this strike'll be bigger than jimmo!
Earlier tonight I went to my brothers' Boy Scout ham and bean supper where I was chastised by my grandmother for wearing a low-cut top, which was a symptom of times we live in and also an effect of the Oscar awards. I won a paper aeroplane kit which I didn't remember putting a ticket in for. Later on I spent 74 minutes watching a Western with the family. The ending was surprisingly unpredictable, although if I hadn't tuned out the silly little song at the beginning, I think it might have given me a clue as to the fate of the stupid prospector. Jimmo!
Yesterday at work Arthur, one of the managers, stormed into the dishroom and told all of us to gather 'round. He told myself and another girl to go home because there were too many people working, but then a minute later told us to go out and wash tables, without seeming to realize that he'd just told us to go home. This was a very characteristic thing for him to do; the other week he sent me upstairs to wash tables and explained to me that I must wash the tables with soap and water in a bucket, and I must push in the chairs as well, but not at the booths, since the booths don't have chairs. He didn't say that last bit with any trace of humor.
Thursday was disappointing because my group for the writing project was going to meet and get coffee instead of meeting in the classroom, but we didn't get coffee. What with the usual Thursday coffee, I had been expecting to be in coffee shops for six hours. Dan said I would be a beatnik, and I declared that there would be a yearly celebration of the six hours in coffee shops. Instead the group met in school for 30 minutes, and Dan and I ate at Newport Creamery, having a meal and a shake to give us the status of "fatties."
Earlier in the week I realized truly that I am actually going to die someday. The realization hit me so hard that it sort of put a damper on the rest of the week, and for the past few days it would pop into my thoughts every so often and ruin my mood. I think it's sort of receding to the occasional pop-up of "holy crap... I'll be old someday," but I get afraid that I might not be able to keep morbid thoughts out of my head... I want to enjoy my vacation. *sigh*
Yesterday at work Arthur, one of the managers, stormed into the dishroom and told all of us to gather 'round. He told myself and another girl to go home because there were too many people working, but then a minute later told us to go out and wash tables, without seeming to realize that he'd just told us to go home. This was a very characteristic thing for him to do; the other week he sent me upstairs to wash tables and explained to me that I must wash the tables with soap and water in a bucket, and I must push in the chairs as well, but not at the booths, since the booths don't have chairs. He didn't say that last bit with any trace of humor.
Thursday was disappointing because my group for the writing project was going to meet and get coffee instead of meeting in the classroom, but we didn't get coffee. What with the usual Thursday coffee, I had been expecting to be in coffee shops for six hours. Dan said I would be a beatnik, and I declared that there would be a yearly celebration of the six hours in coffee shops. Instead the group met in school for 30 minutes, and Dan and I ate at Newport Creamery, having a meal and a shake to give us the status of "fatties."
Earlier in the week I realized truly that I am actually going to die someday. The realization hit me so hard that it sort of put a damper on the rest of the week, and for the past few days it would pop into my thoughts every so often and ruin my mood. I think it's sort of receding to the occasional pop-up of "holy crap... I'll be old someday," but I get afraid that I might not be able to keep morbid thoughts out of my head... I want to enjoy my vacation. *sigh*
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