurrence.
For the last six months or so and on an almost weekly basis, my boss will come into my office with a stack of papers listing all the serials publications we are cancelling for the library. It is my job to contact the vendors and let them know we no longer want to receive these, effectively cutting the job responsibilities of everyone in my office, myself included, inch by inch. We have cut a huge amount of our serials subscriptions, mostly because no one is publishing, reading or keeping them anymore. I should mention that one of my job titles contains the word "Serials" which may as well be thrown into the vortex of obsolete words next to "analog clock" and "8-track". Maybe it is the glacial pace of academia and its budgets but it never really occurred to me to be concerned about this until a staff meeting last week that basically cast the school's dean as a Cassandra of sorts; she had pretty much nothing but bad news for us but the staff sat happily munching on the free breakfast and got grumpy about not getting the week between Christmas and New Year's off. I think it was only last week, as I watched my coworkers swirl half eaten french toast triangles in their syrup and drank my third cup of coffee did it truly occur to me that come July, my job might actually be in danger. I have done nothing but casually mention it to one or two people. Doing nothing you know, for a change.
I routinely drive down a street where deer are known to cross. There may or may not be a few signs that indicate this. I still drive at a faster than needed speed, a result of my always being 15 minutes late.
How many times have I looked back on various relationships to find
all the "red flags" that people just carry around with them like heavy bicycle chain necklaces or I don't know, face tattoos. Those things are there from day one of meeting someone new, usually the prologue to their life's book. And yet I consistently don't even dog ear the page for future reference. It is only after it is all over do I say things like "Oh so THAT'S why he said tongues freak me out" or something when really I should have said "Thanks but no thanks" from the beginning.
Ignoring warnings is apparently one of my fortes. And sure, if I'm to use the actions of most law school students and public library patrons during fire drills as an example, most people ignore most warnings, even when they are piercing sirens or signs that are big and red and say things like STOP. For all my perception and insight into things that happen to me or around me, it is kind of remarkable to me that I often don't get it. I suppose that in itself is a meta-sign of sorts but, in true "me" fashion, I'll go ahead and ignore it.
Post a Comment