Tuesday, March 30, 2004
Restless Nights
The past two nights have been almost sleepless. I wake up frequently and find that my mind is racing, yet I don't have any idea what's been running through my head when I awaken. I just know that my brain is cluttered with thoughts that I can't seem to push aside when asleep.
I think that part of it is dealing with the possibility of life transition. I hate this job, as we all know, and yet there's some amount of security to knowing what you have. I have a fear that I'm leaping from the frying pan and straight into the hot blue flame of the fire. What if the grass really isn't any greener? What if it sucks just as badly, but I have to start at the bottom again, with people watching and monitoring me. That's the beauty of being a long-timer, you can come and go as you please without anyone thinking anything about it. People trust that you'll do your work (and often theirs, too) because you've proven yourself. Part of me feels like I'm too old to start all of that again.
I don't really know how to pick the right job, either. It's kind of like that cheesy old dating show, Love Connection. We'll give you a choice of three eligible bachelors, and you have to decide from a brief interview profile whether or not this is really meant to be. Do I want to get involved with someone stable? Someone younger and more energetic, but with more possibility for chaos? Do I want to find someone inspiring or someone I just want to hang out with? People and jobs are intertwined.
The past two nights have been almost sleepless. I wake up frequently and find that my mind is racing, yet I don't have any idea what's been running through my head when I awaken. I just know that my brain is cluttered with thoughts that I can't seem to push aside when asleep.
I think that part of it is dealing with the possibility of life transition. I hate this job, as we all know, and yet there's some amount of security to knowing what you have. I have a fear that I'm leaping from the frying pan and straight into the hot blue flame of the fire. What if the grass really isn't any greener? What if it sucks just as badly, but I have to start at the bottom again, with people watching and monitoring me. That's the beauty of being a long-timer, you can come and go as you please without anyone thinking anything about it. People trust that you'll do your work (and often theirs, too) because you've proven yourself. Part of me feels like I'm too old to start all of that again.
I don't really know how to pick the right job, either. It's kind of like that cheesy old dating show, Love Connection. We'll give you a choice of three eligible bachelors, and you have to decide from a brief interview profile whether or not this is really meant to be. Do I want to get involved with someone stable? Someone younger and more energetic, but with more possibility for chaos? Do I want to find someone inspiring or someone I just want to hang out with? People and jobs are intertwined.
Monday, March 29, 2004
The First, But Probably Not Last
I have officially been notified of my first friend divorce directly attributable to September 11. J & M were married 6 1/2 years ago -- I was at their wedding -- and now it's all over.
J was in lower Manhattan that morning, and he never quite snapped out of the shock and depression that the whole day caused. M could see that something was wrong, more wrong than anyone else she knew, and she tried to get him to a therapist, which of course he refused. After what seemed like ages, she finally managed to get him into couples counseling, and little by little, he started to improve. He went on medication, started seeing a therapist of his own for private sessions. Everything was going well. Then last summer, there was the blackout. Whereas most people were completely relieved to know that it was just an overloaded grid, J couldn't handle that initial panic and shock and fear that it was happening again. At the suggestion of his therapist, he moved out to try to figure stuff out on his own and try to work through it. Things were starting to look up again, he was gathering everything up to move back home with M, and then it happened: like the rest of us, he thought he'd be just fine without the medication. After all, he was feeling pretty good at that moment. So he stopped the Prozac, stopped the therapist, stopped couples counseling, and slid back into the depression. He attributed the depression to the pending move, and decided that he really didn't want to be with M anymore. Without explaining any of this, he filed for divorce the week before Christmas. She's kept it quiet since, hoping that he would come back, that something would change, but now she realizes that it's over.
It's sad to think of how many lives were torn apart that day. We only talk about the 3000 that were lost, but what about the others, the ones that were lost to their families even though they gave every impression to outsiders that they were still present? It changed all of us more than we're willing to admit. How many people did I know within the first three or four months after that suddenly decided to get married, end long-term relationships, have babies, change jobs or begin affairs? It was easy to be extreme in our actions, to feel passionately that what we were doing was the right thing. Will we look back and wonder what the hell we were thinking? Or will we always marvel at the intensity with which we felt everything, all the more astonishing considering how numb we all were.
I have officially been notified of my first friend divorce directly attributable to September 11. J & M were married 6 1/2 years ago -- I was at their wedding -- and now it's all over.
J was in lower Manhattan that morning, and he never quite snapped out of the shock and depression that the whole day caused. M could see that something was wrong, more wrong than anyone else she knew, and she tried to get him to a therapist, which of course he refused. After what seemed like ages, she finally managed to get him into couples counseling, and little by little, he started to improve. He went on medication, started seeing a therapist of his own for private sessions. Everything was going well. Then last summer, there was the blackout. Whereas most people were completely relieved to know that it was just an overloaded grid, J couldn't handle that initial panic and shock and fear that it was happening again. At the suggestion of his therapist, he moved out to try to figure stuff out on his own and try to work through it. Things were starting to look up again, he was gathering everything up to move back home with M, and then it happened: like the rest of us, he thought he'd be just fine without the medication. After all, he was feeling pretty good at that moment. So he stopped the Prozac, stopped the therapist, stopped couples counseling, and slid back into the depression. He attributed the depression to the pending move, and decided that he really didn't want to be with M anymore. Without explaining any of this, he filed for divorce the week before Christmas. She's kept it quiet since, hoping that he would come back, that something would change, but now she realizes that it's over.
