Twenty-Six

Twenty-Six is a big number!

If you're talking about number of orangutans in tutus that were hired to do a pole dance at your birthday celebration, that is.

Twenty-six is a very small number.

But only if you're talking about the number of times you've heard that Taio Cruz Dynamite song in the last six months.  Really... when will that song DIE???

Twenty six is weird.  It's bigger than 25.  It's closer to 30 than 20.

Whatever happened to 23?  I liked 23.  It's my favorite number.

As you can tell, I have a mild crisis.  Actually, it's not a crisis anymore.  It's calmed into an attempt to reassess and figure out if I'm the about-to-be-26-year-old that I always wanted to be.

At first glance, I'm gonna go with no.  When I was like 15, I figured that in 10 years I'd be married, have 3 kids (I was gonna get married super young, and then have twins, okay?), have graduated college, have published 5 books, and have figured out how to read minds, fly, time travel, and belly dance.

Now, ignoring my 15 year old "life plan," let's go with my "I'm going off to school now!" life plan.  I never really paid attention to numbers.  For some reason, I never calculated how old I'd be when I graduated.  The number "26" never occurred to me.  I was 21 when I started school.  I figured it would take me 5 years.  Maybe I should have taken more math, because last time I checked, 21 + 5 does, in fact, equal 26.  Still, I never thought I'd ever be 26 and not graduated.

On the other hand, if I wasn't dragging out this last year with all the snails I have in me (seriously... 6.5 credits spread out over 3 semesters) I'd probably be graduating... well... like now.  Whatever.  I'm taking a scuba diving class.  Bet you can't beat that.

Anyway, I think the main issues are that I don't have my own family and I'm not published.  Those were always my two life goals.  I'm still single, living in a cramped, barely-off-campus apartment, working in a call center (a very nice call center, but a "would you like fries/noni extra with that?" customer service, no education required job nonetheless), dreaming of reaching those goals... and I'm at an age I never thought this phase of my life would see.  26 was always "what's next."  Somehow I got to now without accomplishing what I thought I would.

Wow... depressing, isn't it?

I don't wanna, and other whiney-butt musings on the value of this mortal life. Also known as, I should be doing my homework right now.

No, seriously.  I don't wanna.

Which brings up the deep, philosophical question: WHY???  Why don't I wanna?

Why?  Well, because I DON'T CARE!!!

I mean, I already wrote this paper.  Granted, it was just a rough draft, but the fun part is done.  Know what I have to do now?  Well... first item of business is to entirely remove my "voice" from the paper.  Apparently my teacher thinks it's too colloquial.  And, being that it's a work of academic interest, I am not allowed to show any remote shred of personality.  My teacher was very nice about it, though, and went through my paper, deleting my personality for me.  Now my paper is happily in his monotonous voice.  I just have to transfer his corrections to my document.

After that, I have to rewrite my introduction.  As my teacher put it, "It's a fine introduction as it is, but everybody should rewrite theirs after they've finished their paper.  Introductions always need improvement, so I want you to change it."

Thank you?

I also need to make my bibliography in line with Kate Turabian's massive style guide, because the Chicago Manual of Style apparently wasn't good enough for historians.

And then, the part I really don't want to do - add in a blip of something that I don't really care about to prove that I did research and "improved my paper" after turning in the rough draft.

And, the absolute worst part of all... I have to **gasp!** quit whining about working on my paper and work on my paper!!!

Aftermath

Sometimes, I feel all emo and melodramatic, because I know the truth is that it feels good to cry.  If it's not letting it go, at least it's processing.

I wonder when I'll be able to let go.  Maybe when it's gone?  It's very persistent in its way of clinging to my life.  I should have let it go a very, very long time ago, but I haven't.  I don't want to, and I won't.  I like it. 

At least, I like not being without it.

And more than that, I can't stop wishing it will come back.  And not just return, but change from what it was into everything that I actually need it to be.

And sometimes, I just really, really, really need to be held.

There.  Do I win emo points?

Tik Tok

Right now I'm sitting on the couch, shamelessly burning time until my work party happens.  I really could get up and do something, but then I wouldn't be burning time.

