The morning paper with a slice of humble pie

I've been home for a little over a month now, and time has accelerated in the same pattern it always seems to do: in the beginning, an hour feels like a day.  In the end, there aren't enough hours left in the day to see everyone and go everywhere I intended to.

Life has been funny here.  I'm in that in-between that I forget about until I find myself there again.  It's a summer that's not long enough for a "real" job, but not short enough to comfortably pay the bills until the next gig arrives.  I have no set schedule or routine (upon which, as you may know, I thrive), each week is different, and if it weren't for the planner I found at Staples, I wouldn't ever know where to be or when to be there.

Even though it's different every week, each day is still filled to the max.  Since my lease in Corvallis began in July (read: I've been paying rent since July), I've been doing as much work as I'm offered at home so I can, you know, eat, until my first grad assistantship paycheck comes.  I decided when I came back that if I was offered work, I would only turn it down if it compromised my morals.

Well, my mom new a girl who knew a guy (red flag yet?) who needed a substitute for his paper route.  He got married and had an 8-day honeymoon to cover.  I didn't see anything risque or dishonest about throwing papers out a window, so I went for it.

All of you whom I hold dear, heed my warning: if you value your sanity, DO NOT EVER throw papers for a living.

I'm a morning person, and have few problems waking up early, but when you have to pick up your papers at 3am, there's no going to bed early enough to get a decent night's sleep.  And your left arm, from shoulder to wrist, will hurt for days.  And you will want to scream at people who let trees grow in front of their addresses.  And you will start talking to yourself in accents just to be entertained.  I lost it, guys.  The funky sleep schedule completely messed with me, and I was the worst version of myself that week.

I've heard that everyone has to have a really crappy job at least once in their life.  I'm just glad mine only lasted a week.  But hey, respect to the paper boys and girls out there.  I am not cut out for it.

Remember when I did this?  I think I'd rather be forced to do it again daily than run another paper route.

Since then, I'm sticking with babysitting around town and yard work at Dad's.

Grace and peace,
Hilary