It's sad to think of how many lives were torn apart that day. We only talk about the 3000 that were lost, but what about the others, the ones that were lost to their families even though they gave every impression to outsiders that they were still present? It changed all of us more than we're willing to admit. How many people did I know within the first three or four months after that suddenly decided to get married, end long-term relationships, have babies, change jobs or begin affairs? It was easy to be extreme in our actions, to feel passionately that what we were doing was the right thing. Will we look back and wonder what the hell we were thinking? Or will we always marvel at the intensity with which we felt everything, all the more astonishing considering how numb we all were.
Sunday, March 28, 2004
I Have a Name!
My little sweetheart next door, a month past her second birthday, finally started calling me by name today. She's always said everyone else's names -- she yells for "Tay-tee" (Stacy) and her little friend "Tammy" (Sammy). She yells at her brother ("No Ben! Bad!") and even shouts for our neighbor across the street. But it wasn't until today that she said my name.
We have this Coca-Cola polar bear that blows bubbles. It's battery operated, loud, and an absolute joy to toddlers. She remembered it from Christmas. I was in the kitchen and she was in the back room when I heard, "Ee-sa! Bubbles! Where bubbles, Ee-sa?" It was so cute. How could I not love this kid, especially when she tried to feed me some of her precious tomato salad at dinner (she LOVES tomatoes). "It good, Ee-sa. You try." I just love her like crazy. The kid's got infinitely more personality than most of the people I work with... although that doesn't really say much.
This has been one of those too-short weekends. I weeded the veggie garden and got some plants to plant there. I did laundry, grocery shopping, worked on my studio newsletter... what the hell did I do with the rest of the time? Two visits to OSH and one to Home Depot covered a good chunk of time, but it seems like I should have had more time to do something useful. I didn't clean the office, didn't iron my shirts, didn't read a book or run a marathon. What the hell did I do?
Oh, I guess last night we planned out our weekends until C starts his MBA in August. Tahoe, Mendocino, Vegas for our anniversary... he kept saying, "tell me what you want to do now, because we can't do any of it for the next three years." It's like the MBA is a terminal illness or something.
My little sweetheart next door, a month past her second birthday, finally started calling me by name today. She's always said everyone else's names -- she yells for "Tay-tee" (Stacy) and her little friend "Tammy" (Sammy). She yells at her brother ("No Ben! Bad!") and even shouts for our neighbor across the street. But it wasn't until today that she said my name.
We have this Coca-Cola polar bear that blows bubbles. It's battery operated, loud, and an absolute joy to toddlers. She remembered it from Christmas. I was in the kitchen and she was in the back room when I heard, "Ee-sa! Bubbles! Where bubbles, Ee-sa?" It was so cute. How could I not love this kid, especially when she tried to feed me some of her precious tomato salad at dinner (she LOVES tomatoes). "It good, Ee-sa. You try." I just love her like crazy. The kid's got infinitely more personality than most of the people I work with... although that doesn't really say much.
This has been one of those too-short weekends. I weeded the veggie garden and got some plants to plant there. I did laundry, grocery shopping, worked on my studio newsletter... what the hell did I do with the rest of the time? Two visits to OSH and one to Home Depot covered a good chunk of time, but it seems like I should have had more time to do something useful. I didn't clean the office, didn't iron my shirts, didn't read a book or run a marathon. What the hell did I do?
Oh, I guess last night we planned out our weekends until C starts his MBA in August. Tahoe, Mendocino, Vegas for our anniversary... he kept saying, "tell me what you want to do now, because we can't do any of it for the next three years." It's like the MBA is a terminal illness or something.
Saturday, March 27, 2004
How Much is Enough?
When you're as pale as I am, how much sunscreen is enough to keep you from turning into six feet of sensitive, burned flesh? These are the questions that plague me as I prepare for my vacation in Hawaii (13 days and counting!)
Also, how many books should I take? I read constantly on the plane and the beach. Should I only pack one or two and try to buy the rest of my reading material on the island? Decisions, decisions. This is the kind of crap that fills my mind. That and how to pack a week's worth of clothes in a backpack (answer: it's Hawaii, take little more than a swimsuit and something to cover my shoulders for sun protection).
When you're as pale as I am, how much sunscreen is enough to keep you from turning into six feet of sensitive, burned flesh? These are the questions that plague me as I prepare for my vacation in Hawaii (13 days and counting!)
Also, how many books should I take? I read constantly on the plane and the beach. Should I only pack one or two and try to buy the rest of my reading material on the island? Decisions, decisions. This is the kind of crap that fills my mind. That and how to pack a week's worth of clothes in a backpack (answer: it's Hawaii, take little more than a swimsuit and something to cover my shoulders for sun protection).
Thursday, March 25, 2004
Movie Quotes
"The earth moved. The angels wept. The Polaroids... are in my other coat.... Nothing happened. Nothing happened!"
"I woke up in my underwear!"
"I bet you looked nice."
"The earth moved. The angels wept. The Polaroids... are in my other coat.... Nothing happened. Nothing happened!"
"I woke up in my underwear!"
"I bet you looked nice."
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
The Interview
Today's interview, a six-part all-afternoon event, featured the following characters:
The Giant Indian: I have never seen anyone from India built more like a power forward than this guy
Marcellus Wallace: Think "Pulp Fiction", then eliminate any and all charisma and eloquence.
