So...I decided to go for it and start a novel on November 1st! The happiness this project is bringing me is somewhat puzzling and certainly unexpected. Could I actually have been meant to be a writer all along? I don't know...I don't really write the kind of quality material typical of honest-to-goodness Writers (with a capital 'W'). But I really am having fun. Seriously. So weird.
Anyway, I just thought I'd take a break from my 5,500 words (oops...I'm supposed to be somewhere over 8,000 by now, but I'm trying not to fret) to make a note on something that's bothering me about my story so far. This is the fact that I started in a sort of flashback period, expecting this to last only a chapter, at most. But now I'm into the third chapter (yeah, these are Dan Brown-length chapters...suck it), and still about 8 months away from what I was considering "the present." And I'm tired of summarizing, so I started writing dialogue between characters to keep myself going. Is this okay? I was only planning to start my characters having conversations once I had caught up to "real time." Hmmm...I'm just frightened that dialogue within someone's description of the past seems really goofy. I mean, no one writes word for word dialogue in their diary, right? So would a narrator really recall entire complex conversations from 8 months ago? Doubtful.
I assume I'll just press on and continue to allow my characters to converse with one another -- it just feels so wrong! Oh well, the point of NaNoWriMo is to JUST KEEP MOVING, and that's what I'm trying to do.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Funny, but not really...
So how do you like that since I declared this blog would be dedicated to thinking about, talking about, and doing (about?) writing, I never updated again? Yeah, that's what I do...be afraid of the activity of writing, that is. I want to write, and I actually do enjoy the process, but fear of failure makes me want to just go to bed.
In order to combat fear and shrink WRITING back down to something smaller than myself, I believe I'm going to try to complete National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) this November. The quantity over quality aspect of the program really appeals to me in a sort of masochistic way since my instinct is to labor over individual lines and words for hours on end, (which is certainly a character flaw deserving of punishment). Also, what else am I really doing, anyway?
So, a challenge! Can I stick to the program? We'll see at the end of November.
In order to combat fear and shrink WRITING back down to something smaller than myself, I believe I'm going to try to complete National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) this November. The quantity over quality aspect of the program really appeals to me in a sort of masochistic way since my instinct is to labor over individual lines and words for hours on end, (which is certainly a character flaw deserving of punishment). Also, what else am I really doing, anyway?
So, a challenge! Can I stick to the program? We'll see at the end of November.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Summer, friends, future directions...
Well, it's a summertime Friday and I can't keep my mind on my work for more than about 22 seconds. I have a tenacious headache, too, which isn't helping. I took an ibu-tab from the school medicine cabinet, but the pain has not abated as yet...boo. Anyway, I've been neglecting this blog, but no one has been clamoring for updates, so I suppose it doesn't matter much. I've been spending time doing fun summer things like going to the beach and performing pool maintenance and looking at real estate, so I haven't just been shirking my writing initiatives for no purpose...so if you have been waiting patiently for updates, know that I've actually been quite busy. :-) I've also been assisting with the ongoing grandparents' estate disposal/dispersal, which includes a lot of supportive conversations with my mother that somehow require a good deal of time.
In other news, some good friends from Minnesota have been visiting, and it's been great to spend time with them...too bad I have to work because I really hate cutting evening picnic table conversations short at midnight. Haha. I think my lack of sleep related to the sudden addition of friends is actually what's causing this pesky headache, but I'm not unhappy to suffer for a social life.
*many hours later*...so I got distracted doing actual work, but I wanted to say one thing before I close this entry related to the "future directions" portion of my post title. I'm thinking that in an effort to write more often, I am going to dedicate the future of this blog to talking about writing, posting writing samples, and recording inspirational stuff that might be used in my writing (and I'm not referring to pansy-ass "inspirational" quotes). I mean, I may have already been doing these things here in a less focused way, but I think I'm going to be more serious about it. To add some urgency to that sentiment, I truly believe that writing is the only thing I can do to save myself from a life of secretarial work. So what do you think?
In other news, some good friends from Minnesota have been visiting, and it's been great to spend time with them...too bad I have to work because I really hate cutting evening picnic table conversations short at midnight. Haha. I think my lack of sleep related to the sudden addition of friends is actually what's causing this pesky headache, but I'm not unhappy to suffer for a social life.
*many hours later*...so I got distracted doing actual work, but I wanted to say one thing before I close this entry related to the "future directions" portion of my post title. I'm thinking that in an effort to write more often, I am going to dedicate the future of this blog to talking about writing, posting writing samples, and recording inspirational stuff that might be used in my writing (and I'm not referring to pansy-ass "inspirational" quotes). I mean, I may have already been doing these things here in a less focused way, but I think I'm going to be more serious about it. To add some urgency to that sentiment, I truly believe that writing is the only thing I can do to save myself from a life of secretarial work. So what do you think?
Thursday, June 18, 2009
So I don't forget...
I've heard that grief is a strange thing in that it hits randomly and without warning. You could be doing something completely mundane (such as data entry into a new database system), and all of a sudden, there's sadness staring you in the face (or anger or panic or some other emotion associated with the grieving process). As I've mentioned before, I've experienced some familial loss in recent months, and I consider myself to be in a grieving process for this now. So please excuse the following, dear reader...I make an effort to record memories when they come to me because I really don't want to forget little daily-life details from my life with my grandparents.
