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rambling like a rambling thing
May. 17th, 2006 11:41 pmOne of other new people I work with is a guy who fancies himself as some kind of father figure type. Fortunately I figured this out only a few weeks into interacting with him. Up until then I had just thought he was rude. (As I explained it to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
the_axel, it's not that I have any special hate on for guys who want to give me the paternal treatment, I just honestly have no frame of reference for that kind of behaviour.)
Yesterday he said to me, in all serousness, "You seem kinda young and like you haven't seen a lot, so I'm going to tell you something about how the world works."
I swear that I was honestly too surprised to laugh.
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In the "how partners start to look like each other" file, I have picked up Axel's habit of passing out on the couch at 8PM on weekends. How embarrassing. No punk-rock points for me.
On the plus side, I'm not going to be doing regular 6AMs any more. On the minus side, I also have to admit to myself that some of it is just exhaustion from fighting for air all the damn time. My asthma has been awful. The pollen count has been really high this spring, and although I'm not allergic to it all the additional particulate matter does make me wheezy.
And let's face it, my fat-to-muscle ratio is just too bloody high right now. Some serious dedicated gym time ought to take some of the pressure off my diaphragm and give me room to breathe. I should be able to carry on a conversation with Axel when he's doing that built-completely-out-of-legs stride of his without having to stop and catch my breath halfway to the bus stop.
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On the plus side, (Well, kinda on the plus side.) passing out early on weekends also means getting up early. Which leads to getting stuff done arund the house. Last Sunday we hauled flagstones and dirt until muscles howled and a semblance of a yard appeared in front of our house.
Every day I check it anxiously for signs of green coming out of the dirt. Not that I will be able to tell if it's the wildflower seeds I tossed around or more goldenrod. If it's the latter I may just give up and pave the fucking thing.
At some point this weekend we'll need to fix up the BBQ and get everything sorted for the pigroast. (Volunteers gratefully accepted.) We've already ordered all the beer. Priorities, people.
I am so looking forward to it. And not just for the pork.
the_axel, it's not that I have any special hate on for guys who want to give me the paternal treatment, I just honestly have no frame of reference for that kind of behaviour.)Yesterday he said to me, in all serousness, "You seem kinda young and like you haven't seen a lot, so I'm going to tell you something about how the world works."
I swear that I was honestly too surprised to laugh.
In the "how partners start to look like each other" file, I have picked up Axel's habit of passing out on the couch at 8PM on weekends. How embarrassing. No punk-rock points for me.
On the plus side, I'm not going to be doing regular 6AMs any more. On the minus side, I also have to admit to myself that some of it is just exhaustion from fighting for air all the damn time. My asthma has been awful. The pollen count has been really high this spring, and although I'm not allergic to it all the additional particulate matter does make me wheezy.
And let's face it, my fat-to-muscle ratio is just too bloody high right now. Some serious dedicated gym time ought to take some of the pressure off my diaphragm and give me room to breathe. I should be able to carry on a conversation with Axel when he's doing that built-completely-out-of-legs stride of his without having to stop and catch my breath halfway to the bus stop.
On the plus side, (Well, kinda on the plus side.) passing out early on weekends also means getting up early. Which leads to getting stuff done arund the house. Last Sunday we hauled flagstones and dirt until muscles howled and a semblance of a yard appeared in front of our house.
Every day I check it anxiously for signs of green coming out of the dirt. Not that I will be able to tell if it's the wildflower seeds I tossed around or more goldenrod. If it's the latter I may just give up and pave the fucking thing.
At some point this weekend we'll need to fix up the BBQ and get everything sorted for the pigroast. (Volunteers gratefully accepted.) We've already ordered all the beer. Priorities, people.
I am so looking forward to it. And not just for the pork.