I'm sick.

Okay, I heard that. It isn't funny. I mean really sick. Had a tickle in my throat Friday night, spent most of Saturday feeling congested, Sunday I had a fever of about 101. Yesterday the fever was gone, but the throat hurt much worse. I decided to take today off from work, so that's why this entry is being posted later in the day - for those of you who have been frantically checking every half hour or so. My throat still hurts like hell, but it's not quite as bad as it was yesterday, thanks for asking. I don't plan on going back to work until I can swallow without making a face.

So I didn't have the peachiest of holiday weekends. But that's not what I want to talk about today. Today I want to talk about money and work.

The thought was spurred by a brief conversation with Jeremy on Friday. We were filling out our timesheets (my office collects timesheets twice a month, on the 15th and the last day of the month) and Jeremy commented that he'd worked an extra twelve hours or so. I said something about how it was unfair that we don't get paid for overtime, and Jeremy disagreed, and I dropped it. It has been observed previously that Jeremy and I have vastly different ideas about working.

But I kept thinking about it, and here's what I think. I think, if I'm going to be a salaried employee, then I shouldn't have to put in forty hours every week if I can finish my work in less time. And I think that demanding that I put in forty hours a week, even if I'm not working for ten or more of those hours, and then not paying me when I'm forced to work overtime, is absurd. I know it sounds like it should balance out - if I'm not working for a lot of the time I'm at work, how can I complain when I have to work extra? But it doesn't work like that. Not working at work is not the same as not working at home. When I'm at work with nothing to do, I can't go to the mall, or take a nap, or even get comfortable. I have to continue pretending to work - I have to look busy, even when I'm not. Not working at work is sometimes even worse than having to work overtime without getting paid.

Jeremy tells me that he feels that there are other rewards for unpaid overtime. He didn't say so, but I assume he's referring to out-of-cycle raises and the positions of responsibility that are given to those who behave like good little wage-slaves.

That came out a little more sarcastic than I was intending. I'm glad that Jeremy feels fulfilled in his work. But I don't. The raises I've had from 3GI have been fair, and more than fair - don't get me wrong. But the one position of extra responsibility that I was given merely forced me to work even more unpaid overtime, and since that project ended, I've been back to the same old same old. No more responsibility for Liz. I don't know if they think I handled it badly, or if it was just someone else's turn, or what. No one tells you these things at 3GI. But it's a little frustrating to say the least. I feel like I'm being punished because I do my work too quickly. Like they won't give me any more responsibility because I haven't been putting in extra hours. I only work late when I have to. I've never yet been behind the deadlines given to me. In fact, I've almost always been early. Doesn't that deserve more reward than some slowpoke who is always at the office because that's the only way they can meet their deadlines? (I'm not talking about Jeremy, here. Jeremy, like me, manages to finish ahead of deadline more often than not.)

I'm trying to figure out why Jeremy always has four or five projects going while I spend half my time with nothing to do. Possibly it's because of that different attitude I mentioned before. Jeremy is endlessly enthusiastic about his job, and for me it's just a path to a paycheck. He's also much more technologically imaginative than I am, so he's always coming up with ideas for things to do. And he's got a knack for understanding the technology that I don't, and may never, have. So he deserves the extra projects and responsibility that he's been given. I don't begrudge him that.

But all I want is for someone to give me something to do, and then leave me alone until it's done. I want to collect my paycheck and go home. What I want is to be paid by the job, if that's what it takes. Or paid by the hour. That might inspire me to work longer hours or to take on more projects. But right now I get the exact same paycheck whether I spend a week playing Minesweeper or designing code modules. And unlike Jeremy, I haven't seen that any benefit came from those times when I had to bust my ass to finish a job on time.

I'm in it for the money, dammit.