Maybe it's the fault of spending an hour or so last night going through old family photos and realizing that there are more photos of me with my grandma than with probably anyone else. This made me feel good more than sad, but I think it planted a seed to remember this random thing today as I was going about my work-ish business: as a kid, and even into teen-hood and early adulthood, I spent a lot of time hanging around in my grandparents' attic as my grandma worked on the sewing machine. She loved sewing up there in her little finished room with her plants and her paintings that my mom did in school hanging on the wood-paneled walls. And she would listen to the radio, a plastic, wood-grain-printed clock radio (I think it was a GE; I know it had the flip-over plastic numbers that were obsolete since the invention of digital read-outs), tuned to this bizarre "easy listening" station that played violin-heavy renditions of hits "from the 70's to today." We've all heard muzak played in elevators and insurance company phone system holds, but I swear this was weirder, though I don't think the station still exists in order to verify that claim. In any case, I HATED that music...it poisoned my dreams at night and waltzed around in my head like a soundtrack to my young life. If I had to hear Lionel Richie's "Hello" on those cat-fight screechy violins with jazzy soprano sax solo one more time, I was probably going to commit arson.
But you know, I thought of the lyrics to "Hello" a little bit ago and had to laugh at my juvenile rage over "grandma's radio station." And I just had to record that silly memory. I still loathe muzak (my hate fueled by many many years of musical instruction throughout my life), but the thought of it reminds me of my gram and her quirkiness. We dismantled the attic several weeks ago in the now-for sale house on South Hazel Street, but I will always see it in my head (if I can count on memory not to fade too badly) in the same warm, woody-toned way. The sewing machine perpendicular to the windows in the dormer and the radio (which was always perched on the top of an old black and white TV that was pretty much never on because it only got like one channel) at my grandma's back as she worked away hemming pants or whatever. The dangerous electric space heater plugged in near her feet in the winter, its coils glowing red just beyond a screen that you could easily poke your fingers through (and something she repeatedly warned me against). So funny and strange.
Maybe it's the fault of spending an hour or so last night going through old family photos and realizing that there are more photos of me with my grandma than with probably anyone else. This made me feel good more than sad, but I think it planted a seed to remember this random thing today as I was going about my work-ish business: as a kid, and even into teen-hood and early adulthood, I spent a lot of time hanging around in my grandparents' attic as my grandma worked on the sewing machine. She loved sewing up there in her little finished room with her plants and her paintings that my mom did in school hanging on the wood-paneled walls. And she would listen to the radio, a plastic, wood-grain-printed clock radio (I think it was a GE; I know it had the flip-over plastic numbers that were obsolete since the invention of digital read-outs), tuned to this bizarre "easy listening" station that played violin-heavy renditions of hits "from the 70's to today." We've all heard muzak played in elevators and insurance company phone system holds, but I swear this was weirder, though I don't think the station still exists in order to verify that claim. In any case, I HATED that music...it poisoned my dreams at night and waltzed around in my head like a soundtrack to my young life. If I had to hear Lionel Richie's "Hello" on those cat-fight screechy violins with jazzy soprano sax solo one more time, I was probably going to commit arson.
But you know, I thought of the lyrics to "Hello" a little bit ago and had to laugh at my juvenile rage over "grandma's radio station." And I just had to record that silly memory. I still loathe muzak (my hate fueled by many many years of musical instruction throughout my life), but the thought of it reminds me of my gram and her quirkiness. We dismantled the attic several weeks ago in the now-for sale house on South Hazel Street, but I will always see it in my head (if I can count on memory not to fade too badly) in the same warm, woody-toned way. The sewing machine perpendicular to the windows in the dormer and the radio (which was always perched on the top of an old black and white TV that was pretty much never on because it only got like one channel) at my grandma's back as she worked away hemming pants or whatever. The dangerous electric space heater plugged in near her feet in the winter, its coils glowing red just beyond a screen that you could easily poke your fingers through (and something she repeatedly warned me against). So funny and strange.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Sad. Tired.
I know that this blog should probably be called "Heartbreak and Crying" or "Sad Violins," or some such misery-evoking title. It seems all I do here is highlight my sadness and worry and desperate need for pity. For this I offer an apology...and a request that you don't pity me; my life really isn't that bad...I just have some sort of chemical imbalance, I think, that makes me sad a lot (especially when exhausted, as now). Just make me laugh now and then and I will love you forever (whether or not you really want me to). :-)
Anyway, so I am sad and tired today. Probably more tired than truly sad, but the tiredness makes me weepy, so it's hard to tell. (In case you don't know, I have two main stages of exhaustion -- the first is an inexplicable near-constant recall of random German phrases in my head. The second is weepiness, which progresses from a point of mild hide-able over-emotional reactions to full-on tears streaming down my face beyond my ability to control. Seriously, I am not making this up even though it probably sounds insane). There is good reason for sadness, I assume...I feel trapped in my job, I'm trapped in a living situation that continues to get more and more stressful, I lost two very wonderful grandparents within the last 8 months, and I have no money. Though it gets me in trouble to tie those all together, they are linked (well, some of them anyway) -- I think it's pretty clear. I realize that my life could be much worse, of course -- I could be on the street eating out of garbage cans or have some terrible disease or something along those tragic lines -- I could be fighting to survive. Instead, I am surviving. But that's all I feel like I'm doing most of the time...just numbly pulling myself along. And I am heavy...the effort takes considerable energy.
What does it take to feel like I'm actually living?
