Tuesday, May 22, 2007

I've got a job, i've got a job, I've got a real job ...

My stomach troubles returned again yesterday. When I have them, I feel like there is a balloon inflating inside my stomach. It makes eating undesirable. I wonder if this is what it feels like to have a gastric bypass.

There are many things that could have caused it -- the weather, fate, distress over recent Supreme Court decisions - but the most likely culprit is the amount of aspirin I consumed over the weekend. If I were a Christian Scientist, I might even call it an ungodly amount. That, or the large plate of rice noodles with broccoli I scarfed down at my friend David's.

All of this occurred before 6 pm, when I received a call offering employment and a request to report first thing Tuesday morning (yes, today). "That would be wonderful," I said, but my stomach felt no hungrier.

I will have to get used to being in an office again. Three weeks of unemployment have spoiled me -- even if I was complaining of ennui just yesterday morning to my lovely friend Clare. But I think I can get used to it. There are some improvements over my last job, including a window and a door. The salary is not as high as at the last place, and the desk chair needs to be replaced, but there is a lot to say for a window and a door and a wall on which to hang the framed artwork of 3-year-old friends.

Alas, during a meeting with my new boss and a co-worker this afternoon, I kept noticing how full my stomach felt despite my barely having eaten anything all day and, being that I was in my afternoon lull, my mind decided to leap to thoughts of tumors as large as grapefruits. I couldn't decide if I had colon cancer of if one or both of my ovaries, for which I have so little use, had been colonized by fibroids that were growing so large they were pushing against my stomach. (I never entertain thoughts of ulcers or stomach cancer because I had an endoscopy last year that showed naught but an inflamed stomach lining and an irritated esophagus.)

But then by the time I got home, I felt slightly hungry, and I decided to treat myself to my favorite Tuesday afternoon delicacy: Fruited Irish Soda Bread by Nature's Bakery, 1019 Williamson St., Madison, Wisconsin. The fine folks at Nature's produce this bread only for the Tuesday afternoon Eastside Farmer's Market, which is not to be confused with the Dane County Farmer's Market I matronize on Saturdays. The Eastside Farmer's Market is a humble affair with a dozen vendors, more or less, and runs from 4-7 pm by the railroad tracks on Ingersoll and Wilson Streets.

I can usually down a whole loaf in one sitting, but this afternoon, I managed only a third, which is approximately equivalent to eating one scone.

Oh, another good thing about my job: It has a "no personal e-mails" policy. Before my previous job, I might have thought such a policy excessive, but given the number of inappropriately detailed accounts of people's medical conditions I received by way of e-mail "prayer requests" aka "gossip" in my previous job, I will be glad to abide by this policy. (Side note: Usually the person describing the medical condition was not the person suffering the medical condition. These e-mails usually came in the form of, "Please pray for our co-worker ____ who is having a hysterectomy today. I believe it will also include the removal of her ovaries. Pray also that the doctors have wisdom in prescribing her hormone treatments after the surgery.") I guess any co-worker who wants to correspond with me personally will just have to ask for my personal e-mail address. Or vice versa.


friend of squirrels said...

When Kiapita told me about her job I had to ask "What's the street address of the place?" As you may know I've worked for UPS for the last 2 1/2 years, and a good part of that time I loaded the package car that delivers to the area where her new job is. It troubled me that I couldn't remember loading any packages for her place of employment.
Frankly, I was vexed. Am I slipping?
But then it hit me - the initials! The business she works for has a long name but all their packages use the initials in the address field. Woo hoo! Nothing gets past me.
Oh yeah, hope the job works out for you K.
That soda bread sure is good.

Gina said...

See, I read your damn blog.

I'm glad you have a window. One really can't ask for much more in life.

And next time I complain about my evangelical upbringing and you tell me I'm too bitter, I will cite your "Freedom From Religion" post.

ClareC said...

KIapita has a job! Bravo, Kiapita. Woo hoo! I think the door (rather than the window) is the crucial element.