Since I can't get my thoughts together--that introspective post is still percolating, and it's getting kinda ugly in my head--I offer a meme.
10 years ago: JP and I were about two weeks into the final heroin habit. We'd quit for a few days in mid-July, in the heart of a heat-wave; from then til he died in October, we never really even made the pretense of quitting. We were living in our little apartment with Lou, who we'd introduced to heroin, and the kid upstairs had moved his drums into our living room and JP's band (a nebulous construct at best) would jam in the living room at night and the neighbors would come and stand in the doorway and listen.
5 years ago: I was living in a third-floor walkup with CR, who'd just a few days earlier gotten rid of Bertha, the 400-pound woman he'd invited to live with us. He claimed they were just friends but I knew better; she'd been there since mid-June, leaving her four young kids in Iowa and never even calling them. CR had spent the summer playing each of us off against the other, not even letting us speak for fear we'd trade information. Meanwhile, Tim was living in the back bedroom and not speaking to any of us.
1 year ago: LJ and I had just gotten the truck and were trying to get everything repaired. I was going through all kinds of hell with Bob the Plumber, trying to get the house fixed up, and dealing with all kinds of hell at my job as well. (I had to cheat and peek back at last year's blog to remember this.)
Yesterday: I went to work. Because the big boss is on vacation and my immediate boss is too swamped to even begin to show me the ropes, I spent the entire day e-mailing back and forth with the Brit. I bought my lunch with the last $6 of space on my credit card, and my Pepsi with sofa-change and a "buy one get one free" bottle cap. I came home, ate buttered spaghetti noodles, and went to bed, intending to go to sleep, but instead I read "The Circus Fire" til I nodded off.
Today: Payday! I spent most of the day e-mailing with the Brit (I still fucking ADORE this man).Ten I called HR at Place Where I Used To Work to find out what the hell had happened to the vacation money I was supposed to get; I found out that half of it paid out, half of it didn't, and I should get the check for the other half next week sometime. No big--finally we have grocery money! I spent an hour at Food-4-Less and then made a trip to Target for jeans--a size smaller!
Tomorrow: Tomorrow I have to get up at 6 to go pick up Tim and his stuff from the shelter; apparently he's kicked out for not "making sufficient progress" or something. I'm sure I'll hear the story this weekend. He's going to clean the weeds out of the yard. I'm also going to enlist his help in moving a bunch of stuff out to the trash; then I'm going to rearrange my workspace in the hopes of jump-starting my motivation on the book.
5 snacks I enjoy: Breyers' Heath Bar Crunch ice cream; chips and salsa; caramel corn; really garlicky pickles; Ritz crackers with peanut butter and strawberry jelly.
5 bands/singers to whose songs I know most lyrics: This one is hard to narrow down, as I have an eerie memory for lyrics, but I'll try: Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, Afghan Whigs, Tool, Alice in Chains.
5 things I would do with $100,000,000: Fix up this house; pay off the mortgage; pay back my mom all the money I've "borrowed" from her over the past 15 years; take a year off and travel around the country in an RV; and give money to Firefly for her Amazon trip, to Tim to get his feet under him, and to the Brit for grad school.
5 locations I’d like to run away to: Seattle; Berkeley; Atlanta; Florence, Italy; Vancouver.
5 bad habits I have: Swearing, overeating, picking at my cuticles, TV watching, and procrastination.
5 things I like doing: Writing, crocheting, cooking/baking, sex, and home improvement.
5 things I would never wear: Anything tight; anything midriff-baring; high heels; spandex; socks with sandals.
5 TV shows I like: Amazing Race, American Idol, Deadwood, I Love Lucy, Aqua Teen Hunger Force.
5 movies I like: West Side Story, O Brother Where Art Thou, Shrek, The King and I, Camp.
5 famous people I’d like to meet: Kurt Cobain, Barack Obama, God, Nelson Algren, Zach de la Rocha.
5 biggest joys at the moment: My new job; my house; the Brit; my own mind; chicken-fried rice.