We had a special meeting of the Meade Hall last night to wrap up a plot that Karen had introduced. Unfortunately, I think we were trying to do too much at once, and everyone was still going strong when I rather adamantly left around 11PM. (Because we only have one internet-connected computer at home, Matt and I come in to the office to get on the Hall. It wouldn't be a big deal if it didn't mean an extra twenty minutes or so between quitting mIRC and going to bed.) If I'd known that Ashby didn't really know how he was going to close off his thread, and that Jeff was expecting his bit to take close to an hour, I'd have suggested that we split the plot into two pieces.

Well, those of you who know what I'm talking about can probably guess how it should have been split. I probably lost the rest of you right at the beginning.

Matt is still suffering from a cold, though I think he's past the laryngitis, thank heavens. He was worried last night about his coughing keeping me awake. I laughed. Once I get to sleep, it takes quite a bit to wake me up - a mere cough wouldn't do it. (The honk of a nose being blown might, though. I've never met anyone who blows their nose so loudly!) ::grin::

We missed our showers this morning. After I fed the cat, Matt wanted to cuddle, and I'm never one to turn that down - not to mention that since I'd had only six hours of sleep, getting back into bed was definitely more appealing than getting into the shower. I'll probably regret it later today when my hair starts feeling nasty, but for right now, I'm pretty happy.

We stopped by the house yesterday and they still haven't done any work on it. But Nancy's car was there, so we decided to hang out and wait for her so we could talk to her. (Nancy is our realtor. I've been leaving her voice mail messages every other day for a week, now, but she hasn't called back.) While we were waiting, we saw a list of upcoming closings, and ours is the only house scheduled to close in August. It made me feel better that all the houses that were started after ours but are now much further ahead are supposed to be done by July - at least they have an excuse for putting those ahead of ours! And since we're the only house closing in August, I'm hoping the interior crews (they should be down to the interior work by then) will be able to concentrate on just our house. So that made me feel a little better.

Then, while we were waiting, we wound up talking to Donald, who is the builder's supervisor, and the guy that we would have wound up sending Nancy to anyway. He told us that he'd been planning on having the lumber delivered to our site next Tuesday, and that the framing crew would start framing on Wednesday. (Which means we'll need to go over there every day next week starting on Wednesday until we're sure they made the changes to the blueprints that we asked for.) But getting a definite date out of them really made me feel much better.

I still want to call our apartment complex and find out if there's even a slim chance that they'll be willing to be flexible about our lease. I'd at least like to only have to give them one month's notice instead of the two they usually demand. Or let us extend our lease by only one month instead of their usual minimum of two. I don't have a lot of hope, but maybe if I explain that the house is being built... We've been fairly good customers for the complex for the past three and a half years - only one late rent payment in all that time - so I hope they'll be reasonable. But I'm not counting on it.

Another boring Friday. I told both my task lead and my supervisor that I had finished my project, and so far they haven't given me anything new to work on. So it'll be another day of not much of anything for me... Oh, well. Friday before a long weekend, I'm not too crushed. (At least I remembered my book this time!)

I have the weirdest damn habit when I'm reading journals. For no apparent reason whatsoever, I always back up to a site's main page before moving on to the next journal. That is, I'll select a journal out of my bookmarks, then click on the link that takes me to the latest entry and read it. When I'm done reading, you'd think that I would just select the next journal in my list of bookmarks, but I don't - I have to hit the Back button until I'm at the mail page before selecting another site. Every time I catch myself doing it, I think the same thing: I should write about this in my journal. I'm such a mutant. Now you know.

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This morning in the shower I was thinking about socialized medicine. (If I get too many more journal topics from my morning shower thoughts I'm going to change the name of this journal to All Wet.)

The thought was pretty basic, actually, but I guess I'll give you the setup. A few years ago, people started talking about how great it would be if the U.S. had a government-subsidized health program like Canada's, because it would be cheaper and poor people wouldn't have to worry about being able to afford it, etc. Then I started hearing about how much Canadians hated their health program, because it was so time-consuming to actually see a doctor - they apparently have to spend a much longer time waiting. I could identify with this: college health centers are essentially socialized medicine, and I never waited for less than an hour and a half.

