Thursday, August 21, 2008

A Day's Work

Cubicle life is its own special hell. I know many of you work in cubicles, and trust me when I say that I feel your pain. I did it, for three years in one place as a proofreader, and what really got to me was the absolutely mind-numbing monotony of it. Every day, five days a week, up at 6 a.m., at work by 7:30 a.m., breaks at the same time, lunch at the same time, same people, same documents to be proofed over and over and over (for real--we would read the EXACT SAME document in different file formats 20 or 30 times). It was dispiriting. My dad once came up to see where I worked and as we were leaving he said, "I would kill myself if I had to work at a place like that." Thanks, Dad. We can't all be fighter pilots. But it paid the bills, which is really all you can say about cubicle jobs most of the time.

And not to rub it in for those of you still working in cubicles*, but my life is most assuredly not monotonous anymore. If variety is the spice of life, then my life is en fuego.

So let me present yesterday's work. With pictures!

First, while it was still cool in the morning, I canned beef broth made the day before.


Mmm, beefy goodness.

That one on the left has tomatoes in it. I didn't have quite enough broth to fill the fourth quart, and the MiL suggested filling in the remaining space with tomatoes. Isn't she the clever one? Though there was some dubious separation in that jar and a lot of gross-looking gunk ended up on the bottom, so we'll see how that turned out when I open it sometime in January.

Next, I finally painted the chicken coop.


Home smelly home

Please note the ultra-clever name I not only thought of all by myself (look at me, all bi-lingual!), but was nerdy enough to paint above the door. I crack myself up.

Hey, you take your entertainment where you can out here.

After that, it was time to break a machine.

Meet Grasshole's evil little friend

Yeah, I busted the push mower. There was smoke, and something dripping out of the exhaust. It wasn't pretty. It may be dead. And the lawn is only half-mowed. Little bastard.

There was also some chicken tending, cooking, harvesting . . . Well, you get the idea. I didn't take pictures of it all. Use your imaginations.

Have a nice day!

* Would it help if I told you I still edit boring documents? If you would like to know about the decentralization of Kenya's health management system, I'm your girl. The papers may be boring, but the paycheck is not, so if any of you nice people who send me those papers (and paychecks) are reading this, please, continue to send me as many as you would like (especially paychecks).

13 comments:

Leslie said...

My greatest fear is that I will turn into one of the Magritte paintings depicting a faceless, gray person, in a non-descript suit. Seriously, this can't be good for my health (mental or otherwise). Whoever thought it would a good idea to corral people into tiny gray spaces and make them sit in front of a computer all day is a very bad person.

SaraPMcC said...

I swear we worked in the same place, didn't we? So what's this business about it paying the bills? It so doesn't. At least I don't have to dress up. As you know, I can wear all the things you wear on the farm to this office. That almost makes up for reading the same documents 20 or 30times. Wait, no it doesn't.

Anonymous said...

What keeps me afloat is the window I have in my cubicle. Seriously makes life worth living. Oh, and we don't have a dress code either, which is nice, isn't it? Right? RIGHT?!

*sob*

Leslie said...

I don't have a window, and I have to follow a dress code. What the hell?! I need a new job!

SaraPMcC said...

Oh, I wish I had a window. The world could blow up and I wouldn't know.

It's me said...

I don't have a window either (although if I crane my neck I can see out the edge of the boss' window) but I do get paid (well) to surf the internet all day. Yeah, I KNOW I'm only supposed to look at outdoor-related sites. Not my fault I trip up and stop by here and there. :)

Broth looks great. Out of curiosity, how far up did the water go on those jars? To the lines we see? And what would happen if there was too MUCH water? Or would it make a difference? Let me know so I can figure out if I have to throw away my chicken broth.

Anonymous said...

Oh my god I'm so depressed now . . . because my life is worse than life in a cubicle. I manage people in cubicles.

And you people who work in cubicles but have no dress codes? I hate you all! I wear pantyhose everyday.

I would weep to paint a chicken coop.

Sweet Bird said...

My what an ingenious name! Get down with your bi-lingual self.

Just don't name them all pollo, ok?

Anonymous said...

Your life reminds me of the lady's (Diane Keaton) on "Baby Boom."

Anonymous said...

Uh, minus the baby.

Kristin @ Going Country said...

Okay, so I'm wary of giving canning advice here, as I have a fear of someone getting struck down by botulism paralysis and using a pencil in their mouth to peck out a vitriolic e-mail claiming it was all the fault of my half-assed advice. Or something.

But. The pressure canner booklet said to leave an inch head space in the jars for broth. I don't measure, and mine were probably too full. I filled them to about the bottom of the threads. I have no idea what happens if they're too full. But they sealed. And I'll let you know if any of us feel a tingling in our extremeties after ingesting this broth.

It's me said...

Actually Kristin, I meant on the OUTSIDE. I'm afraid I had too much water in the canner and that I'll die from eating my chicken broth. The water on the OUTSIDE went nearly up to the shoulder of the jar (well, just a bit below that) ... is there a reason it should only be a couple of inches deep? I'm having a terrible time finding out the answer.

Kristin @ Going Country said...

Oh. Got me. I don't put a lot of water in the pressure canner, but I don't see why too much water would keep it from getting to pressure. Though once again, my disclaimer--I am not a canning expert. I'm not an expert on much of anything, really.