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Ooopsie!
Lookie, what I just found (while cleaning my working space at home. Yes, it's my attempt at spring cleaning, and, yes, I know it's not even spring yet):
I read Bill Bryson the other day, when I suddenly realized (much to my displeasure) that I will never be able to write hilarious columns for a newspaper. Mainly because of two things: a) I'm terrible with deadlines, and b) There is absolutely nothing funny happening in my life. Honestly.
I just don't make witty remarks about random oddness of our society because nothing in my daily life strikes me as remarkable. I don't do strange things, I don't travel with the midnight ferry to Dover, UK, only to get stranded there for lack of guest houses. I don't need to pull over several sweaters to survive the cold, neither did I ever wear underwear as a cap, nor socks as mittens. I live a pretty normal life.
That's what I wrote back in september or october last year.
That's what happened a few weeks after I sketched the entry above:
I was finally home after a most boring working day and all I wanted was to type a story I started at work. I couldn't find the scrap of paper I worked on, but this didn't bother me much, I'm prone to losing paper scraps.
So I didn't give it very much thought... until I entered the office the next day. I discovered said piece of paper laying on my desk (which isn't really my desk, because I work at a call center where we don't have allocated spaces. We just take whichever seat we like. I take the same place every shift.). It lay there open for everyone to read, folded neatly in the middle (I never fold scraps)- *eep* One colleaque grinned at me, while I blushed. I haven't told my colleagues that I write slash, and there it was: an explicit D/B moment, right on my desk, in my handwriting, folded though I never would have done this, and all eyes where on me.
I snatched the scrap away and hid it in my bag, still blushing.
No one asked me yet.
So, in retrospective it's funny indeed. I'm curious who read my little scene.
I read Bill Bryson the other day, when I suddenly realized (much to my displeasure) that I will never be able to write hilarious columns for a newspaper. Mainly because of two things: a) I'm terrible with deadlines, and b) There is absolutely nothing funny happening in my life. Honestly.
I just don't make witty remarks about random oddness of our society because nothing in my daily life strikes me as remarkable. I don't do strange things, I don't travel with the midnight ferry to Dover, UK, only to get stranded there for lack of guest houses. I don't need to pull over several sweaters to survive the cold, neither did I ever wear underwear as a cap, nor socks as mittens. I live a pretty normal life.
That's what I wrote back in september or october last year.
That's what happened a few weeks after I sketched the entry above:
I was finally home after a most boring working day and all I wanted was to type a story I started at work. I couldn't find the scrap of paper I worked on, but this didn't bother me much, I'm prone to losing paper scraps.
So I didn't give it very much thought... until I entered the office the next day. I discovered said piece of paper laying on my desk (which isn't really my desk, because I work at a call center where we don't have allocated spaces. We just take whichever seat we like. I take the same place every shift.). It lay there open for everyone to read, folded neatly in the middle (I never fold scraps)- *eep* One colleaque grinned at me, while I blushed. I haven't told my colleagues that I write slash, and there it was: an explicit D/B moment, right on my desk, in my handwriting, folded though I never would have done this, and all eyes where on me.
I snatched the scrap away and hid it in my bag, still blushing.
No one asked me yet.
So, in retrospective it's funny indeed. I'm curious who read my little scene.