Wednesday, March 28, 2012

thoughts on the little things re: Office Supplies

I may be the only person who's ever experienced this (so contradictory, considering my last post), but I work at a desk -- that's not the unique part, just wait, I'm getting there. So all day long I deal with the things on my desk. I have a computer, a keyboard, and then various shaped containers that hold little things. These little things also vary. I have a little thing holder for paperclips, another one for pens/pencils/highlighters, another for pennies (and nickels, if I'm lucky). I also have one for push pins -- that's the dangerous one and I have to stop and warn myself: "Be careful Meghan, you remember what happened last time...."

I have a love-hate relationship with paperclips. They're annoying to refill, and they run out the second-quickest after staples. Staples are more fun to refill because they go into a neat gun-like object, that I get to test before putting to use. Paperclips just kind of sit there, and sometimes they get tangled, which is never fun if you're in a hurry, yet they are incredibly functional. 

I end up giving a lot of my paperclips away. When you work with lots of paper, it is necessary to gather this paper into organized piles, which then need to be bound somehow. More often than not, I end up handing off these organized paper-clipped paper piles, which, in the deep recesses of my mind is upsetting, because I know I'll never get that paperclip back. I deplete my paperclip stash daily, bringing me closer to the day I'll need to go to the office supplies drawer and yank another paperclip box from its clingy plastic wrapper to be dispensed into the appropriate little things holder. 

Subconsciously I have also, in a sense, rated the importance of said little things. For example, the staple suggests permanence. The staple pierces paper requiring the assistance of another object, the staple-remover, to...um...remove it. Paperclips require no such object. Therefore, there is a certain amount of judgement that goes down at that little desk of mine. I have the final say: Staple! Paperclip! These decisions are made without much thought, really, but they are made. All decisions are. 

Yes, I am writing about office supplies. I can't help it. I deal with them every day, handle them on the hour, and, honestly, could not live without them. Some people might say the same about their favorite accessory or lipgloss, and those people will understand where I'm coming from. 

I would like to think that we all have a quirky, relatively unacknowledged relationship with the inanimate objects of our lives. If you don't, that's OK, I'm sure you do. 




Saturday, March 24, 2012

The deep, emotional connection that is Google.

Things. They happen. Things happen. Good things, bad things, just plain crappy things, things that annoy us, things that make us cry, or laugh, or shudder.


(I pause to contemplate the weirdness of the word things. Do it. Then come back to me...please.)


Unfortunately usually the things we harp on, the things we talk about to our friends and family, the things we really like to get off our chests (or, conversely, the things we never want anyone to hear about and always keep to ourselves) -- Those things we fear are happening to us and us alone.


I'm going to let you in on a little secret: you are not alone. In a world of 7.002 billion people it is extremely important to realize that you aren't the only one going through this.


I've been doing some simple Google-searching to validate this statement, and it occurs to me that the site itself serves as a tool for understanding our not-alone-ness. One could almost stop at the Google search bar to examine this truth.  Looking for "Why I have hair on my knuckles" Google tells me that not only has someone had the exact same search, but apparently people have hair in plenty of places besides knuckles, and they're wondering about them too!


"Knuckles." Right. 

It seems to me that when it comes to sadness or unfortunate situations, occupants of the web-o-sphere turn to irony, sarcasm, and humor. Yet, while I read (and giggle), I realize that the mere fact that there are hundreds of sites discussing a range of awkward, unfortunate, or even normal things that happen to us suggests camaraderie.


I stumbled upon an interesting site that rates the "badness" of things that happen to us. I cannot speak for its origins or credibility. It is a crude chart that measures (in dolors) the pain of situations from the every day to the extreme. Personally, I would add a few to the chart that have not been included, and delete a few (stepping on a sticker does not rate for me at all. In fact, I like stickers. I like them a lot.) My ratings would also be different. The point, however, is not how these things are measured, but that they are even on the list.


Books, magazines, and newspapers would be the most likely place to seek a better understanding of you, your concerns, worries, and fears, and the fact that there are others like you. But really all you have to do is flip to ABC's Modern Family, for example, and yet again, we find sameness! After all, that's why comedies are funny -- we can relate.


You are not alone, because we are all human.


Death, heartbreak, romance, losing your job, weight-gain, weight-loss, getting a zit on a first date, losing your house, pregnancy, disease, pure exhaustion, not getting into grad school, surgery, moving away from home.... these things are a part of life. They are things that you may have experienced once, twice, never before, or all at once. But with 7.002 billion people on this earth, you are not the only one. There are others who know precisely what you're going through. Whether you look for them or not, take comfort that they're out there.











Monday, March 5, 2012

five o'clock

Today as I left work, shuffling alongside the worked-out crowd of commuters, passing the same homeless, toothless men with their plastic bags, the same suited men and women, the same mothers and fathers anxious to get home to their children, today as I pushed the grimy metal turnstile again, I rewound my life exactly eight years.


On this day, eight years ago, at five o'clock. Would I have been home already? Probably not. I was involved in sports or theater or some extra curricular or other which keeps high schoolers out until dinner time. I guess track season is about right. We would have run outside today. Fifteen years old, and just starting to feel those pre-teen reigns slacken a little bit. Fifteen years old, and insanely uncomfortable in my body -- incredibly unsure of most things involving myself, but man, how perfectly perfect.


There's something special about that combination of adolescence and springtime. If I could bottle it up and give it a flavor, I would call it mojito: minty freshness with a squashed lime half at the bottom. I guess it's all one big metaphor, but it makes me think of running. Makes me think of my first true love. Makes me think about the start of young adulthood and everything there still was to learn. About the method in which I was taught.


If we're lucky, we are taught gradually. The big picture reveals itself slowly and steadily until we reach that age when we realize we don't want the big picture anymore. We don't want to commute with the masses. We want to run around the high school and come home to a warm house full of family.  We want that tunnel vision: homework assignments, and finish lines, and butterflies that accompany first kisses.


That is my favorite kind of five o'clock. What's yours?