![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I know I've been going on and on about my real life changes for the last eternity, but I should reflect and say that it's been a pretty good, quiet first week at work. It seemed to take a while, as all first weeks do, but people seem to like each other, I've been handed a tutorial/practical assignment of sorts to introduce me to their practices, and nothing stressful's happened yet. The only thing absolutely causing my aneurysms is the parking, because the National Grid have been digging up the road and blocking off entrances at random to the car park I use, meaning that I have to circle around in heavy traffic for a long time before finally getting in. So I was more glad to reach the weekend than I have been in a while.
It's felt like a full day already, though, because this morning we both went to help at the warehouse sale for the publisher where Whitney works - every half year, they invite the public to their warehouse to cheaply offload surplus supply, books that have been returned to them for any reason, and on this occasion a wordsearch book where the random letter generation had accidentally spelled out the word "FUCK". It's counted as a work morning for everyone else but me, but I honestly love doing it because being able to talk to people and just totalling up amounts of books they've gathered in their boxes is so different from any work - or indeed spare-time activity - that I ever inflict upon myself.
And honestly, being there has a therapeutic effect that makes me feel a bit better about the world in general. This is a very different plane of existence from the dysgrammatical malebolge that you're presented with on the Internet - hearing the voices of children saying "Get that one, I love crosswords" as you wander around organizing books really brightens you up. And one of them, with a laughable bowl haircut to rival my own at that age, even wanted to write out the receipt himself as I was counting up their paperbacks and hardcovers.
You just have to tell them to be careful of the word searches.
It's felt like a full day already, though, because this morning we both went to help at the warehouse sale for the publisher where Whitney works - every half year, they invite the public to their warehouse to cheaply offload surplus supply, books that have been returned to them for any reason, and on this occasion a wordsearch book where the random letter generation had accidentally spelled out the word "FUCK". It's counted as a work morning for everyone else but me, but I honestly love doing it because being able to talk to people and just totalling up amounts of books they've gathered in their boxes is so different from any work - or indeed spare-time activity - that I ever inflict upon myself.
And honestly, being there has a therapeutic effect that makes me feel a bit better about the world in general. This is a very different plane of existence from the dysgrammatical malebolge that you're presented with on the Internet - hearing the voices of children saying "Get that one, I love crosswords" as you wander around organizing books really brightens you up. And one of them, with a laughable bowl haircut to rival my own at that age, even wanted to write out the receipt himself as I was counting up their paperbacks and hardcovers.
You just have to tell them to be careful of the word searches.
