Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Distractions

Now including this blog. Consider this a true confessions post. 

I usually wake up (sometimes for the fourth or fifth time) between 6 and 7 a.m. Or, as I'm told it is said in SoCal, "Before Jesus and the Mexicans." So inappropriate in so many ways but makes me laugh. Merlin and I stumble out to do our morning stretches and eye rubbing before I get coffee and settle in at my desk to check in on what my Facebook pals have been up to.

I like Facebook. Maureen, my dad and niece, and many non-virtual buddies want nothing to do with it. I not only like it, I consider using it to be professional development; you see, I have a certain persona or reputation on FB, as any good public relations practitioner should. I like to (in no particular order):
  • Crack myself up telling tales about myself
  • Crack myself up observing the inane and absurd in the world around me
  • Crack myself up asking questions about obscure subject matter
  • Let photos do my talking, and amuse or inform my friends
  • Support my FB friends with likes, words of encouragement and private messages 
  • Avoid creating political firestorms on my wall, except with one Republican/Libertarian friend 
I also read some of the stories people link to. A not-so-secret science and technology geek, I will look at almost anything having to do with space and technological advances. And dog stuff, like a recent post from someone about the structure of the German Shepherd Dog.
 
Here's the darker part of my FB habit. I spend the next hour or so playing my four games. Bubble Safari, and Bubble Witch, Candy Crush, and Pet Rescue Sagas. Terrible and shameful addictions. At least I don't spend actual money buying level zaps, charms, extra lives, or any of the other boosters and such. Then I check back in on my how my FB friends' mornings are going. More likes and comments and sharing ensue.

Next, I'm off to email. First, look for and respond to mail from friends. Second, breeze through Indeed and any other employment feeds I have. As previously discussed, my personal filters make that go pretty fast. I get an email about retired annuitant jobs (aka double-dipper jobs) but there's never been a position anywhere near here. Hurlong, yes. Hurlong, Calif., 70 miles north of Reno, population 298, home to the Bible Baptist, Assembly of God and Southern Baptist churches, prisoner population 1,658 with some in a minimum security satellite camp. Oh, yeah. I'm moving there. 

Third should be Craigslist, since that's where I can find part-time work. But it isn't. Then I look through my email for more interesting things. The Public Relations Society of America (PRSA) usually has two or three items about my profession worth reading. I sometimes share those, as I did just this morning with the Forbes list of top 50 global green companies. Similarly, AARP almost always has tidbits I want to look at. "Avoid These 10 Money Wasters," "13 Shows Not To Miss This Season," etc. I like those lists and AARP seems to do the best, presenting them in slideshows with minimum explanatory text. I tried the, "55 Must-Read Cleaning Tips," but 55 is too many and I had to go through three long-loading clicks to get to any one of them.

Seems everybody does, "Check out this X facts/things/ideas to know/avoid/pursue." What's up with that, anyway? I am a sucker for lists and, since I'll distract myself by researching anything, I found a great post on the "lisicle" practice, It's All in Your Head:  9 Reasons You Can't Resist a List, by Dan Lyons on Hubspot. My personal favorite:  Because PowerPoint has turned us all into mindless corporate zombies. Oh, and Hubspot is an inbound marketing company. Whatever the hell that is. 

By now, my butt is numb and my mouse wrist tingles. I sail back to shower, on the way announcing my intent to Maureen (who is reading everything she can about thoroughbred horse racing or playing her own games - Spider Solitaire, Hearts, all stuff on her computer, not online). Unless I have an appointment somewhere, as I do today with a lunch date, the back yard and my mournful looking puppy await me.




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