Saint Pat and serendipity 17.03.06 9:40 a.m.
It's Saint Patrick's Day, and all the Irish in my Irish-Acadien-Ukranian mutt body is... well, not terribly excited, actually. I mean, I thought I was Scottish until I was about seventeen, and I discovered that my grandmother's family was actually Irish; they'd only raised their kids in Scotland. So, for whatever it may be worth, I guess I'm Irish-Scottish-Acadien-Ukranian, and whatever percentage is actual Irish blood probably doesn't have enough power to excite me on the 17th of March. Frankly, there's enough hard drinkin' in my genes to make me excited about every day I wake up alive! Well, that, and I haven't really been a hard drinker for a long time.
The beer bottles stacked up beside my bedroom would have people thinking otherwise, but in actuality, it's my boyfriend and another roomie who do most of the drinking in our home. They can be as borderline alcoholic as they like, but returning the bottles every so often would be a kindness. This morning the cats discovered that tipping the highest ones over and smashing them is a great way to wake the hu-mans up for feeding duty. Us puny hu-mans are sensitive to noise during our one allotted nap, so when the kitties decide it's time to get back to work, the alarms sound.
Kitties, being the smartest, or at least most manipulative animals on Earth, have a long heritage of knocking things over as a method of keeping their hu-mans alert and obedient. In the days of ancient Egypt, domestic felines would tip the pottery over and creep the hu-mans out by making statues of Bast wobble eerily. And look where it got them: they were considered divine entities! I wonder how many pharaohs had to endure broken glass outside their bedroom doors each morning, thanks to little Kitty-Ra.
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I was just called away to participate in a free goodies/strong Irish coffee party being held in the meeting room. I got my coffee, some fruit, and split. Too many people in a small place! Four shots to an eight ounce coffee! Boy jealousy and lame excuses from boys who aren't dating me! Office drama I'll be glad to be rid of! Oh Saint Pat, thank you for the excuse to get tipsy at work!
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Now, I don't consider myself to be superstitious, or to believe in fate or karma or whatever, but since I've handed in my resignation, I've felt like I've been getting signals of having done the right thing. Yesterday I was referred to a designer who needs model/singers - and she called me before I could dial the digits I'd been given! I have some shoots with Mr. Jenkins coming up, and his roomie the fashion designer might commission me to sew a few sample pieces (if and when he makes some patterns). Even R. Stevens' blog was all about doing what you love for work. If the cosmos really is capable of aligning to one's favour, it would seem to be doing so for me right now.
Now, the part of me that is superstitious is screaming "DANGER! Stop telling people about your good fortune and ambition, lest ye jinx it!" Well, fuck that. Fuck caution. Fuck security. Fuck all of the ultimately self-damaging exercises in responsibility. I want what I want, and I'm tired of self-loathing. It's time to be happy and productive! Yeah, so what if I quit my job and haven't really tried to get another? I've been given a few leads and flat-out offered work in one case. I have my 4% coming to me. I have a few items to sell which are nice, and going to waste unused in my home. I will manage. I have a closet (well, a dresser and a rack, since there are no closets in my flat) full of clothes, an inexpensive roof over my head, enough friends for any sane woman (and probably more, if I'd catch up on my correspondence), a lover and five cats. I have high-speed internet connectivity, I have tonnes of music to enjoy, a library of quality movies to watch, and materials with which I can create wonderful things. I have a YMCA membership, I have a bicycle, and I have two sturdy legs to walk upon. I think I have enough for any grown woman to occupy herself with!
It's Friday. I have two weeks left of this job. I have resources and offers and a network of both support and contacts. And best of all, I have a thermos mug full of alcohol in front of me!
As Warren Ellis put it, eat a raw potato, build a house out of peat, and get yourself shot by an Englishman, for all I care. It's Saint Pat's, but all of my blood is alive today.
listening:
reading:
ingesting:
(see entries before 20.11.05)
previously on Smothered Hope:
unreal - 20.05.08
in which our narrator kinda just babbles on a bit - 15.05.08
drank several margaritas last night. they were great. - 04.05.08
spacey - 29.04.08
i will most definitely regret posting this in public - 28.04.08