The Lips: She had her lipstick painted on way outside her lip line, making her top lip look about two inches wide.
Tiny Head: My neighbor's two-year-old has a bigger head than this woman.
Da Bears: Imagine one of the guys from the old SNL "da Bears" skit and you've got the idea.
Creepy: Not only did he look through you rather than at you, he hung up on his day care worker when she called with a problem.
There might be places on earth more screwed up than my current job. Really.
Today's interview, a six-part all-afternoon event, featured the following characters:
The Giant Indian: I have never seen anyone from India built more like a power forward than this guy
Marcellus Wallace: Think "Pulp Fiction", then eliminate any and all charisma and eloquence.
The Lips: She had her lipstick painted on way outside her lip line, making her top lip look about two inches wide.
Tiny Head: My neighbor's two-year-old has a bigger head than this woman.
Da Bears: Imagine one of the guys from the old SNL "da Bears" skit and you've got the idea.
Creepy: Not only did he look through you rather than at you, he hung up on his day care worker when she called with a problem.
There might be places on earth more screwed up than my current job. Really.
Tuesday, March 23, 2004
Hot Rod
Can you just see the wide-eyed Silent Bob look on Kevin Smith's face when approached about this one?
http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=794&e=12&u=/eo/13764
Can you just see the wide-eyed Silent Bob look on Kevin Smith's face when approached about this one?
http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=794&e=12&u=/eo/13764
Another Great Spam Subject
"paramilitary greengrocer with chicago flavor"
"paramilitary greengrocer with chicago flavor"
Monday, March 22, 2004
The Pedophile Next Door
Last Sunday, the cops came and raided the drug house next door. It was quite a scene, 9am on a Sunday, guns drawn in the backyard, dragging people out of the house, garage and basement, some of whom I'd never seen before. Evidently they were looking for parole violators and people involved in a payroll check-cashing scheme. What they didn't realize that they would find was our neighbor Larry. Larry, we now find out, is a convicted pedophile who had been on the run for two years and hadn't registered his residence under Megan's Law. I think of all the times my neighbor's kids were playing on my lawn, all the times that Ben was riding his bike up and down my driveway, all under the watchful eye of someone who wanted to harm them. Whenever I think of it I go completely numb and lose all feeling in my fingers. How much of that is the love I feel for those kids, and how much is just my complete fear that there are an endless number of sexual predators living and working in the general vicinity of my home? That's not an exaggeration. Living in the zip code I live in puts me at the epicenter for every parolee in the bay area, because living in our ghetto is really the cheapest place they have to go when they're released. And maybe there's some element of that in every neighborhood, quiet lives that hide the truth of their past. But when it's living next door, it absolutely shatters any illusion you might have had about being safe.
Last Sunday, the cops came and raided the drug house next door. It was quite a scene, 9am on a Sunday, guns drawn in the backyard, dragging people out of the house, garage and basement, some of whom I'd never seen before. Evidently they were looking for parole violators and people involved in a payroll check-cashing scheme. What they didn't realize that they would find was our neighbor Larry. Larry, we now find out, is a convicted pedophile who had been on the run for two years and hadn't registered his residence under Megan's Law. I think of all the times my neighbor's kids were playing on my lawn, all the times that Ben was riding his bike up and down my driveway, all under the watchful eye of someone who wanted to harm them. Whenever I think of it I go completely numb and lose all feeling in my fingers. How much of that is the love I feel for those kids, and how much is just my complete fear that there are an endless number of sexual predators living and working in the general vicinity of my home? That's not an exaggeration. Living in the zip code I live in puts me at the epicenter for every parolee in the bay area, because living in our ghetto is really the cheapest place they have to go when they're released. And maybe there's some element of that in every neighborhood, quiet lives that hide the truth of their past. But when it's living next door, it absolutely shatters any illusion you might have had about being safe.
Friday, March 19, 2004
Life
There is a BBC reporter who is documenting his battle against an aggressive brain tumor in an online diary. He has a young daughter and a son on the way in July, and the odds are not in his favor that he'll see the baby's birth.
I wonder what happens to you when you first hear the news. Not the sanitized thoughts that you document hours or days later, but that first moment when the blood drains from your body and you realize that you (or your loved one) is sitting on a time bomb. Of course you try to manage as normal a life as possible, but with each passing moment you have to feel the nearness of death, the words, "I have cancer" ringing in your ears. I suspect that every moment would take on a new significance. I can imagine absolutely reveling in the feeling of my husband's arms wrapped around me in bed, the sour taste of lemon on my fingertips after squeezing drops into my iced tea, the smell of my rose bushes in full bloom. I know that work would pale in significance, even the studio would fade away, because nothing could ever possibly be more important than stealing the little moments that bring us pleasure, sunsets and starry nights, crisp mountain air and the sound of waves crashing on a beach, chirping birds and children's laughter. How do you live a normal life? How can you do anything but live in extraordinary ways?
There is a BBC reporter who is documenting his battle against an aggressive brain tumor in an online diary. He has a young daughter and a son on the way in July, and the odds are not in his favor that he'll see the baby's birth.
