Please Don't Quote THAT Tennyson

I've always worn my English nerdery on my sleeve: after all, anyone who speaks with me for more than forty-five seconds will begin to suspect anyway.

But at work, this sometimes causes people to shake their heads--when I start discoursing to them about what I'm reading (the pun book, so far, is intriguing and fascinating!) to when I defend fiction (really, people, you can learn things from novels...I swear it!!!) to when I start talking about the nebulous definition of a word like "classic" (after all, it seems odd to be able to label things "modern-day classics" when usually the idea is that the classics have stood the test of time--almost as though you're making a pre-emptive decision that says to a book: "YOU WILL LAST FOREVER IN A MEANINGFUL AND VERY PUBLIC FASHION").

By far though, the best chuckle I think I've solicited from someone at work is after (on more than one occasion) he had been questioned why we were doing something, and he said: "Ours is not to question why." I grant that it's possible I physically cringed, or twitched at the very least, and almost begged that he not quote that particular line...

...because in "Charge of the Light Brigade," it's promptly followed by "Ours is but to do and die." (Not "or" die, mind you. "And" die.)

Since I value my life, I'll continue to question why.

Physical Acts=Mindset?

I realized something today. Or rather, I suppose I remembered something today: when I feel a need to get right down to work, I roll up my sleeves (if they're long). And I pull my hair into a ponytail (provided it's long enough).

I used to do this when I wrote papers for my classes. Something about the actual physical act says to me: "Okay, self. It's time to knuckle under."

Today I was wondering to myself why I do this, when it occurred to me... the pushing up the sleeves and the pulling up the hair gets distractions out of the way. Trust me: if I want to put off working on something and my hair is down, I can twirl it for quite a long while. Or braid it. Or use it to make silly little mustaches on my face.

Yes. I suppose that means I'm easily distractable. So be it.

But if these small links are all I sometimes need to convince myself to get down to business, I wonder why I don't do them more often.

Also, I wonder if I have equivalents when my hair is short and I'm wearing short sleeves.

The New Routine

Time flies when you're having fun.

Or, you know, once you get a job and you start working again. Even though my training only happens for four hours in the afternoons, I forget how quickly time can pass. I've been good about keeping a routine since Monday. I wake up. I exercise. I eat a lovely breakfast.

Then I shower and get ready. After that, I do what needs doing. What needs doing varies on a day-to-day basis: invariably, I clean something. I edit something. And then, I find that it's time for work. After working for four hours, I come home to discover that I'm just as tired as I might be from working a full day.

On the bright side, my morning hours are occupied: I don't bum around the house. I don't feel as though I'm killing time until I leave. On the slightly more dark side, I'm all out of energy by the time I get home. Unless, like last night, I hit a second wind around ten and I start doing oblique crunches while I'm talking to my roommate. And then, once I tire of that, I decide to do some silly kicks.

Yes, yes, yes: I'm weird. And this schedule will become even more interesting once school starts again. But I just wanted to announce: I'm using my time wisely. And I'm proud of it.

Let's see how long it lasts.

A Game of Dress-Up

Most girls played at it when we were young: tiptoeing up to an old cedar trunk, peering in, and pulling out clothes several sizes too large. My sisters and I used to love walking around in dresses infinitesimally too large for our little bodies, clomping around in antiquated platform shoes. We were being our mom, our aunt, a movie star . . . anybody who struck as older and more sophisticated, really.

But something I've come to realize is that I, as a girl, have never stopped playing dress-up. I have always dressed to fit a part. In junior high, I dressed the part of the geeky girl with a cool older sister. The many hand-me-downs I received may have added to the look: someone who looked as though she was trying too hard. And it seems marginally laughable because most of those clothes were too big.

In high school, I was somewhat schizophrenic when it came to my clothing habits: I dearly loved my preppy polos, but I also had a penchant for tacky t-shirts with all sorts of sayings and cartoon characters on them: one particular red Curious George shirt I still lament ever buying as a junior in high school. It seemed so trendy then. And it might have been. But I look at those pictures now and think tacky, tacky, tacky. Calling it kitschy would be a little too kind.

Once I hit college, I grabbed the nearest t-shirt and pair of jeans. As long as they were clean. And, let's be honest, sometimes if they weren't. College became a practice in avoidance--how often I could not do my laundry and get away with it. I never looked terribly grungy, but I never exerted a lot of effort taking care of my physical appearance.

I started thinking of this because I picked up some more work clothes on Friday, and again was struck by how much I feel like I'm playing dress-up--transitioning myself from Confuzzled the Collegiate to Confuzzled the Professionally Put-Together Human Resources Assistant. People think I look very stylish at work. It's an odd feeling for me, because I have never felt "in style." Au contraire--I often felt anti-style, and I didn't care.

But here I am, playing dress up again. Wondering if anyone will notice the little girl hiding behind the pinstripes.