Yesterday was a wonderful day. I did what I was hired to do at my job - and did it well. I accomplished things in my personal life (namely, trying to figure out what exactly it is I need/want to do when Wine Guy and I venture to Seattle next week) and went home to find that the steak I had suggested we make for dinner was actually going to be New York Steak - can you say, "Yum!" I put the sourdough baguettes in the oven. It is my firm belief that they had risen beautifully, but, because of timing issues (darn the fact that I have to be at work 8 hours a day) had fallen again. So, the bread was a bit flat, lacked the nice bubbly crust (that will be rectified with a spray bottle of water for the next batch) but, overall, tasted like it was supposed to taste. A beautiful, wonderful, day.
Today is also going well. I've figured out the benefits of getting up before 10 a.m. on the days I don't have to be at work until noon (I worked out! Ah, joy of joys!), and I'm excited about meeting my parents for dinner at a Mexican restaurant downtown in a couple of hours.
And then...there's that one customer who kind of freaks me out.
She frequently sits down at the reference desk and spews forth a plethora of words that, in and of themselves, make perfect sense, but when constructed into sentences are just a mishmash of confusing paranoia.
What worries me, though, is that I sound just like her when I'm at the point right between being awake and falling asleep. I experience that same rush of thoughts that doesn't make any sense. Is she permanently stuck between being awake and falling asleep?
A sample of our conversation:
She said, "I was walking behind the apartment building next to Alan Witt Park - you know the one I mean - and I saw a pile of DMV paperwork, and I picked it up." She shows me a plastic bag full of trash, no paperwork in sight. "I wanted to drop it off at the church, but I didn't want to do that without permission, so that they wouldn't be liable. I just don't know what to do?"
She continued on, talking about how the color of one of the books at the reference desk is the color of the moving trucks from a particular company and maybe, just maybe, the library and this moving company have a partnership.
In the end, she decided to put the bag of trash, er, DMV paperwork, in the City Hall trash can. She thanked me and went on her way.
Then she came back, "Which table has the California Tax Forms?"
I pointed out the table, and she went to see what she could find.
I want to laugh. I want to cry. I want to stay awake as much as possible.