Anyway, so I am sad and tired today. Probably more tired than truly sad, but the tiredness makes me weepy, so it's hard to tell. (In case you don't know, I have two main stages of exhaustion -- the first is an inexplicable near-constant recall of random German phrases in my head. The second is weepiness, which progresses from a point of mild hide-able over-emotional reactions to full-on tears streaming down my face beyond my ability to control. Seriously, I am not making this up even though it probably sounds insane). There is good reason for sadness, I assume...I feel trapped in my job, I'm trapped in a living situation that continues to get more and more stressful, I lost two very wonderful grandparents within the last 8 months, and I have no money. Though it gets me in trouble to tie those all together, they are linked (well, some of them anyway) -- I think it's pretty clear. I realize that my life could be much worse, of course -- I could be on the street eating out of garbage cans or have some terrible disease or something along those tragic lines -- I could be fighting to survive. Instead, I am surviving. But that's all I feel like I'm doing most of the time...just numbly pulling myself along. And I am heavy...the effort takes considerable energy.
What does it take to feel like I'm actually living?
Monday, May 4, 2009
Work and Worry
When I'm in the shower in the morning before work, I allow myself to think about all the things I have to do once I get to work. (The shower is the only place I permit my brain to dwell on work-related issues in order to avoid hatred of my life beyond work, which is a disease that I'm genetically susceptible to). This means that when I get to work, I'm ready to divide and conquer, and I usually manage great productivity and focus. Until about noon or so. After I eat lunch, I find the urge to run screaming from the building much stronger, as if the meager nourishment of my packed sandwich and banana have given my brain the fuel to get ridiculously bored and subsequently panic for fear that my life is floating by without my doing anything to stop it.
And so I work and worry...and wonder. Would it be so bad if I were doing something I enjoyed? I mean, I don't freak out so much when people just leave me to accomplish my to-do list, it's when they start asking for assistance and favors that I really start to get rattled. Maybe if I just worked with more people that I respected? I've come to realize that respect is a big deal to me, and you really have to give it to get it from me. I know, I know...standards too high...this is a perpetual problem for perfectionist me; I expect a lot from myself, so I expect a lot from others too. Maybe it's a combination of a lot of different things. I just don't know.
It's afternoon right now, don't you know, and so I'm naturally worried. It's rainy outside and so I'm a little sad on top of my usual anxiety. With this, though, is the specific concern that my dog is going to die. (Whoa! That came out of no where, didn't it)?! My dog is old -- will be 17 in just over a week, and she is mostly deaf and somewhat blind. A few days ago, she suffered some mystery problem (stroke? fall from parents' bed?) and now can not walk -- she can sort of hobble, but it's like half of her body isn't responding how she wants it to. She still has an appetite and has been bathroom-ing mostly normally (except that someone has to carry her to the grass and set her down in it), and she hasn't been crying in pain. I don't know enough about dog strokes other than that they can have them, and the only other thing internet research can point me to is that she may have slipped a disk in her back because, as a Shih-tzu, she's a long-back-short-legs dog and they get back problems sometimes, especially with age and/or trauma. But what can the vet really do, you know? We have an appointment after work tonight, but what are they going to say -- I can't imagine she could have surgery of any kind...she's old and seems even skinnier than ever (she's always been a thing dog). Are they just going to say "sorry, we have to euthanize your dog?" I guess she could have a brain tumor -- maybe that's why her barking habits changed lately, too...but she just doesn't seem to be suffering. Dogs suffer worse than cats, don't they? They yelp and cry with pain while cats are more stoic (I've read this, at least, and have had some sick cats in recent years)? Ugh, too many questions...too much worry. I've said goodbye to so many people and creature friends in the past few months/years, that I just don't know if I'm ready yet again.
And so I work and worry...and wonder. Would it be so bad if I were doing something I enjoyed? I mean, I don't freak out so much when people just leave me to accomplish my to-do list, it's when they start asking for assistance and favors that I really start to get rattled. Maybe if I just worked with more people that I respected? I've come to realize that respect is a big deal to me, and you really have to give it to get it from me. I know, I know...standards too high...this is a perpetual problem for perfectionist me; I expect a lot from myself, so I expect a lot from others too. Maybe it's a combination of a lot of different things. I just don't know.
It's afternoon right now, don't you know, and so I'm naturally worried. It's rainy outside and so I'm a little sad on top of my usual anxiety. With this, though, is the specific concern that my dog is going to die. (Whoa! That came out of no where, didn't it)?! My dog is old -- will be 17 in just over a week, and she is mostly deaf and somewhat blind. A few days ago, she suffered some mystery problem (stroke? fall from parents' bed?) and now can not walk -- she can sort of hobble, but it's like half of her body isn't responding how she wants it to. She still has an appetite and has been bathroom-ing mostly normally (except that someone has to carry her to the grass and set her down in it), and she hasn't been crying in pain. I don't know enough about dog strokes other than that they can have them, and the only other thing internet research can point me to is that she may have slipped a disk in her back because, as a Shih-tzu, she's a long-back-short-legs dog and they get back problems sometimes, especially with age and/or trauma. But what can the vet really do, you know? We have an appointment after work tonight, but what are they going to say -- I can't imagine she could have surgery of any kind...she's old and seems even skinnier than ever (she's always been a thing dog). Are they just going to say "sorry, we have to euthanize your dog?" I guess she could have a brain tumor -- maybe that's why her barking habits changed lately, too...but she just doesn't seem to be suffering. Dogs suffer worse than cats, don't they? They yelp and cry with pain while cats are more stoic (I've read this, at least, and have had some sick cats in recent years)? Ugh, too many questions...too much worry. I've said goodbye to so many people and creature friends in the past few months/years, that I just don't know if I'm ready yet again.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
H1N1
Did you ever see the movie Outbreak? Yeah...the one with the monkey that apparently also played Marcel on Friends. (Whoa, look at me with the 90's references)! I can't help but keep thinking of that movie all the time in the past few days with all of this "swine flu" nonsense. That's right, I called it nonsense! The freaking thing responds to available treatments (i.e. Tamiflu, which I can personally advocate as effective against the regular flu), and we're over here talking about closing down and canceling events that have been planned all year.
