Today at work, we got free shirts.

It's because they're getting us "pumped up" for the integration of the new system. It's to thank us for all of our hard work. It's so when this organized mess goes live, and someone has a stroke trying to decide whether a transcript is "Req Ad" or "Reg Ad CCE" they can say look, dude. We warned you. We gave you a t-shirt. I also saw that you took two of the free cookies and it was one per person. Don't get pissed at us. Now, you're not getting any disability. Put your t-shirt on, wipe the cookie crumbs off your desk, and get back to work.

I'm not complaining. The t-shirts were long-sleeved. I love long-sleeved t-shirts. I don't care if there's a logo of the new program on this shirt that looks all business-y and lame. I love long t-shirts so much, you could put a picture of a swastika on the front, and I'd be like: so? It's comfortable! (Do I have to say I'm joking here? Who knows.) The sleeves go past my wrist and I can grip them in my palms! I'm gonna take my long-sleeved shirt and go sit by a campfire.

Also. There's a tag on the shirt that says the shirt was printed by "Rebuild Resources," a company that helps men and women who are struggling with with drug and alcohol addictions by giving them employment. That's awesome! That means that either my Uncle Al or most people who ride next to me on 5E printed my t-shirt.

Shirt and cookie day is my favorite day. Today at work, I was just a little less stabby.

What this shirt really got me thinking about, though (yes, I'm still on the shirt--nobody's forcing you to read this) is the computer system. I mean, here's me. This not even-yet-hired temp, who gets a free shirt. I don't know what the hell is going on around me. I just do what they tell me. (And it's not that I'm not smart; I just really don't care.)

But people have been working on converting the data from the old program to the new program for like two years. Two years they've been matching one program to the other. (Like, since it's higher ed, an appropriate metaphor would be like they've been doing Course Credit Evaluations for two years. For two years they've been deciding which "courses" (or data) can be transferred to the "new school" (or program).)

And you can see it in their eyes. This girl who did my training, who I'd been informed had drank a whole bottle of champagne to herself when they were officially done with this integration, looks like hell. Yesterday I sat next to her in a meeting, while she stuffed a Whopper in her face, looking like she wanted to cry. Saying, "I don't know" in a very sighing voice the whole time. And you know when someone hoovers a Whopper in a board room in front of strangers that they're reached the point of desparation.

My point here is that I've been thinking about what they've been doing for so long. I've decided--I could do that for two years. I could! As long as someone taught me, that could be my job. I decided there are many things that I could do; that with training, I am capable of doing.

My point here is: I don't want to. That's what this whole post-grad school thing has led me to decide. I could do that, but I don't want to. My happiness is pretty important to me, and things are really shitty right now, so I'm not going to do stuff I don't want to. With work, I don't have a choice. I'm saying if I did have a choice. I'm saying, right now, I'm not settling when I don't have to. I don't want to invest myself in a business-type job because I can.

For example. When I was just that age to stay home alone all summer, my mom would make a list of chores. She'd say, "can't you just vacuum today while I'm at work?" And since I was a bad, lazy daughter, I'd think, "yes I can, but I don't want to." Of course I can vacuum. But that doesn't sound very fun. I don't want to. What I want to do is call my friend Randi, hop on my bike, and ride down to Tom Thumb and buy 7 different kinds of Laffy Taffy with my allowance. What I want to do is watch Double Dare at 2:30 and Duck Tales at 3:00, until you come home, mom, and we discuss what you're making for dinner, and it had better be pizza burgers.

I think it is my ability to think about my happiness and mental stability that has made me a failure.

(Of course, there was the day when I was a "good" kid and did vacuum while she was gone, and I accidentally vacuumed up a black sock. That sock got stuck right up in that vacuum, and it started smoking and stinking like, well, a sock on fire--so I just put the vacuum on the patio in the cold until she came home and asked why is the vacuum cleaner outside? And it stayed there, ultimately, until my dad came home to finally de-sock it.)