So here's the thought I had this morning: The difference between the systems is, in essence, their deterrent. In the U.S. people avoid going to the doctor because it's so expensive. In Canada people avoid going to the doctor because it takes so long. Okay, that's a generalization and an oversimplification, but it still seems to me to be not far from the truth. But maybe it's just me. I never claimed to have good thoughts when I was in the shower.

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This weekend will be a long weekend. This is good, because I'm really ready for a break. The Star Wars party last weekend was a lot of fun, but I lost a lot of sleep. I think I'm pretty well caught up now, but it'll be nice. I'm also hoping I'll get another project at work soon. I'm tired of doing layers on layers on layers - especially when I don't really understand that bottom layer but my task lead seems to assume that I do. ::sigh::

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I downloaded a typing tutor program yesterday, out of nothing but simple curiosity - office mates are always walking by when I'm writing e-mail and telling me they've never heard anyone typing as fast as I do. According to the program, I type about 80 words per minute if what I'm typing are reasonable sentences. If it's just random words, I slow down a bit, and if it's random letters, I slow down even more. I'm pretty sure this has to do with my thinking process rather than my typing ability. But the typing program is pretty cool, so I may keep it and play with it and see if it improves my speed.

I joined the Diary-L mailing list yesterday. I knew it would be a fairly busy list, but I had over fifty messages when I logged in this morning! Yike!

Quite a bit of the action on the list right now is devoted to an argument. To be fair, there's astonishingly little flaming going on, though everyone seems to be reading the letter rather than the spirit of everyone else's posts. They all seem to agree, actually, and they're arguing over semantics. (For those of you not on the list who are curious, the major point seems to be that someone who deserves your respect after they're dead probably deserved your respect during their life as well, and that the only additional respect that being dead should get them is out of sympathy for the loved ones left behind.)

The first time I encountered the death of a human (as opposed to the death of bugs and various non-cuddly pets such as goldfish and hermit crabs) was when I was nine. A boy in my class at school had been attacked, choked into unconsciousness, and abandoned face-down in a ditch. His name was Paul, though I don't remember his last name. I felt terrible when it finally sank in, not because he had died, but because I hadn't liked him at all, and my first thought when the principal told us he was dead was, "Oh, good." Guilt dogged me for a long time, until I finally came to the conclusion years later that it was the sort of thing that someone might think before the enormity of the situation closed in, and let it go.

When I was in the sixth grade, my maternal grandmother died. Grandma Waters had been very sick for a very long time - she had had terribly disfiguring arthritis for as long as I'd known her, and every time we went to visit, she seemed a little weaker. I remember two things about her death. The first is that my dad took John and I to visit her in the hospital one weekend when we were pretty sure the end was near. I had been taking a class in calligraphy, and wanted to take a sample of my work to show her, and Dad told me that I should leave it behind. I don't remember what the reason was, but I got the impression that it was frivolous and vain of me to show off when she was so sick. What I remember about that incident most vividly is him admitting later that he should have let me bring it - that Grandma would have enjoyed it. The other thing I remember is wondering if something was wrong with me, because I never once cried. I was sad, and I was sorry I'd never see her again, but I couldn't cry after we saw her in the hospital, and I couldn't cry when Mom called a few days later to tell us that she had died, and I couldn't cry at the funeral. I suppose everyone around me assumed that I was too young to really understand what was going on, and maybe that's it. But everyone around me was crying or sniffling or at least had red eyes, and even though I tried, I couldn't.

What I remember about her life is a backscratcher, which she had to use to scratch the top of her head, and green-apple candies, which she liked to eat and would share with my brother and I. (I remember more, but those two memories are the essence of my grandmother to me.)

