I feel like I am in detox-not having internet or cigarettes-well it really sucks. On the plus side? Your skin looks a lot nicer when you don’t smoke-like I don’t have any blackheads. Apparently, I don’t have oily combo skin-my face was just dirty-dirty with smoke. By my count-it’s day 3 of not smoking-Monica’s is two. Hell, my last cigarette was on Saturday morning-so I am counting the entire day. The weirdest thing? Like a mime suddenly bereft of the invisible wall-my hands just don’t know what to do. I can’t help but knot things-rip things-shuffle cards, fold paper. Except for that time I got really stoned in college, I can’t remember the last time I was so aware of my hands. I keep waiting for some super human strength to develop-like I’ll the develop the ability to smell the thai restaurant four blocks away. But no, so far there are no discernible differences. Maybe I am just reading too many vampire novels.
Remember that crazy coworker? Pita? She really is crazy. It’s not just me. Today I had lunch with some colleague and Pita was there. There’s another lady who has two small children-and she sort of mentioned them in passing. Pita was all over that-whenever anyone mentions their children, she talks about her husband-and his job. Then she turns to the lady and asks: “Were your children planned?”
Just like that.
Alll crazy.
When Pita asks questions like that-I think sometimes people assume that maybe there’s some sort of language barrier-maybe she’s not crazy-maybe something got lost in translation. So the lady says: “Excuse me?”
And Pita asked again: “Were your children planned?”
I went back to the salad bar.
Later on, I saw her in between training with another teacher-she told me how nice I looked and how I should wear a dress everyday because I look so pretty. Then she points and was like “NO more jeans and teeshirts for you.”
I told her that I liked jeans and teeshirts and that was that.
and she was like “Well you really shouldn;t.”
It was like what not to wear-but without the promise of spending $5000 on fabulous clothes in New York.
Today at training our trainer was describing students we all have in class-the unfailingly polite, slightly goth kids who read novels instead of paying attention-and when redirected by the teacher-they say sorry and put away their book and pretend to work, and then take them out again two minutes later. We all chuckled along until the trainer stopped directly in front of my table and looked at me: “That was you in high school wasn’t it?”
He’s totally psychic. I don’t know why he’s a consultant.