I wonder what happens to you when you first hear the news. Not the sanitized thoughts that you document hours or days later, but that first moment when the blood drains from your body and you realize that you (or your loved one) is sitting on a time bomb. Of course you try to manage as normal a life as possible, but with each passing moment you have to feel the nearness of death, the words, "I have cancer" ringing in your ears. I suspect that every moment would take on a new significance. I can imagine absolutely reveling in the feeling of my husband's arms wrapped around me in bed, the sour taste of lemon on my fingertips after squeezing drops into my iced tea, the smell of my rose bushes in full bloom. I know that work would pale in significance, even the studio would fade away, because nothing could ever possibly be more important than stealing the little moments that bring us pleasure, sunsets and starry nights, crisp mountain air and the sound of waves crashing on a beach, chirping birds and children's laughter. How do you live a normal life? How can you do anything but live in extraordinary ways?
Knots
I'm really going to have to find a qualified and talented massage therapist. The stress here at work has twisted my body into knots, and exercise isn't helping. I tried to get C to give me a massage, but he seems hesitant to use the amount of force that appears to be necessary. I guess I should be grateful that he's gentle, but right now I need something to undo those knots.
No interviews and no new contacts yet today. Yesterday was a banner day for gaining attention. Now, if only I can translate that day of enthusiasm into a new job....
I need to set some goals. Yes, getting a new job is a good one, but I only have limited control over that. I should set some new profit or membership goals for the studio, and maybe even do some serious cardio training with the goal of running (ok, maybe my knees would be better off with walking) a 10k at a certain pace by a certain date. I can't start that training tomorrow, unfortunately, because I'll be indoors all day for the fitness convention at the Fairmont. Tomorrow's events start at 7am and I have to go in and register before that. I'll have to leave home by 6:15. Does that seem completely wrong for a Saturday or what? But I have some good lectures lined up on nutrition, mind-body awareness and making the most of your training as a female (that lack of testosterone really limits the amount of muscular shaping that you can do).
I'm really going to have to find a qualified and talented massage therapist. The stress here at work has twisted my body into knots, and exercise isn't helping. I tried to get C to give me a massage, but he seems hesitant to use the amount of force that appears to be necessary. I guess I should be grateful that he's gentle, but right now I need something to undo those knots.
No interviews and no new contacts yet today. Yesterday was a banner day for gaining attention. Now, if only I can translate that day of enthusiasm into a new job....
I need to set some goals. Yes, getting a new job is a good one, but I only have limited control over that. I should set some new profit or membership goals for the studio, and maybe even do some serious cardio training with the goal of running (ok, maybe my knees would be better off with walking) a 10k at a certain pace by a certain date. I can't start that training tomorrow, unfortunately, because I'll be indoors all day for the fitness convention at the Fairmont. Tomorrow's events start at 7am and I have to go in and register before that. I'll have to leave home by 6:15. Does that seem completely wrong for a Saturday or what? But I have some good lectures lined up on nutrition, mind-body awareness and making the most of your training as a female (that lack of testosterone really limits the amount of muscular shaping that you can do).
Thursday, March 18, 2004
Spam Subject
"The sun is shining more bright when you are healthyadmiration tortoise"
Words to live by, undoubtedly.
"The sun is shining more bright when you are healthyadmiration tortoise"
Words to live by, undoubtedly.
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
Blank
I run around all day with thoughts spinning in my head, desperately wishing that I had the time to sit down and write about them. As soon as I open up the Blogger screen, what happens? Nothing. Absolute intellectual silence. It's like my brain has gone out for happy hour and left me behind.
I got another interview for tomorrow, this time with a place in Sunnyvale, so no horrible commutes for me. Of course, that's assuming that I like the people, product and company. I know about them already -- I used to work with them as one of our partners -- but all the people I knew have either left or been laid off in the last few years. Hopefully they'll turn out to be as nice as the group I met the other day in SF.
I run around all day with thoughts spinning in my head, desperately wishing that I had the time to sit down and write about them. As soon as I open up the Blogger screen, what happens? Nothing. Absolute intellectual silence. It's like my brain has gone out for happy hour and left me behind.
I got another interview for tomorrow, this time with a place in Sunnyvale, so no horrible commutes for me. Of course, that's assuming that I like the people, product and company. I know about them already -- I used to work with them as one of our partners -- but all the people I knew have either left or been laid off in the last few years. Hopefully they'll turn out to be as nice as the group I met the other day in SF.
Tuesday, March 16, 2004
No Time
I've had no time to write lately, even including the writing that is part of my job. I've descended into an endless hell of conference calls and I have no time to do anything. Maybe this is why E left the job, because she was just a voice on the phone and not someone who could get stuff done.
Plus, I'm falling apart. My shoulder is killing me (why? I slept on it strangely) and my left hip occassionally gives me this nice zap of pain. Sign me up for the old folks home now, please.
As I sit here, I realize that I'm losing valuable moments of my life that I'll never get back. How depressing.
I've had no time to write lately, even including the writing that is part of my job. I've descended into an endless hell of conference calls and I have no time to do anything. Maybe this is why E left the job, because she was just a voice on the phone and not someone who could get stuff done.
Plus, I'm falling apart. My shoulder is killing me (why? I slept on it strangely) and my left hip occassionally gives me this nice zap of pain. Sign me up for the old folks home now, please.
As I sit here, I realize that I'm losing valuable moments of my life that I'll never get back. How depressing.
Friday, March 12, 2004
The End
E's gone. She sent her final e-mail. God help me, I just want to cry, right out here in the middle of the office. We're talking about sending her flowers for her first day at Adobe. Nobody ever sends me flowers....
