The Awkwardness of Laughing at Death

So, as a former sales person, reporter, waitress and current producer, I have learned well the varied nuances of communication and listening skill that enables me to do my job well. I am not always very good at communicating or listening, but suffice it to say, if I set my mind to it, it can be done.

I am also very aware of my failings, my nervous fillers and bullshit fillers and in general, my go-to fall back phrases, that for the omniscient observer, or really intuitive friend, indicate that I am either NOT listening as well I should be, either because I don't understand something, it is hard to hear, or I have boldly and perhaps ignorantly decided that what you are currently saying has no bearing on what I need to move forward. I am a deeply flawed individual, my friend. I am working on it.

Sometimes I laugh to fill in the space, other times I say 'oh wow'. This has become an unfortunate habit with my current task of speaking daily to health and safety professionals who work in an indsutry where fatalities are very real. It is not uncommon for me to receive an email that states "I apologize, I cannot send XYZ because we are investigating a fatality that happened yesterday." And it is serious. And sobering. And yet, several times now I have been in conversation with these professionals and inadvertantly laughed. AT THE WRONG TIME. When they are talking about death. They have not yet seemed to mind, but I hope I can get that horrible habit of mine fixed before it's too late.

I really wanted to talk about why people irritate me but that would be a really useless and soul-limiting thing that would not benefit me or anyone....

So instead I will talk about how much I hope that my African Violet plant recovers from the neglect of my half-hearted love and eventually blooms flowers again.

Right now we are at the point where I have eliminated the leaves that were yellowing and I have her at my desk so that I remember to water her regularly instead of not regularly.

I coo and coddle her with my mind (instead of my words, to avoid crazy looks from my worker neighbors) and let her know with my eyes how much she is loved.

It is possible she will remember with bitterness her time in the office window over there, where I could not see her, and where the old adage came true, 'Out of sight, out of mind.' I kept forgetting to water her, and even setting Outlook reminders on my calendar could not remedy the drought that was her bed.


I thought I was doing her a favor, giving her unencumbered access to sunshine, but according to the internet, she doesn't need that much sunshine after all, and can exist just as well on my desk under the flourescent lights as she can over there, out of my line of sight.

She is looking good, albeit a little sparse. Her bed of dirt is moist, and her leaves are green. I love her. I was a bad parent for awhile. But, God-willing, that shall change.

Sneaky Google

I really hate the way that Google has latched itself on to all these things like youtube and blogspot. I used to have passwords for these things that were specific, unique, safe and, most importantly, MEMORIZED.

But one by one any site that I use that is now inextricably linked to Google has at point or another confused me so thoroughly that without realizing it, I changed my passwords to my favorite and most used sites, inadvertently created at least three new accounts, and I am now completely unsure which NEWLY COMPLICATED password I have set for myself for a variety of sites.

(insert swear word here) Google!

Oops. Did I mention I am super sleepy and cranky today?