Movin' . . . Groovin' . . .
"One good thing about music . . .
When it hits
You feel no pain . . . "
Thank you, Bob Marley, for the momentary and highly pleasant distraction from this morning's commute into the job that I am no longer bitching about.
Yes, the New Attitude is in full force, and I didn't ONCE complain about my job, or working some this weekend, or the fact that Kevin has to work all weekend now, or the quick backlog of tasks that I've acquired in just 3 days back at work--nope, none of that. But, this morning as I was getting ready, I noticed an elevated level of crankiness. 'Kevin, do you have the receipt for this [bronken humidifier] thing, so we can take it back?' 'No--I looked for it and couldn't find it.' 'Well [annoyed], I don't want to spend 50 bucks for a broken humidifier.' It's almost as if the bitch is bursting at the seams--if I don't bitch about work, I shall bitch about something or risk ill-health.
And then I listened to "Trenchtown Rock (live)" by Bob Marley and the Wailers. And I am near ready, after just one song (listened to twice) to become a Rastafarian--at least the version that white, middle-class Americans think of: colorful clothes, lots of dope, and dancing in slow motion in the hot sun . . . waves pounding in the distance . . . big fruity drinks and blackened fish. None of that actual political stuff or the extreme poverty that leads to it.
Why couldn't I have been a trust-fund kid?!
I will hold. I will hold.
When it hits
You feel no pain . . . "
Thank you, Bob Marley, for the momentary and highly pleasant distraction from this morning's commute into the job that I am no longer bitching about.
Yes, the New Attitude is in full force, and I didn't ONCE complain about my job, or working some this weekend, or the fact that Kevin has to work all weekend now, or the quick backlog of tasks that I've acquired in just 3 days back at work--nope, none of that. But, this morning as I was getting ready, I noticed an elevated level of crankiness. 'Kevin, do you have the receipt for this [bronken humidifier] thing, so we can take it back?' 'No--I looked for it and couldn't find it.' 'Well [annoyed], I don't want to spend 50 bucks for a broken humidifier.' It's almost as if the bitch is bursting at the seams--if I don't bitch about work, I shall bitch about something or risk ill-health.
And then I listened to "Trenchtown Rock (live)" by Bob Marley and the Wailers. And I am near ready, after just one song (listened to twice) to become a Rastafarian--at least the version that white, middle-class Americans think of: colorful clothes, lots of dope, and dancing in slow motion in the hot sun . . . waves pounding in the distance . . . big fruity drinks and blackened fish. None of that actual political stuff or the extreme poverty that leads to it.
Why couldn't I have been a trust-fund kid?!
I will hold. I will hold.
posted by lulu | 5:32 AM
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