My Grandad Waters died when I was a sophomore in college. His decline had been slow and ugly. When we went to see him in the hospital, I remember him getting angry at the nurse because she wouldn't take the respirator tube out of his throat so he could say goodbye. When I understood that this really was the last time, I got angry, too. The respirator was only going to keep him alive a few more days, and everyone in the room knew it. I remember being furious that they wouldn't allow him to pass with dignity, or to tell his children and grandchildren that he loved them. I remember there being a bit of a scandal at the funeral home because his girlfriend insisted on being part of the receiving line. (I remember wishing that he'd given her a ring, at least, so that we'd know where she stood in his life.) I remember that I cried when his brother spoke a private eulogy at the memorial dinner before the funeral, but couldn't summon up any tears at the funeral itself. I remember thinking about how terribly proud he was that I was in college and planning on majoring in math, and promising myself that I would offer a toast to him when I graduated.

What I remember most about his life is that while I was in college, he would send me newspaper clippings and cash. I must have once mentioned the money to my mother, and she must have fussed at him about it, because I remember most vividly a fifty-dollar bill stapled to a newspaper clipping on which he had written "Don't tell your mother." (He only wrote infrequently. Mostly it was just clippings and cash.) It's a silly memory, but I kept the secret. Years later, I told Dad about it. And I remember how proud he was of me. He had never gone to college, and I think he was tickled pink that a descendant of his would not only go to college (my mother has a Master's degree, so that wasn't new) but major in something that he perceived as terribly difficult.

Anyway, since reading that thread on Diary-L, I've been thinking about them. There you go.

Well, I got a nap yesterday after work, so I'm feeling slightly more awake today. But not any better about having to be at work. Bleah. I think I need a new project. This one is too big - it's gotten mired down into too many layers and levels of complexity.

Matt seems to have come down with a case of laryngitis. I guess Mike's protest that he'd lost his voice because of allergies wasn't entirely true.

Bleah. Jeremy just told me that Del (my supervisor) won't be in the office for most of the rest of the week, so I can't ask him for a new project just yet. Damn. Now I have to find something to do for the rest of the day. I hate being bored at work. Maybe I'll go back to teaching myself Perl. Regular expressions are a big pain in the butt, so they ought to keep me occupied for a while.

I just don't have much to say today, I guess. I spent yesterday somewhere between sleeping and spacing, so nothing really happened worth mentioning, and I'm still a little too tired to try to be deep or philosophical.

Sorry, gang. My brain seems to have run out of juice this morning. I'll try to be better tomorrow.

Wow, what a great weekend! Friday was the Star Wars party, and that was an absolute blast! Saturday we went over to K.T.'s and gamed, which was a lot of fun if only because Jeff was there having raptures over getting real social interaction. Sunday wasn't as exciting, but it was relatively relaxing, and that was nice. I finished making all the squares and rectangles for my afghan, and then spent about an hour or so deciding the best way to piece them together. That'll take a week or more, but I'm feeling very proud of myself for doing something that big!

I didn't get enough sleep, of course. We were up until well after midnight both Friday and Saturday, and for whatever reason, I don't sleep very well when we have guests sleeping on our couch. (Possibly I'm worried about the cat waking them up, but I'm not sure that's the real reason. Whatever.) So both Saturday and Sunday morning, I woke up around 8:30 or so. I was going to take a nap Sunday afternoon, but some of our laundry hadn't dried completely and it was spread out on the bed to dry and I couldn't think of anywhere else to put it. So I'm a little groggy this morning.

So, I'm sure you're dying to know what I thought of Phantom Menace. I promise, I won't have any spoilers here - I won't even reveal major plot elements, because I know a lot of people who didn't even want to know the characters' names until they saw the movie.

The short version is: It was fantastic, and I want to see it again so I can find all the little details that I missed!

Now. If you haven't seen the original trilogy - in fact, if you haven't seen the original trilogy at least twice - you're missing a lot of Phantom Menace. If you are over the age of about eight and haven't seen the original trilogy, then I strongly suggest renting it before you go to see Menace, because otherwise it won't be a very good movie. (Maybe that's why all the reviewers are dissing it.)