Everything just feels like such a mess. I just feel lost. I don't feel like C understands or appreciates how I feel about all of this, and when you add in my upset about his MBA acceptance and my selfishness about how it's going to affect my life... I should really just go hide someplace so I don't have to worry about being such a depressive freak.
4:00 interview today, part 2, continuation from yesterday. In-person interview in SF on Monday. A local company is trying to set something up with me for Tuesday, but we'll see what happens. And the headhunter is supposedly exploring some other local options for me. But all I really want to do is work at Adobe with E. Or not work at all, but I don't suppose I'll become independently wealthy anytime soon.
E's gone. She sent her final e-mail. God help me, I just want to cry, right out here in the middle of the office. We're talking about sending her flowers for her first day at Adobe. Nobody ever sends me flowers....
Everything just feels like such a mess. I just feel lost. I don't feel like C understands or appreciates how I feel about all of this, and when you add in my upset about his MBA acceptance and my selfishness about how it's going to affect my life... I should really just go hide someplace so I don't have to worry about being such a depressive freak.
4:00 interview today, part 2, continuation from yesterday. In-person interview in SF on Monday. A local company is trying to set something up with me for Tuesday, but we'll see what happens. And the headhunter is supposedly exploring some other local options for me. But all I really want to do is work at Adobe with E. Or not work at all, but I don't suppose I'll become independently wealthy anytime soon.
Changes
C got his acceptance to Berkeley's MBA program. I should be happy for him.
C got his acceptance to Berkeley's MBA program. I should be happy for him.
Tuesday, March 09, 2004
4:30
I have a 4:30 phone interview with ZoneLabs today. I'm going to use it as a practice interview, since I don't think I can handle the commute to SF.
I have a 4:30 phone interview with ZoneLabs today. I'm going to use it as a practice interview, since I don't think I can handle the commute to SF.
Sunday, March 07, 2004
Weekend
I couldn't have asked for better weather this weekend. Sure, I should have been making use of the sunshine by working in the garden, but why waste time weeding when there are walks to be taken, shorts to be worn and books to be read? The weeds will wait. They'll still be there next weekend.
The presence of a few sunny days has done wonders to improve my mood. Granted, work is still sucking, and I only have a week of Elizabeth left. I also had one of my instructors quit with only six days notice, which really screws with my schedule. But on the bright side, I've gotten inquiries from three companies and have my name in with two different headhunters. Maybe I'll actually get a few interviews. One is ZoneLabs, which is a good company (plus) but the job is a step backward (minus) and I would probably have to be located in SF (big huge minus). There was the company in Los Gatos that I had the phone interview with, but after 20 minutes I still knew nothing about what the company did (minus) or the job itself (minus), but I did know that they couldn't afford my salary, which is already low just by my company's standards (big minus). The most recent contact was from Webex. Good location (plus), job description doesn't look like I'm downgrading (plus), they don't seem to be choking on my salary (plus), and so far they seem courteous and pleasant (plus). Give me a few days and I'm sure I'll find more than one minus.
I did apply for an editorial job at Adobe, which is where my current boss is going. The job description looks like it was written for me, but I don't want to get my hopes up. You never really know for sure.
I ordered some new clothes in case I get interviews. Most of my dressier business casual clothes have been outgrown since my last round of inteviews, so I thought that it would be a good idea to have some stuff that fit properly. I got a few colorful jackets to throw on over black or khaki pants and a white shirt. It's my classic look, although I do prefer it with jeans.
Busy night at the crack shack next door. They've been doing a hell of a business over the last two days. I should ask them if their drug customers are interested in working out. I could use them to co-market.
I found the coolest art supply store downtown. It has everything you could possibly need to do any kind of craft you can imagine. I could have spent all day in there, but since I haven't painted in four years, and getting into something new really isn't practical, I decided to just leave empty-handed. But there's something about walking into a store like that, seeing blank canvas and all of the colors of paint... there's so much potential.
I've been researching our trip to Kauai. I definitely want to snorkel. Now that I finally can put in contact lenses in less than two hours (I was not cut out for lenses), it's fabulous to go out and swim with the fishies. Although last time, on the big island, I had a school of large black fish eating my legs. They must have liked the taste of the sunscreen, because they were trying to munch away. When I tried to swim away, they followed me like I was the alpha fish. I nearly hyperventilated through my snorkel. It was freaky. But enough of the past... looking ahead, there's one helicopter company that takes you in and lands you next to a waterfall so you can play in the middle of the rainforest. That just seems astonishingly cool to me.
Ooh, that reminds me, my swimsuits should be arriving from Victoria's Secret this week. I'm hoping that they fit. If not, I'm back to square one at Macy's, and that's the last place I want to be.
I feel like things just might work out ok. Is this a false hope? Will I be shocked back to reality tomorrow?
I couldn't have asked for better weather this weekend. Sure, I should have been making use of the sunshine by working in the garden, but why waste time weeding when there are walks to be taken, shorts to be worn and books to be read? The weeds will wait. They'll still be there next weekend.
