Anything Lime


Category Archive

The following is a list of all entries from the Work category.

Shway

In an attempt to improve both my mood and my productivity at work I recently made the decision to incorporate the principles of Feng Shui in the redecorating of my cubicle. Yes, improve my mood and productivity and also continue my streak as that Weird Girl With All That Freaking Weirdness. You know, the girl people love to be around so that when they talk about me they can say things like, “Oh, yeah, a carnivorous plant… I know a girl who’s totally into that. And get this – SHE’S NOT EVEN ONE PART CARNIVOROUS.”

So even though I have set myself apart as the girl who BROUGHT IN COASTERS FROM HOME, I figured I’d bring in a few trinkets – crystals and such – as if to say, “Here, coworkers who were kind of on the fence about whether I’m a total whacked out nut job who wears sweatshirts with cat paws on them. It was probably a good idea to not invite me to your little celebratory dinner party because LOOK – I JUST GOT A WHOLE LOT WEIRDER.”

And now it’s justified when they give me that blank stare, one I saw on Patrick for the first time when he watched my mother wash a jar and put it in the cabinet. An old spaghetti sauce jar that she was going to save because should there ever be an emergency situation that required such a jar, as God as her witness, she would have 19 or 34 or 97 jars for just that occasion. Wide eyed and open mouthed, the look on Patrick’s face was something to the tune of “OH MY GOD – IT HAS A MOTHER.”

My Feng Shui process started with a thorough cleaning of my desk, which included removing dust, dirt and various items I no longer use from my workspace. Follow this with some rearranging of some desk trinkets, some hiding of file folders, some sprinkling in of lemon scent and voila – the cleaning was complete.

I was then faced with a choice, a) pay off my credit card, or b) spend money on rocks. You are left to assume that because I am even bringing this up that my money-savvy mother in law is cringing at the mere mention of my credit card debt. OH THE INTEREST! OH HOW IT’S BUILDING!

The stones are for various things – maintaining individuality, inspiring creativity, helping me deal with emotional baggage and feeling peaceful. I even have one that I place at the edge of my desk to protect all negative energy from seeping into my cube. And it protects in all directions. ALL DIRECTIONS! Now if a rock like that isn’t worth eleven dollars, well, I don’t want to know what is.

I’ve also incorporated a number of other things including a mirror which faces the entrance of my cubicle, a pair of garnet stones next to photos of Patrick and me in the corner of my cube representing love and marriage, a plant (which is not in an ideal location for her sake – she’s very sensitive to light. And also to everything else) and a red box in my “power zone” with an Om on it, which I have filled with sage and lavender. Yes, I know, I’ve turned my cube into what some people might call a crazy voodoo space or something. I assure you that I haven’t gone around collecting toe nail clippings or other such discarded parts to shove in pickle jars with dolls resembling my enemies or anything. But now that you mention it, I do have some free time.


Mathematics of a Morning Commute

I, along with every other unfortunate person forced to drive on I-4 to work each morning, must ask myself, “How can it possibly take an hour to drive 20 miles?!”

Let’s get specific with these numbers to find out EXACTLY what the hell is going on.

Today it took me 62 minutes. No accidents. No sight-seeing. No bathroom breaks. Just 62 minutes of pure agony to drive 18.8 miles. This was an unusually slow day for me. It usually takes no more than 42 minutes. Even so, that’s 42 minutes each way, that’s 84 minutes each day, that’s 410 minutes each week I spend commuting to and from work. That’s almost seven hours. Hot damn.

Let’s examine this more closely, eh?

I enter the on-ramp at exit 72. My exit for work is exit 87. That means I spend 15 miles on the interstate crawling hopelessly toward my final destination. It takes me about four minutes to get to the I-4 ramp from the time I lock the door of my apartment. It takes me about nine and a half minutes to get to my office after I exit the interstate, which consists of slow stop-and-go traffic and four stop lights (which are always red).

That means I spend, every day of my life, 28.5 minutes on the interstate driving 15 miles. Let me help you understand…this means my average speed on I-4 is 31.6 miles per hour. 31.6 fricken miles per hour. Children run in the streets at that speed.

Ok, so if I spend 410 minutes each week commuting, in a year I’ll have wasted 355 hours of my life sitting in traffic. That’s 14 days. That’s two weeks. Two weeks out of every year I am sitting in my car, putting on mascara, listening to the radio, wishing I had the ability to teleport. (Which, if you know me, you’d know this has always been the thing I want more than anything else.)

So this little exploration into my morning commute has inspired me to think of other things I do daily that are just as good at wasting precious minutes of my life.

Every single day, I bring a grapefruit to work to eat after my instant oatmeal. A breakfast encore, if you will. Anyway, rather than cutting it at home, on a cutting board, with a knife that works, I insist on bringing an in-tact grapefruit to work each morning. Why? Who knows. I must subconsciously enjoy using only an inch of counter space in the ant-infested community kitchen at work to perform this operation. And for utensils? I use the most worthless pieces of crap plastic knives that are about as useful as using my left forearm to cut through the grapefruit. Anyway, it takes me about 11 minutes to get it all cut up the way I like. It takes me about half the time if I do it at home. That’s almost an hour a week I spend frustratingly jabbing grapefruit.

Every night before bed I read a book. Usually a cheesy mystery novel of sorts. I notice when I’m falling asleep, but I continue reading anyway. I read until I am not even holding the book upright anymore. Then the next night, I locate my bookmark and open up to the page, and I’m absolutely lost. I spend the next three and a half minutes looking for where I left off, rereading the last page I coherently read, and finally continuing forward. That’s three and a half minutes every night. That’s 24.5 minutes I spend each week looking for my page in my book. Why do I even use a bookmark?

And, while I’m doing the math for you, I might as well point out that you’ve just wasted three minutes of your life reading this blog post.