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Today is not my day to find you
Jan. 23rd, 2013 02:11 amI'm going to ignore the past two Caps hockey games because I need my blood pressure to stay low.
It took me, like, six hours to write my self-assessment for my annual performance review last week. I hate doing that. I never know how much to talk myself up, and I basically go into the whole ordeal with the barest minimum assumptions. ("So… they probably won't fire you. Probably. And if they do, it's likely they won't throw rocks at you right after it. And if they do throw rocks, the room where your evaluation takes place is midway down the hall from the door, so you have a good chance of running out of the building without getting hit by too many rocks.")
So, I ended up writing a four page single spaced evaluation of myself; my supervisor's evaluation was three paragraphs long. I was deemed satisfactory and received a raise. No rocks were thrown. But it made me think.
( Navel gazing, feel free to skip. But there's a story about possums and pythons underneath the cut as well. The actual animals. They are not metaphorical possums and pythons. )
I came home from New York wanting to tell that story to Louise. One of the other things I miss about her not being here is now I don't have anyone to tell me if the milk is spoiled or tell me not to eat the things of dubious age in the refrigerator. I mean, I have some basic criteria-- if the food is moving or iridescent when it previously was neither of those things when I bought or made it, I keep it out of my mouth. But other things-- sealed yogurt that was already kind of neon, luncheon meat that's four months old but still smells okay, etc.-- I have had to use my own judgement on, and that has sometimes gone awry.
( Let's finish off with some links about snakes, mobster gravestones, fairy tales, President Obama, corpses, and stairways. )
This was actually going to be an entry about my visit to Spa World last week, but there's kind of... a lot to say about that, so we'll push it to next time. Anyway. I kind of need someone who cares about hockey to talk to me about something I'm writing. If there's anyone out there who wouldn't mind having their ear briefly bent on gmail chat or in comments? Familiarity with the Capitals preferred but not a dealbreaker. Only if you'd like to, of course. Otherwise I'll just do my usual thing of hassling Twig or Flidget, and then someone inevitably ends up needing bail.
It took me, like, six hours to write my self-assessment for my annual performance review last week. I hate doing that. I never know how much to talk myself up, and I basically go into the whole ordeal with the barest minimum assumptions. ("So… they probably won't fire you. Probably. And if they do, it's likely they won't throw rocks at you right after it. And if they do throw rocks, the room where your evaluation takes place is midway down the hall from the door, so you have a good chance of running out of the building without getting hit by too many rocks.")
So, I ended up writing a four page single spaced evaluation of myself; my supervisor's evaluation was three paragraphs long. I was deemed satisfactory and received a raise. No rocks were thrown. But it made me think.
( Navel gazing, feel free to skip. But there's a story about possums and pythons underneath the cut as well. The actual animals. They are not metaphorical possums and pythons. )
I came home from New York wanting to tell that story to Louise. One of the other things I miss about her not being here is now I don't have anyone to tell me if the milk is spoiled or tell me not to eat the things of dubious age in the refrigerator. I mean, I have some basic criteria-- if the food is moving or iridescent when it previously was neither of those things when I bought or made it, I keep it out of my mouth. But other things-- sealed yogurt that was already kind of neon, luncheon meat that's four months old but still smells okay, etc.-- I have had to use my own judgement on, and that has sometimes gone awry.
( Let's finish off with some links about snakes, mobster gravestones, fairy tales, President Obama, corpses, and stairways. )
This was actually going to be an entry about my visit to Spa World last week, but there's kind of... a lot to say about that, so we'll push it to next time. Anyway. I kind of need someone who cares about hockey to talk to me about something I'm writing. If there's anyone out there who wouldn't mind having their ear briefly bent on gmail chat or in comments? Familiarity with the Capitals preferred but not a dealbreaker. Only if you'd like to, of course. Otherwise I'll just do my usual thing of hassling Twig or Flidget, and then someone inevitably ends up needing bail.
