I carry around way too much stuff. Its so heavy, that in my mind my thoughts dance between how sore my back and shoulders are, and how I'm gonna be RIPPED by the time I get home. Yeah...my arms are going to be ripped off my body.
This morning I was walking to work down Bloor Street and admiring these women with their trendy clothes and their cute, teeny-tiny purses. As I gazed in awe I yearned for their carefree spirit, their uninhibited walk and their fabulous posture. And there was I, Quasimodo, heading back to the bell tower...Dragging my baggage.
But this week I have been feeling the winds of change, and I thought, "Why can't I be like one of those Parisian-types?" I like scarves. The obstacle? The need to carry around my life on my shoulders.
I got a full-time job, two weeks ago now. Unfortunately it's not acting on Degrassi...sigh...but...I am now a Receptionist. I like to call it my "Day Job". And I get paid.
Since I haven't worked full-time for a few years, I have felt quite a bit of shell-shock over the past two weeks. Consequently, I haven't been the most pleasant version of myself. Tears clothes and throws car across the street. It proceeds to burst into flames. I think my family feared for for their lives. But eight hours is a LONNNNNGGGG TIME, am I right?! (I am not supposed to count hours though, or it will drive me into a crazy Wolfman rage.) However, one of the other perks about working full-time (other than getting paid. Did I mention I get paid? I think only those in the arts know how fabulous this is.), is that I get weekends off! There will never be a Saturday or Sunday when I will have to go in to work. Today is Saturday and I was not at work. Tomorrow is Sunday and I will not be at work. I like this.
Is an office job the most thrilling of professions? I'm gonna say, no. But everyone is very kind and I entertain myself by working on my French with my bilingual co-workers. D'accord!
And there are the simple pleasures, like finding this Justin Bieber life-size cardboard cutout at the pharmacy. You can't help but give a shocked laugh and look around you to see if anyone else thinks that this is insane.
This photo does NOT do it justice. LIFE-SIZE people!!! Its like Justin Bieber is right there. Pre-teens and their mothers scattered over the ground, weeping in front of him. I then break the news that he is only a piece of cardboard. And that the real Justin Bieber is a robot constructed by the Government of Canada to pose as a pop star. Awkward.
Okay, I'm going to have to tarnish my image and get a picture of myself with him. Yep.
