Simultaneous Translation

[mallorys_camera]

The chicken gurlZ have started laying!

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And I am 90% certain that the constant dull ache in my shoulder is a well-known side effect of statins (and the reason why they have such a bad rap) and 10% certain that it is a mysterious cancer that appeared suddenly out of nowhere & will kill me in six months (so I better clean the Patrizia-torium and finish the novel.)

Since it does not seem to be resolving, I will call the cardiologist on Monday.

People with thyroid conditions seem to be particularly prone to statin side effects & I have Hashimoto's. Not even sure I would call the ache pain—it's more a thereness that never goes away, that I'm always conscious of, & that therefore messes with my efforts to lose consciousness (i.e. fall asleep).

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Meanwhile, I went to a Schlock office every day last week and am on the schedule every day for the next week.

I hesitate to call this "work"—though I am being paid to go into the office. Mostly, I sit there and try to hide the fact that I'm reading Midnight in the Garden of Good & Evil by pretending to do tax case studies. I display dense tracts on the monitors of the computer assigned to me about depreciation & passive income. See? I am studying! I want to be the best little tax preparer you've ever seen!

Sometimes, I answer phones. Sometimes, I make phone calls: Hey, former Schlock client! Don't you want to spend $250 on something it would take you five minutes to do for free-eee-eeee? Sometimes, I do actual tax returns, and those are always fun.

It all reminds me of that time in the first grade when I got busted by my first-grade teacher for reading Tom Sawyer under the table. "Patty! Put that book away and read your primer!" she'd scold.

This is seasonal work. Come April 15, I remind myself, there will be no further call for your services until next January. You are a farmer! Harvest those tax returns while you may!

I make myself as innocuous and invisible as I can. I even let them call me "Pat"! Who gives a shit? I wouldn't recognize most of the other people in these offices if I passed them in the street. What do I care if they recognize me?

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If I were more gifted at compartmentalization, I'd work on the novel while I'm at the Schlock office.

But doing nothing eight hours a day is exhausting. When I get back to the casa once my shifts are done, all I want to do is throw fuel in my stomach & watch mindless television. So, I'm not writing then.

I'm still working out what I want to do with the next section of the novel, though. Initially, I thought the next section of the novel would be about sex, but ironically, neither real-life Daria nor real-life Flavia was having sex with Brian at the time he died. Of course, what I'm writing is fiction, not real-life.

Anyway, sometime this week, I will be interviewing (and recording!) real-life Daria at some length. Yes, I will be debriefing her about her relationship with Brian. But I also want to know what it felt like to come to the U.S. from Mexico City at age 11, what it feels like to be able to do simultaneous translation, like how do you keep from getting the languages all mixed up in your head?

Comments

[summersgate]

Pat - you are not a Pat!

Look at those beautiful mottled eggs! What kind of chickens do you have?

[asakiyume]

Glad you're getting paid for those eight hours at least.

My dad was talking to one of the other people at his new living situation. Guy worked in... I forget what: some business or other. Then retired. "Then I prepared taxes for another 20 years," he said. So ... it seems, based on this sampling of two, to be a good later-in-life income stream.

Haven't caught up on your back entries yet, but I will. Very happy to see the girls laying again--that's thanks to YOU keeping them alive all this time.