Wouldn't it be nice if burnt time actually burned?  Then I wouldn't be cold.  And we could roast marshmallows.

Dear Madam, I have a word or two for you.

I'm sorry to undermine the false sense of power with which you are attempting to lord over me, threatening to stop buying from us and report me to the owner of the company, but I'm afraid the customer is not always right.  When is there such a case is this?

Well, right now.

We're not going to refund your shipping because our policy - of which you have been well informed, several times - clearly states that when a product is returned, we will refund the item price, minus the shipping.  We already did you a favor by covering the return shipping and having UPS go pick up the product from you.

As for your severe papaya allergy, let me be perfectly clear: OUR PRODUCT DOES NOT HAVE PAPAYA IN IT!  We could not have lied to you about the contents of the beverage, because there is NO PAPAYA in that product, or ANY of our products, ever since the papaya soap was discontinued A YEAR AGO.  And yes, the ingredients are listed right there on the side of the box.  Go get yourself some glasses if you can't see them.

Look, between the returns, the disputed payments on the products you still have, and the measly ten dollars an hour I'm being paid to attempt to reason with you, you're actually costing us more money than you're bringing in.

Do you know what that means?

Bite me.



**siiiiigh**  I wish I had the moxy to actually say that on the phone.

Shady Shawn, Victor Viagra, Ungrateful Ugbert and Clara Colonoscopy, Meet Stanley Stoner.

Today I met god.  He lives in New York.  I called him from work to tell him we weren't able to process his order, because his credit card declined.

Pretty sure he was high.

"The memories," he said in his slow, slurred speech.  "You can't even know the things I remember.  The things I've done."

"Um... oh?" I responded as visions of serial killers and/or vampires flashed through my mind.  I double checked his location - New York was pretty far away, but I'd still better not give him a reason to take a sudden interest in Utah.

"What would you think," he asked, his voice holding a hint of plea, "if I was the only man on earth?  The only one.  What would you think?"

Gulp.  "Um, well, I think that would be very interesting."

"Interesting," he responded.  It sounded like he was caressing the word, turning it around and around in his hands.  "I like how you said that.  Interesting."

This was about the point where I considered saying, "What?  I'm sorry, what was that?  I can't hear you.  I think your phone is-" *hang up*  But, he continued. 

"Do you know about King Tut?"

This was weird, but definitely less creepy.  "King Tut?  Yeah, of course!"

"King Tut was small and frail.  Tut was actually a girl disguised as a boy."

"Wow... that's cool."  I jumped onto google to see what snopes had to say about that one.  Nothing.  I couldn't find anything of the sort.

"You know the pyramid of Giza?"

"Yep.  I know that one too."

"That's mine."

Heh... yeah.  I must truly be in the presence of - or at least on the phone with - someone great.  Good think he's a fairly safe 3,000 miles away.

I made sure I had a pleasant smile in my voice, to possibly conceal any hint of irony.  "The whole pyramid!  Wow.  How does that work?"

"I know.  It sounds ludicrous, right?  But you have to accept who I am.  Don't ever lie to me, because I will know immediately.  I am the man.  You have to accept that.  I'm not getting older.  I will be young for eternity.  I am all-powerful."

**blinkblink**

"Wow."

"I have to find the right woman.  I have to choose a girl very, very carefully, and I need to stay out of the spotlight.  Do you know Kim Kardashian?"

"Yeeeeaaaaahhhhh..."

"I would never choose Kim Kardashian.  She's a fool's choice.  A woman who gets married to another man, in the spotlight.  No.  She's not right for me.  Do you know Brad Pitt?"

"Ummmm..."

"Remember when all the women said he was the sexiest man alive?  That's me."

"Wow."

"I need you to call me back.  Later today, in the afternoon.  Can you call me?"

The correct answer would be, "I'm sorry, Sir, but my shift is over, and as soon as I finish here, I'm going to the Northern Mariana Islands.  Also, it's my last day.  I got a new job plucking geese for head dresses to be worn at the next Ascot races." 

What I found myself saying was, "Oh, sure.  Of course.  Whatever you want."

Could it be he really is all-powerful?

Oh dear...