Menace doesn't stand on its own, and obviously was never meant to. This is a prequel, and you are expected to know the fate of a large number of the characters, and that knowledge will color everything they say or do. Additionally, Menace had the feel of an introductory chapter in a novel - its main purpose was to introduce you to all of the characters and to give you some idea of their capabilities, strengths, and weaknesses. It wasn't a perfect movie by any means. If you are familiar with the original trilogy, then some of the subtleties of Menace were simply not very subtle, and for those who are not familiar with the original trilogy, a great many references and twists are probably confusing. At least one concept was introduced that I didn't like and am going to simply ignore in the next two movies. And despite all the effort put into it, I wasn't especially surprised by any of the plot twists.

I enjoyed it immensely, though. The computer animations are getting better and better - there were even times when the CG aliens looked real. It had one of the sleekest, sexiest starships I've seen in a long time. I liked all of the characters, even the ones that everyone else is going to insist are Ewok-substitutes and therefore hate. Even though the outcome of each individual situation was pretty easy to guess, I enjoyed watching them reach those outcomes.

Oh, and one teeny spoiler, because I sortof wish someone had told me this beforehand: That terribly evil-looking Darth Maul that you've been seeing all over the place, with the red and black face paint? He's actually a sort of minor character. He only speaks about two lines, and has no personality development whatsoever. I'm spoiling this for you now, because I was terribly disappointed in him when the movie was over, and I was irritated that the media had made him into the primary bad guy when he's not.

All in all - thumbs up!

Now, if you've already seen the movie, or you don't care about spoilers, you can check out this discussion of the movie.

Wow, my computer is running slow today. There's a lag between my typing and when letters show up on the screen. It's like working in Unix.

I'm getting pretty psyched about The Phantom Menace! As we speak, K.T. and Kevin and Greg are taking turns standing in line, Jeff is on his way up from South Carolina, and Jeremy is playing the Star Wars soundtrack in our office. And any day I leave work early is good, just on principle! After we leave, we'll run a few errands, then go home and wait for Jeff to arrive, and then we'll head to Greg's house to watch the original trilogy until it's time for the show! Whee!!!

Matt and I stopped by the comic store last night to pick up the week's comics (we usually go on Saturdays, but this weekend promises to be busy, and we were at the shopping center getting Chinese food anyway) and Mark, the store's owner, told us how to create the name that will let you fit right in to The Phantom Menace, and I'm gonna share it with you.

Take the first three letters of your name, then add the first three letters of the make (not model) of the car you drive. The name of the last prescription you filled is the planet you're from.

I am: Eli'che from Ultravate! Works pretty good, eh? (I threw in the apostrophe for old times' sake.) Matt couldn't remember what the last prescription he'd filled was, so he doesn't have a home world. His Star Wars name is Mat Dod, which isn't bad either. Let's see how many of my friends I can get. (Obviously, I either don't peek in their medicine cabinets or at least I'm not about to admit to it, so they'll all have to remain planetless.)

Jeremy: Drives a Honda Accord, so his name is Jer Hon. Jerhon? I'll let him pick.

Jeremy's girlfriend, Elizabeth, drives a Ford Thunderbird. Eli For.

K.T.: Let's see. We'll have to expand out from the initials to Kellylyn. She drives a Ford Escort. Kel For. Kelfor? Kel'for? Nah, I like Kel For better.

K.T.'s husband, Kevin: They only have the one car, so he'll be Kev For. Not bad.

Greg, who is the host for the Star Wars party, drives a Buick. Grebui. I think that needs some punctuation, don't you? Gre'bui. I kindof like that one.

Jeff is coming up from South Carolina in an Escort, so he is Jef For.

My dad (Chet) drives a Dodge Ram. Che'dod.

My mom (Alma) has a Ford Taurus: Almfor. That one might need some punctuation as well.

I was going to write about something else, but I can't remember what. I'm obsessed. ::grin:: Have a great weekend!