hello and welcome to my friday

i've always tried, here in my little scrap of the world wide web, to be delightful. by that i mean not too depressing, although you must admit, my Path of Life has a lot of shade trees. and i try not to kvetch too too much, although genetically, it's an uphill battle. and lord knows how hard i try to keep a jupiter perspective ("if this were viewed from jupiter, just how important would it be?"). but i just need to say this: i have come to hate my job. there. i know a few of you are smirking knowingly...you've been waiting. it's just that i am so tired of people thinking they have to scream or besmirch the company in order to get free stuff or money back. stop it just stop it. my job title, for god's sake, is nothing less than fairy godmother. tooth fairy godmother. a person could call me up, give me their account number, and break into the final verse of Night Fever by the BeeGees, and i am supposed to give them all their money back. that is the nature and description of my job duties. you don't have to threaten to call your attorney (like any self-respecting lawyer would take on a case over a bill for $75), and just how much do you think "the principal of the thing" will cost you in billable hours?? unless you have been physically maimed beyond repair, then you have officially lost your right to yell in my ear. and for the record...i am not stupid, and i have never slept with your mother. a tasty tidbit of information has fallen into the wrong hands (mine) however. apparently, snicker snicker, when i push the "mute" button on my phone, it will continue to record my voice even though the party on the other end of the telephonic miracle cannot (hopefully) hear me. know where this is headed? now, when the recording (which is actually my voice work) says "this call may be recorded..." rest assured it is. and not for training purposes. it is so when they randomly select 3 of my calls to "score" every month, they have something to refer back to. there is a long list of 33 "smile points" i must include in my conversation with you if i am to win the prize: a bonus. however, just as anyone is about to grab that brass ring, they change the matrix points (their term) so it has not yet been possible to attain bonus. by anyone. so having more self-respect than need for the game, i opted out. in reality, you cannot officially opt out. i just don't care. truly and deeply. don't care. i don't look at my scores. i don't put on the headset and listen back, scoresheet in hand, trying for that extra nano-slice of a point that would get me on the path to financial righteousness and $300 closer to that beach condo and mazzerati. i just don't care. but what i do care about is tweaking The Listeners and Scorers whenever possible. and this, my friends, is where the beauty of the mute button became important. paired with an innate talent to talk out of both sides of my mouth, thanks to years working in radio with people i despised, i can carry on a seamless conversation with a dissatisfied customer, while hitting the mute button from time to time and pop off with something totally inappropriate. and the scorers and listeners have no idea, none, whether i said this TO the person or if i did in fact hit my mute button. except that the customer is still ranting unabated. today, i tried hypnosis. "i know you're listening...and it's sooo boring...it's late...you are getting sleeeepy...you are under my power...score this high or forever cluck like a chicken." i sang a few hymns, "this is my story, this is my song...praising my Savior all the day long." the people sitting near me are used to my Rain Man-esque outbursts and pay me no mind. and don'tcha know, today, the New new boss was listening with a listener so he could learn the ropes. what fun is this! yes, i've seen the commercial where the guy comes in to fix the mute button right after the boss gets dissed in a conference call. but sooner or later, it'll be time to leave this paradise anyway, and why not leave a legacy? not just The Girl Who Got Fired, but, didja hear the one about The Girl Who's Mute Button Didn't Work? so that part of my job is okay. so can you tell i've been feeling weary and weepy and not at all my Zen-like self? i think i know why. remember the gypsy woman from a post or two back? the one that whispers to diva to wake me up uber-early on saturday mornings to make art and have beautiful thoughts? well it works, however...diva cannot tell time. and dogs live by no man's calendar. so EVERY morning, she will begin waking me at 3am-ish, just in case. so by 5am, i just give in semi-curse, and get up and make art. i refuse to have beautiful thoughts that early though. and then it's too soon 7am, and so starts my hamster wheel. and when i leave the house at 9-ish, i feel homesick. and much longing. not only for my diva, who now has the benefit of some quality mom-time. but for my art. a lump forms in my throat. i want just one more hour in my studio, with it's morning light so perfect, and the quietness, and the smell of the paint and varnishes and found objects of every imaginatory kind. by 10-ish, i am in full passionate longing for some soft matte gel medium. and i am working harder at squashing resentment than i am at my job. add to this the fact that although it is at least a full month before poison ivy season, yours truly is covered from wrist to elbow in itching, oozing hivatiousnesss, and it's my right arm...the one that scrapes along the desktop while i manage the mouse. i could swear i reminded God that there already WAS a Job in the bible. so once again, i've prattled waay too long. so goodnight. and try to catch the double header at the Everson this sunday...Jim Ridlon collages & assemblages, plus 2 short films by Cornell (yes THAT Cornell...he made films. assemblage films). xoxLinda