It’s a strange feeling to go into a job where you used to have a moderate amount of responsibility with regards to how the place was running, looking, if the employees were standing up straight and straightening up the books properly, and then not have any responsibility at all. I’m down to one shift a week at Borders. And let me say, it pretty much rules. Because my one shift is on the weekend, the store’s more fully staffed, and therefore, I see a lot of the cool people. Also, because the store’s been pretty dead, we get some time to chat here and there. It’s nice. It would be nice for the supervisors and managers if the store was doing better business, (and I only say that because until last week, I was one of those supervisors), but I really can’t bring myself to care too much about all that anymore. I’m there to help the customers in the store find and purchase something they are looking for. I’m there to answer phones. I’m there to shelve and straighten books. It’s freeing. I can see why a lot of people like to work in bookstores after they retire.
Anyway, I felt today like I might be on the verge of something great in my writing. That was this afternoon, when energy levels were high, but I was at work. I got home from work, and, of course, had to read some, and then debated whether to go to church today or tomorrow morning, decided to go tomorrow instead so that I could shut my eyes for twenty minutes before dinner.
That’s about when the writing bug flew off. I think I will write poetry tomorrow, though, or at least give it the old college try. I think I’ll try the trick someone in my Forms class uses: writing the first draft with your dominant hand, then doing the second draft in the weaker one. I’m thinking it could cause some interesting disasters.