The presence of a few sunny days has done wonders to improve my mood. Granted, work is still sucking, and I only have a week of Elizabeth left. I also had one of my instructors quit with only six days notice, which really screws with my schedule. But on the bright side, I've gotten inquiries from three companies and have my name in with two different headhunters. Maybe I'll actually get a few interviews. One is ZoneLabs, which is a good company (plus) but the job is a step backward (minus) and I would probably have to be located in SF (big huge minus). There was the company in Los Gatos that I had the phone interview with, but after 20 minutes I still knew nothing about what the company did (minus) or the job itself (minus), but I did know that they couldn't afford my salary, which is already low just by my company's standards (big minus). The most recent contact was from Webex. Good location (plus), job description doesn't look like I'm downgrading (plus), they don't seem to be choking on my salary (plus), and so far they seem courteous and pleasant (plus). Give me a few days and I'm sure I'll find more than one minus.
I did apply for an editorial job at Adobe, which is where my current boss is going. The job description looks like it was written for me, but I don't want to get my hopes up. You never really know for sure.
I ordered some new clothes in case I get interviews. Most of my dressier business casual clothes have been outgrown since my last round of inteviews, so I thought that it would be a good idea to have some stuff that fit properly. I got a few colorful jackets to throw on over black or khaki pants and a white shirt. It's my classic look, although I do prefer it with jeans.
Busy night at the crack shack next door. They've been doing a hell of a business over the last two days. I should ask them if their drug customers are interested in working out. I could use them to co-market.
I found the coolest art supply store downtown. It has everything you could possibly need to do any kind of craft you can imagine. I could have spent all day in there, but since I haven't painted in four years, and getting into something new really isn't practical, I decided to just leave empty-handed. But there's something about walking into a store like that, seeing blank canvas and all of the colors of paint... there's so much potential.
I've been researching our trip to Kauai. I definitely want to snorkel. Now that I finally can put in contact lenses in less than two hours (I was not cut out for lenses), it's fabulous to go out and swim with the fishies. Although last time, on the big island, I had a school of large black fish eating my legs. They must have liked the taste of the sunscreen, because they were trying to munch away. When I tried to swim away, they followed me like I was the alpha fish. I nearly hyperventilated through my snorkel. It was freaky. But enough of the past... looking ahead, there's one helicopter company that takes you in and lands you next to a waterfall so you can play in the middle of the rainforest. That just seems astonishingly cool to me.
Ooh, that reminds me, my swimsuits should be arriving from Victoria's Secret this week. I'm hoping that they fit. If not, I'm back to square one at Macy's, and that's the last place I want to be.
I feel like things just might work out ok. Is this a false hope? Will I be shocked back to reality tomorrow?
Friday, March 05, 2004
Mothers
I love my mother. I really do. But....
She calls me, daily, at work. This is a bad habit that I started when grandmom was sick because a) I wanted grandmom to know that I was still thinking of her, even though I couldn't be there as she was dying, and b) because my mother, cooped up in the house with a dying woman, needed a break.
So time has passed. It's been nearly six months since grandmom died. Mom is suffering from a deep clinical depression. She refuses to sek help, and her only solace comes from food. She was already severely overweight, but every time I talk to her she's eating. There is little that's more irritating than listening to someone munch on potato chips while talking to you. This isn't to say that my mother was ever destined to be thin. She used to get up ridiculously early in the morning and take these five-mile walks around the track, and even with that, even while trying to follow various diets, she never really lost any weight. I believe that some people are just predestined to be a certain weight or shape. But... having said that... the fact that she's embarked on a campaign of nonstop eating is only going to make things worse. And she'll never see a doctor, so all of the problems that can result from obesity -- cancer, diabetes, heart disease -- will go undiagnosed until she has some sort of episode that requires an emergency room visit. I've tried to explain to her that she needs to go to the doctor because her health history may be relevant to me, in terms of things that I should be looking out for, but even that won't sway her. God knows that she's at genetic risk for breast cancer, and if she were to be diagnosed with it, I'd know if I should be on the path for early mammograms (I probably should be anyway, but they don't raise too many red flags unless a mother or sister has it... I have no sisters and a doctor-phobic mother... how would I ever know?)
Meanwhile, she worries about everything. My father forgot something the other day, and of course it's the first sign of Alzheimers. The painter is coming to freshen up the paint job at grandmom's house to get ready for the sale, and she's freaking out about how she's going to manage to get all the furniture pushed to the center of the room so he can paint. She's upset that I never planted tulips, even though they don't grow well in California. She had a medical alert bracelet made for me -- this enormous ugly thing -- to announce my allergies to two kinds of antibotics. She's freaked out about the fact that I have to drive to SFO tonight to pick up C, because it's dangerous to be on the highway or in airport parking lots after dark. How the hell do you respond to any of that?
I love my mother. I really do. But....
She calls me, daily, at work. This is a bad habit that I started when grandmom was sick because a) I wanted grandmom to know that I was still thinking of her, even though I couldn't be there as she was dying, and b) because my mother, cooped up in the house with a dying woman, needed a break.
So time has passed. It's been nearly six months since grandmom died. Mom is suffering from a deep clinical depression. She refuses to sek help, and her only solace comes from food. She was already severely overweight, but every time I talk to her she's eating. There is little that's more irritating than listening to someone munch on potato chips while talking to you. This isn't to say that my mother was ever destined to be thin. She used to get up ridiculously early in the morning and take these five-mile walks around the track, and even with that, even while trying to follow various diets, she never really lost any weight. I believe that some people are just predestined to be a certain weight or shape. But... having said that... the fact that she's embarked on a campaign of nonstop eating is only going to make things worse. And she'll never see a doctor, so all of the problems that can result from obesity -- cancer, diabetes, heart disease -- will go undiagnosed until she has some sort of episode that requires an emergency room visit. I've tried to explain to her that she needs to go to the doctor because her health history may be relevant to me, in terms of things that I should be looking out for, but even that won't sway her. God knows that she's at genetic risk for breast cancer, and if she were to be diagnosed with it, I'd know if I should be on the path for early mammograms (I probably should be anyway, but they don't raise too many red flags unless a mother or sister has it... I have no sisters and a doctor-phobic mother... how would I ever know?)
