I forgot to mention that after I quit my job and move out of my current house, I'm going to move to New Zealand, or maybe Australia. I haven't quite decided yet. That's why I've included a poll over to the right. Everyone who reads this blog (all four or five of you) can vote for where you want me to move in the new year. At first I wanted to go Australia because I've always wanted to go there. But then I wanted to go to New Zealand because my brother will be there for a couple of months doing an engineering internship. But then I saw the preview for the new Nicole Kidman/Hugh Jackman movie and thought "Wow, Australia is so sexy. Definitely Australia". But then I saw that Australia is like 35 degrees in January. So I'm wondering if maybe I can just do both. It's almost to the point now where I've told so many people I'm going that I can't chicken out now. So please vote for your favorite location.
I've been dreaming about tornadoes lately. I've had three different dreams about tornadoes in the last month. I figured that must be some kind of dream anomaly so I looked it up. The experts all agree; it's not good. I finally found a nice neutral interpretation of tornado dreams. "A dream that includes a tornado may indicate the onset of sudden and major change in your life." I'm going to go with that.
Showing posts with label Dreams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dreams. Show all posts
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Checked Out
"To see or dream that you are a cashier, indicates that you are re-evaluating your life and what you have accomplished. Alternatively, it suggests that you have taken yourself out of some situation. You have "checked out".
-Dream Moods A-Z Dream Dictionary
Well that sounds about right. I had a dream recently which I originally assumed represented my squandered potential. In it, I was working as a cashier when I suddenly realized I had the ability to fly. I immediately informed my superiors and prepared myself for a promotion. I'm not sure what kind of a promotion I expected, (ceiling cleaner?) but my boss told me never to fly on company time and insisted I continue working cash. I was disappointed but went back to my cash register. I'm not sure what it all means but I dislike working cash so much that in real life, when one of the managers at work asked me if I wanted to be trained as a cashier, I told him I had a learning disability and was not supposed to handle money. Maybe the dream isn't about me though; around that same time I found out that the guy who works in the furniture department is a doctor, an actual medical doctor. And I though I was over-qualified!
We're horribly understaffed again in the fashion department after another mass exodus. Last week, the staff profit-sharing cheques got handed out, quite a nice chunk of change for anyone who worked full-time. I guess some people were just waiting for that day, because three of them quit immediately upon receiving their cheques. One woman went on lunch and never came back. Walmart instills such loyalty in its people. Due to the loss of staff, 5 new people have been hired for the fashion department. As is our custom, we took bets on how long each one would last. Anything less than 3 weeks is usually a pretty safe bet. I put my money on a perky blonde teenager as the first to go. The joyful ones never last long. Having worked at Walmart 15 months, I have been training others for 14 months and 3 1/2 weeks. I am still trying to perfect my technique so the new recruits are good workers, allowing me to slack off a bit, but not such good workers that people notice how little I do by comparison. It's a fine line, complicated by the fact that some of them are utterly hopeless and some, despite Walmart's rigorous screening process, are potheads or lunatics.
Although I usually have more in common with my younger co-workers, I also enjoy working with the older ladies in the fashion department because they're absolutely insane. It takes a certain kind of person to work at Wal-mart. I don't mean that as a bad thing, or as a good thing. I'm just saying a skewed sense of reality can really help get you through the day. One nutty woman, Sheril, who I work with occasionally, was disappointed when her co-worker Shauna left the ladieswear department and transferred to the shoe department. In an attempt to bond with me one day, Sheril asked if I wanted to play "Stool". To understand what went through my mind at that moment, you would have to know about a dark period in the store's history known as the Feces Fiasco of Summer '06. During the month of June that year, $10,000 worth of towels and linens were destroyed when a single perpetrator entered the store in the early morning hours and smeared feces on everything in sight in the domestics department, the volume of waste suggesting that the offender had been saving up. They were never caught. It was always supposed that the perp was a disgruntled customer or employee which narrowed the suspect pool down to...everyone. So when asked if I wanted to play Stool, it briefly crossed my mind that I may have discovered the elusive shit disturber. I was simultaneously relieved and disappointed to learn that the stool was the regular four-legged variety meant for sitting on and the game of Stool was very simple: Each fitting room has one stool in it. You place the stool in the centre of the small room so the door still closes but the stool is very much in the way if you're trying to try on clothes. Nine times out of ten, people don't think to move the stool, they just work around it. As a game, Stool left much to be desired. If I could take a shot of vodka every time the stool remained unmoved, then we might have something. But Sheril was impressed with my efforts and said, "You're good at Stool. You can be my new Shauna." On a general creepiness scale, I would rate her comment about a 7. On a creepiness scale statistically adjusted for the crazy shit that goes down at Walmart, I would give it a 4. I hope desperately to avoid becoming the new Shauna.