It would be unpleasant if a lot of us here got sick all at the same time, but as I read in an op-ed piece in the NY Times (thanks Lanester), there are more people who will probably die from "official ineptitude" surrounding this outbreak than will die from infection. Judging from actions and reactions I've witnessed thus far, that definitely seems plausible.
Anyway, I just wanted to express my concern for people acting especially foolish right now. Panic never solves anything, don't you know. :-)
It would be unpleasant if a lot of us here got sick all at the same time, but as I read in an op-ed piece in the NY Times (thanks Lanester), there are more people who will probably die from "official ineptitude" surrounding this outbreak than will die from infection. Judging from actions and reactions I've witnessed thus far, that definitely seems plausible.
Anyway, I just wanted to express my concern for people acting especially foolish right now. Panic never solves anything, don't you know. :-)
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
April
I always thought that Eliot got it wrong...February is the cruelest month, or maybe October (at least in my personal experience). But I learned this year that April is probably truly the cruelest month. Beyond the fact that the weather has been crazy this April, school kids are unruly (racial incidents at local colleges -- and note that most of the worst school shootings in US history took place in April), and more bad things have happened in my own life (relative to my previous post) to punish me for declaring 2009 a good year. Not that I really believe that some higher force is punishing me for optimism, but it sure appears that way when I consider recent events.
Number one bad thing is that my grandmother unexpectedly died last Monday, just 6 months after my grandfather passed (not so unexpectedly). She was 83, which isn't young, but isn't really that old either when you think about life expectancy these days (or read the obituaries in the paper where most of the deceased were like 93 or 101, for example). I miss her a lot because she was like my second mom...she was my mom's mom and they were extremely close (they even shared a birthday), and she was just always there. She took care of me and brother a lot when we were pups because we lived across the street and our parents worked through the summers (unlike her, the lunch lady at my elementary school who would bring me my cheese sandwich when I forgot it or give me a little jar of honey on chicken nuggets day because the school didn't provide any sauce other than ketchup...hahaha). She took us to Mt. Gretna and to parks all over the county to feed ducks and go on sliding boards, and she couldn't hold back laughter when we back-talked (unlike Mom). Her sense of humor was always sharp, and she never felt the need to censor what she thought of anything. She left strange messages on the answering machine and always cleared her throat before talking when you did answer a call from her (which became a family joke). Everyone thought she was getting foggier as the years progressed, but I knew she was just losing her hearing and didn't want anyone to make her get a hearing aid. She never complained about health problems (probably because she thought other people whined too much about being sick)...she was selfless and really didn't tolerate fuss over anything.
And now she's gone. She hadn't wanted to pick a tombstone for my grandfather, but finally did just a couple of weeks ago...and now we had to call and have them add her name and dates, too. She passed just two days before what would have been my grandpa's 90th birthday. It just all seems so strange.
And we've been cleaning the house now -- getting things in order for an eventual sale. She never threw anything out (and had only just begun to sort through my grandpa's things); there is a dresser drawer filled with tiny hotel shampoos and soaps and lotions (some probably from as far back as the 1970's)...and about 10 or so brand new, still packaged toothbrushes. And I can't forget the boxes just filled with lots of smaller boxes, or the three bedrooms plus the attic with all the closets and bureaus packed full of clothing (much of it new...some of it still with tags on). We've adopted her cat and I've taken all of her orchids and other plants home. There's just so much yet left to do.
So yeah, April...not really my favorite month. I guess I never shouldn't trust good ol' T.S.
Number one bad thing is that my grandmother unexpectedly died last Monday, just 6 months after my grandfather passed (not so unexpectedly). She was 83, which isn't young, but isn't really that old either when you think about life expectancy these days (or read the obituaries in the paper where most of the deceased were like 93 or 101, for example). I miss her a lot because she was like my second mom...she was my mom's mom and they were extremely close (they even shared a birthday), and she was just always there. She took care of me and brother a lot when we were pups because we lived across the street and our parents worked through the summers (unlike her, the lunch lady at my elementary school who would bring me my cheese sandwich when I forgot it or give me a little jar of honey on chicken nuggets day because the school didn't provide any sauce other than ketchup...hahaha). She took us to Mt. Gretna and to parks all over the county to feed ducks and go on sliding boards, and she couldn't hold back laughter when we back-talked (unlike Mom). Her sense of humor was always sharp, and she never felt the need to censor what she thought of anything. She left strange messages on the answering machine and always cleared her throat before talking when you did answer a call from her (which became a family joke). Everyone thought she was getting foggier as the years progressed, but I knew she was just losing her hearing and didn't want anyone to make her get a hearing aid. She never complained about health problems (probably because she thought other people whined too much about being sick)...she was selfless and really didn't tolerate fuss over anything.
And now she's gone. She hadn't wanted to pick a tombstone for my grandfather, but finally did just a couple of weeks ago...and now we had to call and have them add her name and dates, too. She passed just two days before what would have been my grandpa's 90th birthday. It just all seems so strange.
And we've been cleaning the house now -- getting things in order for an eventual sale. She never threw anything out (and had only just begun to sort through my grandpa's things); there is a dresser drawer filled with tiny hotel shampoos and soaps and lotions (some probably from as far back as the 1970's)...and about 10 or so brand new, still packaged toothbrushes. And I can't forget the boxes just filled with lots of smaller boxes, or the three bedrooms plus the attic with all the closets and bureaus packed full of clothing (much of it new...some of it still with tags on). We've adopted her cat and I've taken all of her orchids and other plants home. There's just so much yet left to do.