Meanwhile, she worries about everything. My father forgot something the other day, and of course it's the first sign of Alzheimers. The painter is coming to freshen up the paint job at grandmom's house to get ready for the sale, and she's freaking out about how she's going to manage to get all the furniture pushed to the center of the room so he can paint. She's upset that I never planted tulips, even though they don't grow well in California. She had a medical alert bracelet made for me -- this enormous ugly thing -- to announce my allergies to two kinds of antibotics. She's freaked out about the fact that I have to drive to SFO tonight to pick up C, because it's dangerous to be on the highway or in airport parking lots after dark. How the hell do you respond to any of that?
Thursday, March 04, 2004
Cary Grant
Cary Grant was just the ultimate in the old film variety of handsome gentlemen. And the way that Deborah Kerr just melts in his arms on the ship in An Affair to Remember... the way he slips his hands under her coat to embrace her while they're dancing on deck.... I am a pathetic romantic, and I never realized it until recently. First kisses, moments of new romance electricity... god, what a thrill. Just having someone look at you the way they do when they first fall for you, when they first get it into their head that they want to hold you and kiss you... nothing like it in the world.
Deborah Kerr: "What makes life so difficult?"
Cary Grant: "People."
Cary Grant was just the ultimate in the old film variety of handsome gentlemen. And the way that Deborah Kerr just melts in his arms on the ship in An Affair to Remember... the way he slips his hands under her coat to embrace her while they're dancing on deck.... I am a pathetic romantic, and I never realized it until recently. First kisses, moments of new romance electricity... god, what a thrill. Just having someone look at you the way they do when they first fall for you, when they first get it into their head that they want to hold you and kiss you... nothing like it in the world.
Deborah Kerr: "What makes life so difficult?"
Cary Grant: "People."
She knew she didn't like the way he controlled her. He gave the impression that he was weak and helpless, but that was just a means for subversive control. He had this way of latching that felt like he was grabbing your arm and steering you where he wanted you to go. A distance of three feet or three hundred miles meant nothing, he was right there, holding tight. Three thousand miles and there are days where the hand is still there.
Chaos at Work
Demotions. Departures. Rifs. Restructurings. What does it all amount to in the end? A desire to quit that I can taste. An almost passionate desire to throw another monkey wrench in her plan. I want to leave her hanging -- I want us ALL to leave her hanging -- so that she is exposed to her management for being a psychotic lunatic. It's a dream of mine. Dream a little dream.
Demotions. Departures. Rifs. Restructurings. What does it all amount to in the end? A desire to quit that I can taste. An almost passionate desire to throw another monkey wrench in her plan. I want to leave her hanging -- I want us ALL to leave her hanging -- so that she is exposed to her management for being a psychotic lunatic. It's a dream of mine. Dream a little dream.
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
Memory
I haven't written much lately, mostly because I just haven't felt like talking. I've felt very withdrawn and disconnected from the universe, and I don't know how to fix it.
My mother called today to tell me that she threw out the roast pan when cleaning grandmom's house out. Every Sunday for my entire life, there was roast beef for Sunday dinner at grandmom's. She cooked it stovetop, browned meat and potatoes in this aluminum pan that was like a large skillet, I guess, but had vertical sides rather than the typical sloped sides of a skillet. Every few weeks she'd forget about it on the stove and completely char the meat on one side, and the resulting browned potatoes turned out seriously dark and intense in this weird way that I always loved. The pan was burned beyond recognition. But this thing would clean up so amazingly shiny afterward with steel wool. I was always mesmerized by how shiny this thing could be. The pan itself was such crap -- the handle had come loose and you could spin the pan around -- but there's something about this pan that's just got so much history. I wouldn't want it myself. What would I do with it? But I hate the thought that it's gone.
I haven't written much lately, mostly because I just haven't felt like talking. I've felt very withdrawn and disconnected from the universe, and I don't know how to fix it.
My mother called today to tell me that she threw out the roast pan when cleaning grandmom's house out. Every Sunday for my entire life, there was roast beef for Sunday dinner at grandmom's. She cooked it stovetop, browned meat and potatoes in this aluminum pan that was like a large skillet, I guess, but had vertical sides rather than the typical sloped sides of a skillet. Every few weeks she'd forget about it on the stove and completely char the meat on one side, and the resulting browned potatoes turned out seriously dark and intense in this weird way that I always loved. The pan was burned beyond recognition. But this thing would clean up so amazingly shiny afterward with steel wool. I was always mesmerized by how shiny this thing could be. The pan itself was such crap -- the handle had come loose and you could spin the pan around -- but there's something about this pan that's just got so much history. I wouldn't want it myself. What would I do with it? But I hate the thought that it's gone.