I am currently applying for summer internships in libraries, hoping to avoid Wal-mart's special brand of madness. I have accepted this truth though: there are crazy people everywhere and they will always find me.
p.s. Never buy towels at Wal-mart.
p.p.s. Never buy anything at Wal-mart.
-Dream Moods A-Z Dream Dictionary
Well that sounds about right. I had a dream recently which I originally assumed represented my squandered potential. In it, I was working as a cashier when I suddenly realized I had the ability to fly. I immediately informed my superiors and prepared myself for a promotion. I'm not sure what kind of a promotion I expected, (ceiling cleaner?) but my boss told me never to fly on company time and insisted I continue working cash. I was disappointed but went back to my cash register. I'm not sure what it all means but I dislike working cash so much that in real life, when one of the managers at work asked me if I wanted to be trained as a cashier, I told him I had a learning disability and was not supposed to handle money. Maybe the dream isn't about me though; around that same time I found out that the guy who works in the furniture department is a doctor, an actual medical doctor. And I though I was over-qualified!
We're horribly understaffed again in the fashion department after another mass exodus. Last week, the staff profit-sharing cheques got handed out, quite a nice chunk of change for anyone who worked full-time. I guess some people were just waiting for that day, because three of them quit immediately upon receiving their cheques. One woman went on lunch and never came back. Walmart instills such loyalty in its people. Due to the loss of staff, 5 new people have been hired for the fashion department. As is our custom, we took bets on how long each one would last. Anything less than 3 weeks is usually a pretty safe bet. I put my money on a perky blonde teenager as the first to go. The joyful ones never last long. Having worked at Walmart 15 months, I have been training others for 14 months and 3 1/2 weeks. I am still trying to perfect my technique so the new recruits are good workers, allowing me to slack off a bit, but not such good workers that people notice how little I do by comparison. It's a fine line, complicated by the fact that some of them are utterly hopeless and some, despite Walmart's rigorous screening process, are potheads or lunatics.
Although I usually have more in common with my younger co-workers, I also enjoy working with the older ladies in the fashion department because they're absolutely insane. It takes a certain kind of person to work at Wal-mart. I don't mean that as a bad thing, or as a good thing. I'm just saying a skewed sense of reality can really help get you through the day. One nutty woman, Sheril, who I work with occasionally, was disappointed when her co-worker Shauna left the ladieswear department and transferred to the shoe department. In an attempt to bond with me one day, Sheril asked if I wanted to play "Stool". To understand what went through my mind at that moment, you would have to know about a dark period in the store's history known as the Feces Fiasco of Summer '06. During the month of June that year, $10,000 worth of towels and linens were destroyed when a single perpetrator entered the store in the early morning hours and smeared feces on everything in sight in the domestics department, the volume of waste suggesting that the offender had been saving up. They were never caught. It was always supposed that the perp was a disgruntled customer or employee which narrowed the suspect pool down to...everyone. So when asked if I wanted to play Stool, it briefly crossed my mind that I may have discovered the elusive shit disturber. I was simultaneously relieved and disappointed to learn that the stool was the regular four-legged variety meant for sitting on and the game of Stool was very simple: Each fitting room has one stool in it. You place the stool in the centre of the small room so the door still closes but the stool is very much in the way if you're trying to try on clothes. Nine times out of ten, people don't think to move the stool, they just work around it. As a game, Stool left much to be desired. If I could take a shot of vodka every time the stool remained unmoved, then we might have something. But Sheril was impressed with my efforts and said, "You're good at Stool. You can be my new Shauna." On a general creepiness scale, I would rate her comment about a 7. On a creepiness scale statistically adjusted for the crazy shit that goes down at Walmart, I would give it a 4. I hope desperately to avoid becoming the new Shauna.
