The Password is:

Passion.

Ok, so today I found myself without a good idea for a blog entry.

Sure, I’ve been thinking a lot about the NewMexiKen post that said, essentially, that 5% of the active blogs out there have not actually been updated in the past 120 days.

That the vast majority of the time, people tend to start a blog and then abandon it.

So when I started this crazy thing on the suggestion of The Good Man, I made myself promise I’d keep up with it, and if I didn’t, I’d shut ‘er down.

Now, two years and over 600 posts later, I’m still doin’ it. And I’ll let you in on a secret…I like it. A lot.

Sometimes I read a post I wrote and I’m *diggin’* it. Of course, the ones I think are rock star posts are the ones that gain zero comments. Such is life.

Those times where I’m in the flow, where I’m making it work…yeah, I feel the passion, sure.

But this week I’m having a failure of ideas. It happens. It will pass. This is something I’ve learned. Let it go, it will return.

Today, I’m just not in the zone. So searching for inspiration, I decided I would hit a random word generator, take the first word it gave me, and make that the basis for a post.

So I did. (In case you need a random word for yourself, you can grab one here)

The first word I got was passion.

I cringed, I winced, I wanted to go back and grab another word, but then…that would be cheating.

So…passion.

A blog post about passion.

A Google search yielded the expected…couples therapy, some sex toys, and way too many entries about a Mel Gibson movie I never saw (and won’t).

So I went over to images, and found the one at the end of this post.

And there you have it. It ties in both passion and blogging.

How tidy. THAT appeals to my OCD!

And that’s how you keep that blog passion burning. Boom, baby!

Cartoon found at gapingvoid.com (good stuff, I recommend!)

Thank you!

To all who voted for my stories in the Tweet Me a Story contest: a huge, sincere, and humble

THANK YOU!

I made it to the finals round!! 100 writers comprise the finals.

We write again on Wednesday, judges will pick the top 25 stories and voting begins on Thursday.

I have my work cut out for me! This finals round will be tough.

I seriously appreciate the votes and the help and the friendship and I’ll keep you posted if I manage to make it into the final voting round.

Woooot!

Monday awaits

A quote. It suits me for today. A rallying cry, I think.

“If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too; “

— If: A Father’s Advice to His Son by Rudyard Kipling

Read the rest here.

How you view the world through your own eyes

Lately, there is a lot going on in my life. Starting with some insecurity about where my job stands, given the merger. Yeah, the place where I spend most of my weekdays is like standing on shifting sands.

Then there is the economy, as I warily look at the balance of my retirement account.

Turning 40, and looking at what this next era in my life looks like (along with looking at the balance on my retirement account, ay yi yi!)

And a lot of at home personal stuff, too.

So lately, I’ve become like a broken record. I say to The Good Man, “I’m overwhelmed” when presented with a new problem. “I’m overwhelmed” when I have to make a big decision. “I’m overwhelmed,” when we try to sort out our calendar of all the events and friends and appointments and to do’s.

I had kind of a bad week last week, and by Friday I was not in a great mental place. Saturday morning, I’d had a good night’s sleep and things were better, but I was still on the verge. A couple tears over my morning pancakes and some heavy sighing over coffee.

On the way home from breakfast, The Good Man and I went to the local drug store to pick up a few items.

I was completely in my own head standing in line, just desperately wanting to get through the store and go home, be away from all of humanity. Just…shut down.

The lady in front of me in line was having some conversation with the clerk that wasn’t going anywhere, and so there I stood, rolling my eyes, waiting, tapping my foot, etc.

I listened in trying to figure out what the problem was. This elderly lady was waving a piece of paper at the probably nineteen-year old clerk, “My son needs these things, this is what I need….” she said, desperately.

The clerk was looking at her like she’d sprung a second head. “Did you call in for that?”

She replied “my son…he wrote this down just now….I need these things!”

The clerk looked at her list, “Coffeemate, that’s over in the freezer section,” he said, waving distractedly and shooing her away.

She shuffled off, muttering, “I need these things….”

I paid for my stuff, and as I left the store, I saw the woman pleading with another clerk, and getting more frustrated and disoriented.

As we walked to the car, I told TGM, “I’m worried about that lady.”

He asked me if I wanted to go back and help her.

I waffled. Sadly, most of the time, it’s better not to get involved. Best to just go on about your day. But something about this woman really got to me.

We went back inside. I didn’t see her immediately, so we went over toward the freezer section. She wasn’t there, either.

So we turned and walked a few aisles.

I found her, standing in another aisle, completely lost, eyes wide, and she was frantic. She looked about like I did the first time I entered Times Square, only way less excited and eight times as scared.

She held out her piece of paper to me and said, so plaintively, “Can you help me?”

“Yes, I can,” I said, and she visibly relaxed.

TGM and I helped her get the items on her list while and got her to the cash register. Then we took our leave and went on about our way.

But the rest of the day, I couldn’t stop thinking about that lady.

She clearly needs help, needs not to be wandering out in the world alone. She’s reached that point in her life where she can’t do it herself anymore.

I have been saying so much lately, “I’m overwhelmed,” and I am, but I’m not so overwhelmed with my life that going to a neighborhood drug store in the suburbs makes me feel wide eyed and frantic.

