Cafe Hitch-hike

2004-04-18

Permanent vacation

I put in for my vacation time. I am hoping to get the hell out of Michigan for one week in mid-May. Spring officially starts in the end of March, but technically doesn't begin until, oh, early June. Spring has been coming late for the past few years. Well, it's 78 and sunny now. This is, by far, the exception to the rule! We will probably get hail and an inch of snow next week, so I'll just keep the rock salt and snow shovel on my front porch until the end of the month.

I always have to leave the state around this time of the year so my sunlight-deprived body can get replenished! I need a jump-start on spring!

My idea, really, is to give myself a permanent vacation from both of my jobs. My dream would be to go to Florida, and then go to Texas for a few days to see my wild mother, meet my new nephew, and hang out with my grandma (she may be Mexican American, but she makes the most wicked Puerto Rican rice in the universe -- hell yeah, that alone would make the trip worthwhile!).

Nah, but there's always been something so therapuetic about Austin.

The reason why I think about this is because I got a phone call from an ethnic studies museum... Agh, they want to know if I'm interested in a job with them and it's like HELLLLL YEAH! It soothes me to think about giving my jobs my two-week notice. "Bye-bye, suckers! Ah-hahahahh!" Alright, just kidding. It's just that I need a rest.

I was telling my friend Lala that my university job felt something like this: "hair gets pulled, hair doesn't get pulled (but my hand was still gripping on my hair). Hair gets pulled, hair doesn't get pulled."

"As opposed to getting stroked, brushed, patted, and maybe conditioned," she mused.

I like the people I work with at the univ.lib, but for the past 6 months, but parts of the job feel like that hair-pulling. I don't write about it much here because I usually forget about it, but there is usually some stupid struggle after another. About once a month, my supervisor Lady Jane and I manage to step on each other's toes, we get pissed at each other, and then one of us rebounds and tries to mend whatever we did. Man, that's a pain and it's getting really old!

Okay, here's what I hope for with the museum:

1. The hours aren't insane and I can actually have more of a personal life

2. My co-workers aren't insane

3. I can still pay my bills and eat three meals a day with their pay scale

4. The organization is halfway reasonable to work with.

I know for a fact that since we are unofficially at war with their region, I will probably get an FBI file opened on me (hooray), but that hardly matters because I doubt I'll ever be serve on any U.S. cabinet.

One of my classmates had a part-time job with them, but she had a 50-mile, one-way commute and that had to be a pain. She moved on to a full-time job in her own town. I was tempted to e-mail her and ask about the conditions. I don't want to make her uncomfy by asking for "the dirt", but just a run-down of what it's like to work for them.

To get psyched for my vacation, I ordered a swimsuit from Victoria's Secret. As much as I'm not crazy about model worship and the messages it sends, I must admit they have some products that happily agree with my body. The last bikini I bought from them was great, but it was 6 years old and couldn't survive the salty waters of Myrtle Beach from my last year's excursion.

So, I think about that prospective job and think about giving myself a two-week vacation. Boy, that would be nice. A one-week deal already doesn't feel like enough for me.

Tomorrow, I call the museum and see what they're about. God, would it be nice to have not just a vacation but a permanent vacation from other things.

downwind | upstream