So yeah, April...not really my favorite month. I guess I never shouldn't trust good ol' T.S.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Miscellany.
Well, I fought the urge to post whilst stuffing envelopes all week last week, but I just can't help myself from writing a little today to make it appear to people outside my office that I'm working. For some reason, I can't seem to find any big (or small) projects today beyond putting really old papers in one of the filing cabinets under my care (= BORING), though I do have that nagging feeling that I'm neglecting something important. Oh well -- as I wait for the terror of realization to set in, I think I should probably exercise my writing skills.
So, I was looking back over previous posts and wondering if I sort of damned myself with that one about 2009 being a good year. Bad/crappy stuff keeps happening to me and those around me: joblessness, relative sicknesses/deaths, car damage, illnesses/aches & pains. So much for general optimism, I guess. Relating to myself, I've been thinking about making a doctor's appointment to talk about hypothyroidism. I just feel so run-down and fatigued most of the time (along with some other symptoms I don't care to elaborate on here). I'm nervous to make and attend doctor's appointments, though. I just really despise sitting in stuffy gross waiting rooms and then talking to people I don't really trust. And, if I'm going to talk about a thyroid problem, blood will inevitably have to be taken, which adds substantially to the fear factor. If I could start feeling better, though -- I assume the risk of passing out with a needle in my arm is worth it. I'm just such a wuss when it comes to health and body stuff. I am amazed by surgeons and nurses who can dig around in people's insides and not have a panic attack. Hell, I can't even eat tomatoes because they look somewhat like insides when sliced up. Seriously. Ew.
Well, I guess I really don't have anything profound or even vaguely interesting to say. I ate too much food at Easter dinners yesterday, and am suffering the consequences today. I am planning to help Karyn do her taxes tonight. I have a bunch of junk I want to sell on Ebay, and started a crazy campaign of spring cleaning last night. I think I'm just ready for warm weather to finally show up and stay around for awhile. Enough of this 54 degrees in the day and 29 at night crap.
Okay...enough grexing. Time to go do some more filing...or something.
So, I was looking back over previous posts and wondering if I sort of damned myself with that one about 2009 being a good year. Bad/crappy stuff keeps happening to me and those around me: joblessness, relative sicknesses/deaths, car damage, illnesses/aches & pains. So much for general optimism, I guess. Relating to myself, I've been thinking about making a doctor's appointment to talk about hypothyroidism. I just feel so run-down and fatigued most of the time (along with some other symptoms I don't care to elaborate on here). I'm nervous to make and attend doctor's appointments, though. I just really despise sitting in stuffy gross waiting rooms and then talking to people I don't really trust. And, if I'm going to talk about a thyroid problem, blood will inevitably have to be taken, which adds substantially to the fear factor. If I could start feeling better, though -- I assume the risk of passing out with a needle in my arm is worth it. I'm just such a wuss when it comes to health and body stuff. I am amazed by surgeons and nurses who can dig around in people's insides and not have a panic attack. Hell, I can't even eat tomatoes because they look somewhat like insides when sliced up. Seriously. Ew.
Well, I guess I really don't have anything profound or even vaguely interesting to say. I ate too much food at Easter dinners yesterday, and am suffering the consequences today. I am planning to help Karyn do her taxes tonight. I have a bunch of junk I want to sell on Ebay, and started a crazy campaign of spring cleaning last night. I think I'm just ready for warm weather to finally show up and stay around for awhile. Enough of this 54 degrees in the day and 29 at night crap.
Okay...enough grexing. Time to go do some more filing...or something.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Old Friends
I've had opportunities to spend time with a lot of old friends lately due to both sad happenings and happy ones, and I felt the need to document my gratefulness (I don't really know how else to describe the feeling...it's positive, yet quietly melancholy to me...so goth, I know).
Getting together with people who knew me back in the olden days (when I was both more and less of a loser) always makes me feel like I matter and have an identity beyond just my own sick, sad thoughts about who I must be. It's comforting. Yet, the future keeps always moving and pulling (pushing?) us in different directions, and I get a little wistful for the days when we did see each other constantly with our big dreams intact and our endless possibilities still ahead of us. Doors close now every day (but other doors open, of course, as is the old adage), and I have to sort of mourn each tiny slam just a little. At least for me, every slam shuts out one more bit of potential greatness and, I'm afraid, locks in an ordinary existence. So love and loss mingle when I relive the past and I feel both at home and lost in the forest (the forest of open and closed doors? Yeah, how's that for mixing metaphors?).
And with all that gothness above, I'm going to go start a poetry journal. :-) (But seriously, I do really take to heart reconnections with old friends -- it means a lot to me, and I hope we can always be part of each others' lives).
Getting together with people who knew me back in the olden days (when I was both more and less of a loser) always makes me feel like I matter and have an identity beyond just my own sick, sad thoughts about who I must be. It's comforting. Yet, the future keeps always moving and pulling (pushing?) us in different directions, and I get a little wistful for the days when we did see each other constantly with our big dreams intact and our endless possibilities still ahead of us. Doors close now every day (but other doors open, of course, as is the old adage), and I have to sort of mourn each tiny slam just a little. At least for me, every slam shuts out one more bit of potential greatness and, I'm afraid, locks in an ordinary existence. So love and loss mingle when I relive the past and I feel both at home and lost in the forest (the forest of open and closed doors? Yeah, how's that for mixing metaphors?).
