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February 14, 2009
Eight is a Lucky Number
So I should be feeling really fortunate that I have 888 emails in my work inbox.
Somehow, I'm not feeling the luck. I try to keep it less than 600 but I've been in a non-going-through-email-inbox funk for, oh, two weeks and thus the scary statistic.
Working for a big company means that I get a lot of system-generated messages. I could probably get the number down quite a bit if I tackled those first.
Two deleted.
Next one tells me my time sheet is late. Unfortunately the code I need to get it done is buried somewhere in the remaining 886 messages. That just doesn't seem right.
Also unfortunate is that the two emails after that one are just begging to be deleted, causing me to skip the one I really need to address just to get the number down to 884.
(This could take a while and be quite painful.)
I have taken to the Twitter thing as well. And if I didn't have so many emails to go through, I'd consider trying to figure out how to get the (are they called tweets or twits?) linked up here. That way my sister will know that I have not fallen off the face of the earth.
(I've thought about it, but unless I can come up with a way to overcome the gravity aspect, it's probably not going to happen.)
And it wouldn't be me if there were any other outcome to the cute guy I met in Japan story. We sent emails, then graduated to a phone call that was, I will admit, pretty pleasant.
Which of course just meant that in the next email he'd ask me whether it was hard to get a green card, and a comment that he needed employment, it didn't really matter doing what, and how is the market here where I live.
Cue Queen.
Right on time.
In other news, I bought John Grisham's new book Monday morning at the airport, and finished it before bed Monday night. I had two other books with me. I finished Code to Zero right as I landed home last night, and started The Hour I First Believed last night before bed.
(Loved that he apologized to his mom for the use of the four-letter words.)
I was talking to my mom earlier in the week and, for the first time I think in my life, used the word fucking in a sentence with her. In context, the phrase was "fucking delusional" but I'm not going to get into the rest of the story. I didn't miss a beat, she didn't react, and we continued the conversation.
(I'm 41. I don't think she's going to come at me with a bar of soap.)
I used to buy books all the time. And I kept the books I bought, whether there was any chance I'd read them again or not. Now I try not to buy so many books, unless they are First Editions. But I read too much, and go to the library too little. At least I've taken to giving the books away instead of hoarding them. Primarily because I don't have enough room on my bookshelf to keep them all. I don't want any more furniture, and I can't abide stacks of shit (sorry Mom) around my house.
Apparently stacks of emails pose me no serious problems.
(There is a reason I have a whole category for random musings.)
Written by Angela Tanner. February 14, 2009 09:55 AM