Maybe, seeing her terrified eyes (honestly, the look on her face is a memory that will never leave me), was like looking in a mirror for me, but it was also a wake up call.

I’m not downgrading what I’m feeling, what’s going on inside me is real, but sometimes, and this is a weird feature of human nature, having a comparison to know that one, you are not alone, and two, you could be in a worse spot, is healing.

I sure do hope that lady found her way home ok.

Office Archeology

You know, you work in an office environment for forty hours (or more) a week, and you start to become immune to your surroundings. Same gray walls, same tan carpet, same beige cubicle wall fabric.

However, when you are new, you tend to notice the odd stuff laying about, but being new, you don’t say anything for fear of sticking out like a sore thumb.

So you go along to get along…but you wonder. Oh you wonder.

Today, I had all my afternoon meetings wiped off the ol’ calendar, and found myself with some time on my hands (a very dangerous thing for a mind such as mine).

So I went on a walkabout to document some of the more puzzling items I find about my new office environment.

Put on your Indiana Jones hat and join me, won’t you, as we engage in an office archeology and sociology expedition.

Let’s just begin with the number one item that perplexes me on a daily basis.

It’s a pair of keys that go to a cable that secures a laptop against theft.

They are lying atop of a bank of filing cabinets that line a well-traveled thoroughfare at work. Meaning, these aren’t in a cube, they are actually far from anyone’s cube home, laying by the main doors to our floor.

I always ponder…WHO owns these? Do they know they are missing? Is there a laptop somewhere that is forever shackled to a piece of modular furniture with no means of escape? OH THE FUTILITY!

Seven months I’ve been here and these keys haven’t moved a centimeter. I often wonder how long they were there before I found them. Every day, there they sit.

Along the same lines of “something left on a bank of filing cabinets”, we have this:

I hear you saying, “What’s weird about that, Karen? It’s a stapler!”

Yes. Yes it is. A high capacity stapler. Yup. You could affix about 50 to 75 pages together with that big guy.

It’s sitting on a public thoroughfare, on top of cabinets that are at least chest high (and I’m fairly tall), so you can’t even get good leverage to push the handle to make the staple.

And the location is very, very far away from any copy room, copy machine, printer or other such device (it is right outside of a conference room, actually).

I mean, one of these high capacity staplers sits in every copy room. I’ve checked all the copy rooms on the floor, they all have one, so this guy isn’t lost or misplaced.

I have never seen a single person use this nice stapler.

There it sits. Lost and forlorn, unable to be useful for anyone’s stapling needs.

All alone. Maybe I should introduce it to the keys?

Ok, on to the stairwell. I happen to sit a floor above my boss and the rest of my team, so this stairwell is very, very well traveled.

Wait, what’s this?

Let’s go in a little closer, shall we?

Oh, it’s just a bit of rubbish, right? A bit of a Heath bar wrapper. Yup. What’s odd there?

One of our coworkers had a bag of mini-Heath bars in his office that was descended upon by office vultures. Sure, no biggie. Janitorial will just get that when they sweep the stairwell.

Trouble is…we haven’t had Heath bars in the office for TWO months. At least. Maybe longer. And I guess janitorial doesn’t sweep the stairwell because that bit of wrapper has been there for those two months, not moving a hair’s breadth to the left or the right.

Plus, I think it might have been me that dropped it, I’m not sure. I do remember a bad day where I was madly unwrapping and gobbling mini-Heaths as I stomped up the stairs, mad at my boss.

I keep thinking this wrapper will go away, but no, it’s become part of the landscape. (I know, I know…I *could* pick the damn thing up myself)

Ok, from the stairwell, let’s move on to the copy/supply room. Nothing odd there right? Paper products, binder clips, sticky notes, highlighters, and these:

Big deal, right? Simply those Vis a Vis dry erase pens that you use for overhead transparencies. No big deal, an office necessity, right?

Well…except that every conference room in the building has the kind of overhead projector where you hook up a laptop, not the old fashioned push a slide on there and write on it kind.

No one uses clear transparent slides anymore. As far as I can tell, they haven’t for some time here.

And we have a full stock of pens.

So you say, “oh fine, those are just leftovers”. Sure, I agree. No big deal. I took a couple packs for use at home (nice fine point pens! Yes!).

And this week, I notice the stock has been replenished.

For pens that no one uses.

Hmm.

Ok, big finish.

Despite the fact there is MUCH more that I could document here, I’ll draw to a close with the piece de resistance, the coup de gras, and some other French phrases I can’t think of but are probably fitting….

We have to go to the thirteenth floor for this one.

Here we go:

It is probably hard to see from the crappy iPhone photo, but that there is your standard office environment exit sign. But on the left of the sign is a clingy sticker thing that portrays…the bones of the human foot.

Now sure, we are a biotech company and interested in medical things…but we don’t do anything that involves feet. At all.

I have NO idea why the foot is on the exit sign or what it means? Is this some puzzle from employees past? Are they telling me to beat feet for the exit? Are they saying, “walk on!” Am I being told to think on my feet or I’ll be made to exit?

WHAT!?! What are you telling me? Speak to me, wise ancestors! I have to knooooooow!

Ok, I’m getting whipped up, so that must mean that’s enough for today’s scientific analysis.

Join us next time when we’ll explore “that stain on the cube wall” and “storage room, from dust bunnies to gold”.

Thank you, and good night.