And with all that gothness above, I'm going to go start a poetry journal. :-) (But seriously, I do really take to heart reconnections with old friends -- it means a lot to me, and I hope we can always be part of each others' lives).
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Oh, the angst!
I'm having a sort of feeling down kind of day, but not a feeling sorry for myself kind of day; it's more raging against the proverbial machine than against myself, which I suppose is healthier. Self-loathing is not really useful, and it's not really honest either. I don't actually loathe myself in any way. (I do strongly dislike the fact that I don't understand how to dress myself properly or wear makeup or be a girl, but those are just small embarrassments, not life-threatening problems).
So anyway -- I felt the need to record some thoughts because of my gloomy day. Work is particularly tedious right now, though I won't get into specifics. You can ask if you really care to know, but I can promise that you'll really be sorry you did because I will talk at length and even bring props to illustrate my complaints. :-) Okay, just one specific complaint: fire alarm testing day is not my favorite day (and, actually, they've been testing the fire alarms every few weeks since the summer)!
I've just been sighing a lot today and sending emails with that little "top priority" exclamation point selected. Just feeling a little neglected and melancholy is all.
*One last random note before I go collate some more documents (wait, don't they have photocopiers that do that?!): in standing at my office window collating documents, I saw two hilarious things in the space of about 1 minute (it's market day, so that must lend to the interestingness on the street)... 1. a fat cowboy wearing a parka walked sassily by in black platform boots that HAD to be women's! 2. a shiny van for some business that I can't even remember the name of 4 minutes later pulled up to the light; it had a small picture of a very realistic cow on the side with the slogan "our business depends on udders." It made me giggle, but I couldn't grab my phone fast enough to shoot a picture.
*Sigh* The fire alarm is going off again for about the 14th time today, and my nerves are shot.
So anyway -- I felt the need to record some thoughts because of my gloomy day. Work is particularly tedious right now, though I won't get into specifics. You can ask if you really care to know, but I can promise that you'll really be sorry you did because I will talk at length and even bring props to illustrate my complaints. :-) Okay, just one specific complaint: fire alarm testing day is not my favorite day (and, actually, they've been testing the fire alarms every few weeks since the summer)!
I've just been sighing a lot today and sending emails with that little "top priority" exclamation point selected. Just feeling a little neglected and melancholy is all.
*One last random note before I go collate some more documents (wait, don't they have photocopiers that do that?!): in standing at my office window collating documents, I saw two hilarious things in the space of about 1 minute (it's market day, so that must lend to the interestingness on the street)... 1. a fat cowboy wearing a parka walked sassily by in black platform boots that HAD to be women's! 2. a shiny van for some business that I can't even remember the name of 4 minutes later pulled up to the light; it had a small picture of a very realistic cow on the side with the slogan "our business depends on udders." It made me giggle, but I couldn't grab my phone fast enough to shoot a picture.
*Sigh* The fire alarm is going off again for about the 14th time today, and my nerves are shot.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Ever 17...
I've been having this problem of grown-up life envy. I'm not exactly sure what's to blame...I can't say that it's any one thing... I do suppose that I have noticed an increase in angst since spending time on Facebook, though, looking at all the grown-up versions of people I went to school with in the not-so-long long ago.
It's wrong, I guess, but it seems like all those folks are winning the race. They've got jobs, marriages, kids, mortgages. I have a job too, a boyfriend, don't want a kid, and have a mountain of school debt instead of any real property. (I do own an aging Honda Civic that I bought used 5 years ago. I do have a cat and a decent TV and an iPhone). But I'm kind of ready to stop being 17 years old on repeat for the past 10 years. I mean, what sets today me apart from 11th grade me? Discounting college and two years of grad school, I have matured a little, gotten waaaay more organized, and have a full-time job instead of a regular routine of classes (of course, I do hop from meeting to meeting in a school for my job). Most other things are the same...I live at home with my parents (in a different room, but same dif.), growl at my alarm clock every morning, try to be in bed by 11:30 on weeknights, hate to drive, and like chick rock music. I still make collages from old magazines, eat too much popcorn, watch Seinfeld reruns, and write and draw little pictures in a notebook by my bed. Hell, my childhood dog is still alive and (relative to her 16.5 yr. age) healthy. I do have access to a whole lot more technology now that has changed my worldview somewhat, but that's just because technology advanced in ridiculous ways since 1999 and I like to buy shiny things with lots of buttons and screens. (I can't help it -- I love the smell of new electronics).
I know there's an end...it's even in sight most of the time, and who knows? Maybe I shouldn't be so keen to rush it. It still just feels, as I mentioned to a friend earlier, like how I didn't learn to ride a bike until I was 11 and had to sit out like a loser on bike rodeo days in elementary school.
I've started life, sort of, but I just can't seem to get both training wheels off.
It's wrong, I guess, but it seems like all those folks are winning the race. They've got jobs, marriages, kids, mortgages. I have a job too, a boyfriend, don't want a kid, and have a mountain of school debt instead of any real property. (I do own an aging Honda Civic that I bought used 5 years ago. I do have a cat and a decent TV and an iPhone). But I'm kind of ready to stop being 17 years old on repeat for the past 10 years. I mean, what sets today me apart from 11th grade me? Discounting college and two years of grad school, I have matured a little, gotten waaaay more organized, and have a full-time job instead of a regular routine of classes (of course, I do hop from meeting to meeting in a school for my job). Most other things are the same...I live at home with my parents (in a different room, but same dif.), growl at my alarm clock every morning, try to be in bed by 11:30 on weeknights, hate to drive, and like chick rock music. I still make collages from old magazines, eat too much popcorn, watch Seinfeld reruns, and write and draw little pictures in a notebook by my bed. Hell, my childhood dog is still alive and (relative to her 16.5 yr. age) healthy. I do have access to a whole lot more technology now that has changed my worldview somewhat, but that's just because technology advanced in ridiculous ways since 1999 and I like to buy shiny things with lots of buttons and screens. (I can't help it -- I love the smell of new electronics).
