Okay, this is getting weird. I’m at the cafe while my clothes spin dry, and there are three really nice sweaters in here. One white traditional Aran on a tall bespectacled guy wearing a baseball cap, one orange/black fair isle worn by a an older guy who types with his arms outstretched, and one gorgeous all-over Aran worn by a woman who looks like she writes poetry about rivers and is perhaps a nurse.
Me, I’m in a zip-up cardie I bought at Wal-Mart equivalent in New Zealand, machine made and acrylic. I love this thing. Why is it that I’ve made one zillion sweaters (or at least it feels like it) and I still don’t have The Perfect Sweater like this one?
Oooh. I had been sitting up in the window, but I moved because sitting in the sun made me too hot. I’m glad. I’m now farther away from the whistler, the guy who doesn’t know the new-age song he’s whistling to along with the overhead piped-in music, and he is attempting harmony anyway. It’s something I do unconsciously, too, so perhaps it bugs me more in other people.
Such a busy week! Work kicked my ass. This was my first week on the new shift: Up at 430am, out of the house by 5am, work 6am to 6pm. I now know why this particular job is less drama-fied than other dispatch agencies: There isn’t that much time to gossip or create drama. There isn’t that much time to do ANYTHING. I knit about six rows on a sleeve yesterday. One stitch, put it down for an incredibly busy hour. Three more stitches, put it down for another hour.
On Tuesday, it was so busy that I was a little scared. I mean, I was keeping up, but just barely. I was on one channel sending out medical calls to three cities, two channels had two working fires in two separate cities, and another channel had a haz-mat response on the freeway. All in my one ear. All freaking day, it was like that. And I’m making phone calls to utility companies and city agencies and answering 911s (although I wasn’t supposed to — it was just too busy not to). Let’s put it this way: We tried to watch an hour program (okay, it was the Bachelor Paris) that someone had taped off TV. We had twelve hours to do it in. We only got about twenty minutes watched that day, in minute-long bites between calls.
I looked around at the end of the afternoon and said, "Is this normal?" If they had said, "Yeah, this is what we do everyday," I’d have freaked OUT. Instead, they looked as drained as I did and said, no, it wasn’t always like this. Thank god.
Sure makes the time go, though.
Today’s my only full day off to do errands, so I’m running around, getting moving boxes and supplies (tape! Must remember tape! Always forget tape), and then I’m going home and I’m going to start to pack. Really. I promise.