Monday, March 01, 2004
Hilarious
If you can tolerate the pain....
http://www.salon.com/health/feature/1999/09/03/bikini/
If you can tolerate the pain....
http://www.salon.com/health/feature/1999/09/03/bikini/
Four Weddings
I'm watching Four Weddings and a Funeral on TV. So there's Hugh Grant, who is oddly lovable even though I always think that I don't like him, and yet, he's just so... well, something. Anyway, he's fallen madly in love with Andie McDowell, who's not unattractive, but seems to have absolutely no personality. But he runs after her and in his bumbling way, he confesses his love for her. And I have to say that there is something about that moment, about having some man look at you with that level of adoration... well, there's no woman that wouldn't want that.
I'm watching Four Weddings and a Funeral on TV. So there's Hugh Grant, who is oddly lovable even though I always think that I don't like him, and yet, he's just so... well, something. Anyway, he's fallen madly in love with Andie McDowell, who's not unattractive, but seems to have absolutely no personality. But he runs after her and in his bumbling way, he confesses his love for her. And I have to say that there is something about that moment, about having some man look at you with that level of adoration... well, there's no woman that wouldn't want that.
Borrowing from another conversation....
You hear the most interesting conversations in the ladies room. I hung around quietly to hear the end of this one.
LADY 1: (said to her friend as the bathroom door swings open and they enter) ...but you know that there is just no such thing as "just sex" for women.
LADY 2: Of course there is. I had "just sex" sex last weekend.
LADY 1: And? What did you say to him?
LADY 2: What do you mean what did I say?
LADY 1: Did you tell him that he didn't have to call? Did you tell him that it was just a one-night thing, no strings attached?
LADY 2: Yeah.
LADY 1: And did you really want him to call?
LADY 2: Yeah.
LADY 1: So why didn't you tell him that you wanted to see him again?
LADY 2: Because you know that scares them off.
LADY 1: Because for guys, it's just sex. Not for women. Women want continued contact. You probably wanted him to hold you all night, but you told him that he was welcome to leave right after....
LADY 2: Oh, shut up.
LADY 1: Did I hit a nerve?
LADY 2: He's not the kind that would have stayed or called.
LADY 1: All the more reason for you not to feel any sort of psychological pull with this guy. But instead you still sit around wishing that he'd call.
LADY 2: It's not like that....
LADY 1: So what part of it is wrong?
(long pause)
LADY 2: So why do you think it's like that?
LADY 1: Like what?
LADY 2: That it's never "just sex".
LADY 1: Estrogen. Wiring. Genetics. The fact that it's an invasive process for women, and you have the person actually inside you. Maybe a biological need to perpetuate the species. I don't know why. It just is.
LADY 2: Fuck.
LADY 1: How many times have you called home to check your answering machine since then?
LADY 2: At least twice a day. Sometimes more.
LADY 1: And what if he did call?
LADY 2: I'd have to play nonchalant, like I didn't really care.
LADY 1: But...
LADY 2: But I really do want to see him again, maybe even have a relationship.
LADY 1: I rest my case.
You hear the most interesting conversations in the ladies room. I hung around quietly to hear the end of this one.
LADY 1: (said to her friend as the bathroom door swings open and they enter) ...but you know that there is just no such thing as "just sex" for women.
LADY 2: Of course there is. I had "just sex" sex last weekend.
LADY 1: And? What did you say to him?
LADY 2: What do you mean what did I say?
LADY 1: Did you tell him that he didn't have to call? Did you tell him that it was just a one-night thing, no strings attached?
LADY 2: Yeah.
LADY 1: And did you really want him to call?
LADY 2: Yeah.
LADY 1: So why didn't you tell him that you wanted to see him again?
LADY 2: Because you know that scares them off.
LADY 1: Because for guys, it's just sex. Not for women. Women want continued contact. You probably wanted him to hold you all night, but you told him that he was welcome to leave right after....
LADY 2: Oh, shut up.
LADY 1: Did I hit a nerve?
LADY 2: He's not the kind that would have stayed or called.
LADY 1: All the more reason for you not to feel any sort of psychological pull with this guy. But instead you still sit around wishing that he'd call.
LADY 2: It's not like that....
LADY 1: So what part of it is wrong?
(long pause)
LADY 2: So why do you think it's like that?
LADY 1: Like what?
LADY 2: That it's never "just sex".
LADY 1: Estrogen. Wiring. Genetics. The fact that it's an invasive process for women, and you have the person actually inside you. Maybe a biological need to perpetuate the species. I don't know why. It just is.
LADY 2: Fuck.
LADY 1: How many times have you called home to check your answering machine since then?
LADY 2: At least twice a day. Sometimes more.
LADY 1: And what if he did call?
LADY 2: I'd have to play nonchalant, like I didn't really care.
LADY 1: But...
LADY 2: But I really do want to see him again, maybe even have a relationship.
LADY 1: I rest my case.
Home Alone Again
Did you ever notice that I spend an unusual amount of time living alone? C has another business trip this week, gone until Friday. I try to be supportive. I want to be supportive. But this week especially, with all that's going on at work with my boss quitting and having to deal with the psycho VP, I need someone to hold me and talk me down at night. You know me, my brain can run wild if not properly corralled.
Did you ever notice that I spend an unusual amount of time living alone? C has another business trip this week, gone until Friday. I try to be supportive. I want to be supportive. But this week especially, with all that's going on at work with my boss quitting and having to deal with the psycho VP, I need someone to hold me and talk me down at night. You know me, my brain can run wild if not properly corralled.
