PlazaJen: Passion Knit

Tuesday, October 19, 2004

That is That

Had my review today; let me say overall, it was positive. It was fine. I have discovered, the older I get, the delicious art of NOT speaking. It has many results, and I have found that those results tend to benefit me. I did not do much speaking in my review, and it not only made the whole thing go faster, but I think it also put more pressure on my supervisor(s) to explain things & the more she talked the more she put a positive spin on things. :) Insert small smile.
I am a talker, big time. I think when I don't talk, it makes the other person think they need to talk more. They give me more information than they maybe intended, which I like. So, despite my cacophonous headache, I am fine, I am not upset or discouraged. I am amused that, time after time, my organization (or lack thereof) and time management/socializing do come up in reviews. Perhaps I should take it as a sign to change. Instead, I usually take it as evidence that I continue to be the same person I was in grade school.
Evidence #1: At a parent-teacher conference in 5th grade, Mrs. Haller made a HUGE deal about my messy desk. I expected my father, packrat extraordinaire and messy man himself, to back me up. Instead, he suggested I wear a sandwich board that read "I am a Slob." I was a little miffed (horrified) by that, but it didn't change me. (Nor did I have to wear the sandwich board.) Eventually, in high school, I had two lockers, one for overflow crap (and pitched lunches - I still don't understand why I never just put them in the trash, more on that in a moment) and one for books.
Evidence #2: While in gym class in the 4th grade, the principal came in and screamed (I mean it was LOUD, what with the acoustics), "I WANNA SEE JIM, AMY AND JENNIFER IN MY OFFICE RIGHT NOW." I will not lie. Amy & I were about to pee our pants out of fear. Jim had to go first (and I have forgotten his last name, but for storytelling purposes have given him a new one.) We sat on the chairs in the secretary's office, quaking, our little stomachs doing amazing gymnastics, as if we had never left gym at all. We couldn't hear what James was in trouble for, and the principal was being loud - but what with the blood buzzing in our ears from adrenaline pounding through our systems, we were shit outta luck on gathering evidence for our defense. Then it was our turn. Boom. Into two new seats, same positioning, me on the left, Amy on the right.
"YOU GIRLS ARE SPENDING TOO MUCH TIME TALKING AND PASSING NOTES IN CLASS! YOU TWO ARE WHAT I CALL 'SOCIAL BUTTERFLIES'!"
And honestly, at that point, all the adrenaline left me, like I'd been given a shot of some normal-life-restoring epinephrin from an EMT worker. Wha? But of course! C'est moi! That's what all this hubbub is about? It's who I am, dude! I even remember thinking, "So? What's so wrong with that?" And I was silent. We both agreed, through nodding, to knock it off. And we never did. I still don't. Now, with my workload, I can't socialize nearly as much, but email is the modern way to pass notes, and I don't see myself changing because it's not someone else's style. However, the ability to keep my mouth shut when needed is an excellent lesson, and I use it often.

About those pitched lunches? My mother refused, for the longest time, to not buy any bread other than what my father liked. And he was on a kick of LOVE LOVE LOVING Catherine Clark's Brownberry Cinnamon-Raisin-Walnut Wheat swirl. And my dad's a crazy, with what he'll eat sometimes - the man likes miracle whip & peanut butter sandwiches on toast - and so he ate that bread with everything. This girl despises Walnuts in most any form. Torture was used to get me to eat the dreaded Sweet Potato Casserole at Thanksgiving when I was three: You will sit here until you eat the vile blob: marshmallows, walnuts, orange juice & sweet potatoes. We will go in the other room and turn on the Winnie the Pooh special and enjoy it while you sit here and contemplate this horrid blob of orange growing colder by the second. I pinched my nose shut & swallowed, desperate to see my dear Pooh & Piglet & Eeyore. So you can imagine how receptive, at the age of 15, I might be to say a bologna or braunschweiger & Miracle Whip sandwich on freaking BREAKFAST BREAD BY ANYONE ELSE'S STANDARDS, let alone one with the WalnutFactor. But that is what my mother packed for me, day after day. So I retaliated by stealing change from her purse to buy my lunch, and putting my bag lunch in the extra locker, where they molded and were eventually discovered by a teacher, who had no way to pin it on me - I remember looking vaguely perplexed and uninterested in the hallway when they yelled, "Who's stuff IS this?!"
Funny. I had that perplexed & uninterested face on earlier today. The more things change, the more they stay the same.....



posted by PlazaJen, 11:54 AM
|