I know there's an end...it's even in sight most of the time, and who knows? Maybe I shouldn't be so keen to rush it. It still just feels, as I mentioned to a friend earlier, like how I didn't learn to ride a bike until I was 11 and had to sit out like a loser on bike rodeo days in elementary school.
I've started life, sort of, but I just can't seem to get both training wheels off.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Ugh, my sweater.
I was very productive last Sunday afternoon, "hand-washing" all of my most delicate wool sweaters (read: running them through the gentle cycle on the washer two at a time) that haven't been cleaned in any way in many months. As you can imagine, I was extraordinarily proud of my uncharacteristic unlaziness, and carefully "reshaped and dried flat" on old (clean!) beach towels folded up on top of the square card table by my parents' basement coal stove (at my mother's suggestion). I had no need for the sweaters for the rest of Sunday, so I left them to dry, checking on them once early in the evening (to assure that no cats had decided they were good for sleeping on), and deciding that I wouldn't need to worry about collecting them until Monday morning, which I did before leaving for work.
I put the sweaters away in my old bedroom-turned-giant storage closet and paid them no mind until yesterday, when I wore my favorite brown and cream-striped BCBG sweater to work. This morning, as I struggled to dress (as every morning presents another clothing struggle), I determined it wouldn't be overkill to wear my nice warm gray BCBG sweater to work with jeans (I allow myself one jeans day per work week) since, hey -- it's cold and drab outside and I just don't care that hard about my appearance.
When I get to work, I notice this strange odor in my office that I quickly realize is coming from me. I distinctly remember applying deodorant this morning, and can even smell that scent, but there is an unmistakable undercurrent of B.O. So I manically start sniffing under my arms like on a tv commercial, but notice that it's attached to every inch of my sweater. Now, I know that wool tends to smell weird when it's wet, but this is not that kind of smell, and my sweater is perfectly dry. It smells like B.O. All I can figure is that the basement has poisoned my sweater (and by extension, all of my just-washed sweaters). Come to think of it, I just thought the person sitting next to me at our State of the College address yesterday had crazy weird B.O. Hmmm...it was probably my sweater. Damn it!
Now, if you know me, you know how much I hate my parents' basement, so this situation is particularly vexing. The previous owners of my parents' house had done up the main part of the basement as a charming rec room in the 1960's, complete with bar and atrocious (though undoubtedly trendy at the time) green and tan carpet that I can't adequately describe (I'll try to post a picture sometime...seriously, it's awful). The bar is long gone (replaced by showcase cabinets for my father's NASCAR memorabilia...uh, yeah), the charming fireplace was retrofitted to attach the coal stove my father decided to inherit from his father, but the carpet remains...over 15 years after moving in. I can only assume that the smell I'm carrying around like a disease is a combination of rotting carpet padding (though after approximately 43 years, it can't honestly still be actively rotting, but just rotted), coal dust, and general musty basement. (If radon had a smell, that would most certainly be mixed in as well). Ew. These scents are not apparent when running on the treadmill for 40 minutes a day, but obviously lock into a damp sweater left to dry overnight.
I am so embarrassed and peeved...and worried.
Why worried, you may ask? Mainly because I have to continue to live in this house, which in the winter is attempted (unsuccessfully) to be heated with just the aforementioned coal stove blasting away and a system of unstrategically located ceiling and other fans. This makes the basement a cozy 92 degrees while the rest of the house ranges between 50 (or less, I swear!) and 65. My parents are not poor (they're not rich either, by any means, but the have like 0 debts anymore), but they refuse to use the house's built-in electric heating system and will reset any thermostat in the house (each room has its own control) to "off" if you switch it on. The bathroom has an electric space heater to be used during morning showers, so there is no need to even THINK of turning heat on in there either. (Luckily I can escape to my electric fireplace in my attic room and keep that space a reasonable human temperature). Anyway, I'm worried that I won't be able to make it through this, let alone another, winter of crazy. I'm worried for my mental and for my general health. My sweaters not even considered -- I think I might get some form of Black Lung disease and die coughing up coal dust.
One thing I've learned from the sweater-washing experience? Well, it's just the same thing I already knew -- living with one's parents at 26 (going on 27) is a mistake. It's just so darn cost effective.
I put the sweaters away in my old bedroom-turned-giant storage closet and paid them no mind until yesterday, when I wore my favorite brown and cream-striped BCBG sweater to work. This morning, as I struggled to dress (as every morning presents another clothing struggle), I determined it wouldn't be overkill to wear my nice warm gray BCBG sweater to work with jeans (I allow myself one jeans day per work week) since, hey -- it's cold and drab outside and I just don't care that hard about my appearance.
When I get to work, I notice this strange odor in my office that I quickly realize is coming from me. I distinctly remember applying deodorant this morning, and can even smell that scent, but there is an unmistakable undercurrent of B.O. So I manically start sniffing under my arms like on a tv commercial, but notice that it's attached to every inch of my sweater. Now, I know that wool tends to smell weird when it's wet, but this is not that kind of smell, and my sweater is perfectly dry. It smells like B.O. All I can figure is that the basement has poisoned my sweater (and by extension, all of my just-washed sweaters). Come to think of it, I just thought the person sitting next to me at our State of the College address yesterday had crazy weird B.O. Hmmm...it was probably my sweater. Damn it!
