Fox'sMom's New Job: Day Three. So far, not too bad. I try to leave the house an hour before I have to be there because to go ten miles in Metro Atanta one needs to have at the very least thirty minutes to spare. So far, so good, I get there within ten minutes of time to start the day.
Hey, L.A. wasn't any better, and I have not had to fight the traffic there since '85, when my dad was dying out at Cigna Hospital. I'm sure it has only got worse. Here at least, when I signal that I need to make a lane change, the other driver lets me in. A very nice change from having a gun waved at me, or an obscene gesture. (What is it about Alabama that inspires drivers-especially women drivers, to gun violence? I'm not making this up, a woman from Huntsville or B'Ham is doing time for killing-KILLING!!- another nice suburban housewife who happened to cut the ex-nice suburban housewife now doing time at Julia Tutwiller Prison for Alabama Women off during a lane change.) I like it, obviously. Atlanta driving, I mean. So far. After all, this is only day three.
I work for four hours, take a thirty minute lunch, and work four more hours, then get back on the freeway for the ten mile/thirty plus minute drive back to the apartment.
I feel like I'm on vacation.
The work is not at all difficult, my co-workers are hilarious, the building nice, and I doubt deeply that any former employee will be showing up with an Uzi.
And a week from tomorrow, I will have a nice little check in my hand.
OK, I still wish I had a cigarette. I wish I had several. I wish I had a carton, and some meat, like ground chuck, or a pot roast maybe. And milk. I'm OK on veggies and fruit-I still have some left in the hurricane pak I accidently brought with me instead of clothes, money, my bread maker, slow cooker, and my sewing machine...Could I have got all that in a KIA RIO?
This is not the way I wanted to quit smoking.
I frankly have nothing but the appropriate contempt for those contemptible swine who smugly laugh at my smokeless discomfort.
Asses. I despise arrogant non-smokers. They, every pathetic last one of them, remind me of Sydney, the nasty little ick from Mark Twain's Tom Sawyer.
Control freaks, every wretched one of them.
GRRRR. Please, please, someone give these jerks a reality check!