floating bridges

What an interesting temp experience today, which continues the rest of this week and into next week. I was doing admin. things and things with data at a mental health clinic near Microland-- a beautiful drive across a floating bridge, but traffic is ghastly and it can take over an hour to go about 5 miles at rush hours. Temping itself is very much a floating bridge, it's doing much to broaden my experience with different workplaces and systems, and have more of an idea of where I'm happiest and most productive as I find the next things.

The mental health clinic is very much a "Flowers for Algernon" experience- well, not so much in terms of autism as people who simply are unable to function and a few live at a nearby place belonging to the clinic; it reminded me more of a retirement home, combined with a few manic cases who were REALLY on the upswing. All my existential or whatever problems seem completely dwarved. I'm the sole administrator while I'm there, so I'm the first contact for everyone. The people are all really very sweet, both the workers and the clientele, but still eye-opening for me. I think I'm underpaid for mastering so many different systems in a day, but it still pays better than being a TA. May have an interview in the area coming up, fingers crossed, and had a really cool interview last week. Then I can look into some volunteer work when a job's secured. Still some rebellion: wouldn't it be lovely to just stay home and write and read and not need to deal with a corporation. But then have been in touch with a Microcolleague/former colleague, who travels a lot to Europe, which is exciting.

Wednesdays and Fridays seem to be some of the most difficult days in terms of being away from grad school; Mondays bring more a sense of relief.

Tango did not go well. One tanguera out of 7 showed up, and doesn't know how to lead. I have to keep working on that idea and am looking into other dances... in the meantime, here come Iphigenia and Orhan Pamuk.

I call my mother Lady Chatterley now.... she's with a guy who lives in the mountains, worked on her new place up there (her own first property & room of her own) and has bad grammar. He sounds very sweet and I'm glad she's happier at last, but I can't resist calling this her Lady Chatterley stage. On that note, I didn't get why the whole movie is in French when it's a British novel. My dad, on the other hand, has seemed to at last have emerged from his Hemingway stage, maybe. I didn't know what was to come when he waxed so enthusiastic about For Whom the Bell Tolls when I was younger. An affair with a revolutionary named Maria, what else. At one point, he also climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro, but didn't shoot anything. Then he took the new girlfriend off to Paris, and I haven't bothered to ask him about the Pernod yet. I love Hemingway too and still try to (unsuccessfully) strive for his concise clarity, but not THAT much.

No more for now because I have a cold (which thankfully does not seem to be cat allergies). I'm so enjoying the new cats. Off to attempt some spaghetti.