Now, if you know me, you know how much I hate my parents' basement, so this situation is particularly vexing. The previous owners of my parents' house had done up the main part of the basement as a charming rec room in the 1960's, complete with bar and atrocious (though undoubtedly trendy at the time) green and tan carpet that I can't adequately describe (I'll try to post a picture sometime...seriously, it's awful). The bar is long gone (replaced by showcase cabinets for my father's NASCAR memorabilia...uh, yeah), the charming fireplace was retrofitted to attach the coal stove my father decided to inherit from his father, but the carpet remains...over 15 years after moving in. I can only assume that the smell I'm carrying around like a disease is a combination of rotting carpet padding (though after approximately 43 years, it can't honestly still be actively rotting, but just rotted), coal dust, and general musty basement. (If radon had a smell, that would most certainly be mixed in as well). Ew. These scents are not apparent when running on the treadmill for 40 minutes a day, but obviously lock into a damp sweater left to dry overnight.
I am so embarrassed and peeved...and worried.
Why worried, you may ask? Mainly because I have to continue to live in this house, which in the winter is attempted (unsuccessfully) to be heated with just the aforementioned coal stove blasting away and a system of unstrategically located ceiling and other fans. This makes the basement a cozy 92 degrees while the rest of the house ranges between 50 (or less, I swear!) and 65. My parents are not poor (they're not rich either, by any means, but the have like 0 debts anymore), but they refuse to use the house's built-in electric heating system and will reset any thermostat in the house (each room has its own control) to "off" if you switch it on. The bathroom has an electric space heater to be used during morning showers, so there is no need to even THINK of turning heat on in there either. (Luckily I can escape to my electric fireplace in my attic room and keep that space a reasonable human temperature). Anyway, I'm worried that I won't be able to make it through this, let alone another, winter of crazy. I'm worried for my mental and for my general health. My sweaters not even considered -- I think I might get some form of Black Lung disease and die coughing up coal dust.
One thing I've learned from the sweater-washing experience? Well, it's just the same thing I already knew -- living with one's parents at 26 (going on 27) is a mistake. It's just so darn cost effective.
Monday, January 12, 2009
2009
Oh man, I just realized that I never wrote a happy new year post to the Roast Beef Concern! Better late than never, I assume, right? I don't know...maybe it doesn't even matter. I have seriously been writing a new year post in my head since about Christmas, but I just haven't gotten to the out with it part. I have the same problem with my children's book series about Bill the Cat, my young adult problem novel, my memoirs, and my variety of other writings (including the actual quarterly Roast Beef Concern newsletter). My mother thinks I have some motivation problems...I don't want to get into that now, though, so...
Happy 2009!
I'm glad for an odd year, aren't you? I feel safer - and braver - in odd years. I know...crazy. But I was born in an even year and graduated from HS, college, and Masters degree school in even years (whoa, I never really thought about that before!) and none of those years were particularly filled with joy. Most notably, a lot of debts came due in those years, and a lot of hard realities had to be faced at various points. If you know me, you probably think I'm being a little melodramatic, but seriously, when the first job you can even beg someone to give you after 6 years in college and grad school only pays $8.00 an hour, that's a pretty hard reality! (Luckily, an odd year came along in 2007 and granted me a *little* more earning potential than that).
But back to this year... On the subject of concern for how I will earn/use/keep some of my roast beef money, 2009 was already a bright spot on the horizon back in 2004 because my car was due to be paid off...TODAY, believe it or not (though I consolidated some debt and actually paid to get the title last April) and my main stack of student loans will decrease a percentage point in interest come November (because I've so dutifully been repaying on time since 2006). Last week I also worked up some sort of plan for paying aforementioned consolidated debt...all $8,000 left of it...by the end of the year (don't know if I can pull that off, but it's my goal). I really do want to have a grown up life by the time I'm 30, so I'm working as hard as I can. :-)
Soooo...I'm optimistic for the future, and you probably should be too. It's going to be a good year, this 2009. I just know it.
Happy 2009!
I'm glad for an odd year, aren't you? I feel safer - and braver - in odd years. I know...crazy. But I was born in an even year and graduated from HS, college, and Masters degree school in even years (whoa, I never really thought about that before!) and none of those years were particularly filled with joy. Most notably, a lot of debts came due in those years, and a lot of hard realities had to be faced at various points. If you know me, you probably think I'm being a little melodramatic, but seriously, when the first job you can even beg someone to give you after 6 years in college and grad school only pays $8.00 an hour, that's a pretty hard reality! (Luckily, an odd year came along in 2007 and granted me a *little* more earning potential than that).
But back to this year... On the subject of concern for how I will earn/use/keep some of my roast beef money, 2009 was already a bright spot on the horizon back in 2004 because my car was due to be paid off...TODAY, believe it or not (though I consolidated some debt and actually paid to get the title last April) and my main stack of student loans will decrease a percentage point in interest come November (because I've so dutifully been repaying on time since 2006). Last week I also worked up some sort of plan for paying aforementioned consolidated debt...all $8,000 left of it...by the end of the year (don't know if I can pull that off, but it's my goal). I really do want to have a grown up life by the time I'm 30, so I'm working as hard as I can. :-)
Soooo...I'm optimistic for the future, and you probably should be too. It's going to be a good year, this 2009. I just know it.
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