I am currently applying for summer internships in libraries, hoping to avoid Wal-mart's special brand of madness. I have accepted this truth though: there are crazy people everywhere and they will always find me.
p.s. Never buy towels at Wal-mart.
p.p.s. Never buy anything at Wal-mart.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Dreams of Summer
I handed in my letter of resignation last Saturday. It was a bold move because I still have no plans for the future. Maybe the fact that a week from now I'll be unemployed will be enough to motivate me. I spent a lot of time yesterday trying to decide what I should be doing. Should I continue living here? Move to Halifax? Where will I work? Should I try to get a job at Mary Stovepipe's ice cream barn? It must have been weighing on my mind because the answer came to me in a dream that night. I had a wonderful dream where I lived in our travel trailer on the beach and worked as an actor with the local theatre company. By day, I took in the sun, the sand and the waves and had drinks with interesting tourists. By night, I performed a supporting role in a crowd-pleasing murder mystery. And in those first few glorious, naive moments when I first woke up, I congratulated myself for having come up with such a stellar plan. And then it slowly dawned on me that not only am I not an actor, but we sold the trailer from my dream eleven years ago. And that's why I hate dreams.
Our living room reeks of skunk. We're not really sure why. The popular theory is that the cat brought something into the house that was sprayed by a skunk. My father has offered a $10 reward to anyone who can find the source of the smell and $20 if they can get rid of it. My mother can't smell so she's not too bothered and I don't really mind the smell of skunk but it's driving my father crazy. To appease him, we all spent a couple of minutes searching for bodies of kitty's victims. Since the cat learned how to open the basement door, the "gifts" he used to leave on the doorstep now end up hidden throughout the house. And that's why I hate cats.
Our living room reeks of skunk. We're not really sure why. The popular theory is that the cat brought something into the house that was sprayed by a skunk. My father has offered a $10 reward to anyone who can find the source of the smell and $20 if they can get rid of it. My mother can't smell so she's not too bothered and I don't really mind the smell of skunk but it's driving my father crazy. To appease him, we all spent a couple of minutes searching for bodies of kitty's victims. Since the cat learned how to open the basement door, the "gifts" he used to leave on the doorstep now end up hidden throughout the house. And that's why I hate cats.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Singing Machine
Well, I actually didn't win the lottery. But I did notice that I only ever buy lottery tickets when I don't have any money. I guess that makes sense.
I'm reading a really good book right now called White Oleander by Janet Fitch. Corie recommended it a couple years ago but I only just now got around to reading it. It's about a girl's experiences in foster care and her relationship with her imprisoned mother.
I stopped by the Nova Scotia Community College campus in Halifax this week to check it out. I applied for the Library and Information Technology program, so that's where I'll probably be this September. It seems like something I'd be interested in. I still don't know what I want to be. I had a dream last night that I was a cop. My partner and I responded to a call about a crazy man with a gun. It turned out to be Nick Lachey who sang in response to all our questions and during the shoot-out that followed. He took 10 rounds to the chest and didn't miss a beat. I had to do all the shooting because my partner only had a water gun. I've stopped trying to interpret my dreams; it's futile. However, I think this one means I want to shoot Nick Lachey. But who doesn't?
I'm reading a really good book right now called White Oleander by Janet Fitch. Corie recommended it a couple years ago but I only just now got around to reading it. It's about a girl's experiences in foster care and her relationship with her imprisoned mother.
I stopped by the Nova Scotia Community College campus in Halifax this week to check it out. I applied for the Library and Information Technology program, so that's where I'll probably be this September. It seems like something I'd be interested in. I still don't know what I want to be. I had a dream last night that I was a cop. My partner and I responded to a call about a crazy man with a gun. It turned out to be Nick Lachey who sang in response to all our questions and during the shoot-out that followed. He took 10 rounds to the chest and didn't miss a beat. I had to do all the shooting because my partner only had a water gun. I've stopped trying to interpret my dreams; it's futile. However, I think this one means I want to shoot Nick Lachey. But who doesn't?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)