5 favorite toys: My computer; my sewing machine; my power tools; Legos; Play-doh.
I'm thinking this would pretty much be an embarrasment of riches for any mental-health professional who came across it, but oh well. :) I won't tag anyone, but take it and run with it if you'd like--I'd be interested to see how some of the rest of you would answer these.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
I Learned A New Word Today
There is, apparently, a reason I'm not in charge of naming enterprise systems.
If I was the person whose job it was to name a system that people would be using every single day in millions of companies all over the globe, I'd like to think I would be merciful. I would name it something snappy, like CODA or ARPI or maybe MEOW (don't ask me what the acronyms would stand for--that's not my point.) Or I would name it something cute, like Rabbit or Ducky or Bonbon. Something easy to remember; something easy to pronounce and spell.
I would not, under any circumstances or for any reason, name it...
...Vormittag.
But apparently that's just exactly what the enterprise system at New Place Where I Work is called. For the past two days I've heard that part of my job is going to be to develop documentation for the Vormittag system. And every single time I heard it, somewhere in the recesses of my mind a little voice said the WHAAAAAAAAAT? (In exactly that voice used by the fat guy in Jaws, right after they catch the little shark. You know: Richard Dreyfuss says "It's a tiger shark," and the other guy says "A WHAAAAAAAAT?" That's the voice.)
Vormittag. It sounds like an obscure Austrian curse-word. It sounds like something Corky St. Clair would fit into his re-enactment of "Das Boot". It sounds like something my cat would cough up. (I would like to see Firefly's reaction to this word, resembling as it does her unfavoritemost word in the whole world, the one we refer to between ourselves as "the v-word". As in, I got so drunk last Saturday that I spent all day Sunday doing the v-word.)
I am seized with a helpless, reckless impulse to accost strangers on the street and startle them with a hearty, "VORMITTAG!!" before capering away, giggling like a madwoman.
Is that so wrong?
If I was the person whose job it was to name a system that people would be using every single day in millions of companies all over the globe, I'd like to think I would be merciful. I would name it something snappy, like CODA or ARPI or maybe MEOW (don't ask me what the acronyms would stand for--that's not my point.) Or I would name it something cute, like Rabbit or Ducky or Bonbon. Something easy to remember; something easy to pronounce and spell.
I would not, under any circumstances or for any reason, name it...
...Vormittag.
But apparently that's just exactly what the enterprise system at New Place Where I Work is called. For the past two days I've heard that part of my job is going to be to develop documentation for the Vormittag system. And every single time I heard it, somewhere in the recesses of my mind a little voice said the WHAAAAAAAAAT? (In exactly that voice used by the fat guy in Jaws, right after they catch the little shark. You know: Richard Dreyfuss says "It's a tiger shark," and the other guy says "A WHAAAAAAAAT?" That's the voice.)
Vormittag. It sounds like an obscure Austrian curse-word. It sounds like something Corky St. Clair would fit into his re-enactment of "Das Boot". It sounds like something my cat would cough up. (I would like to see Firefly's reaction to this word, resembling as it does her unfavoritemost word in the whole world, the one we refer to between ourselves as "the v-word". As in, I got so drunk last Saturday that I spent all day Sunday doing the v-word.)
I am seized with a helpless, reckless impulse to accost strangers on the street and startle them with a hearty, "VORMITTAG!!" before capering away, giggling like a madwoman.
Is that so wrong?
Monday, July 25, 2005
First Day
Today went well--not terribly exciting, honestly, but I think I'm going to like it there...
...once they get the air-conditioning fixed.
I feel as though I've been slow-cooked in my own juices all day--like a pot roast.
I definitely like my bosses, though. They as much as confessed that they're not quite sure what all I'm going to do; the official job title appears to be "Jack of All Trades" and so I'll be doing a little bit of everything. Which is fine with me, but I'm anxious to get started.
(Not that the past is behind me, even the parts I wish would go away: at 9:15 AM I got a call from Amy looking for a password to my old machine. Like the new tech couldn't have reformatted the machine--oh, wait. That would only have worked if the new tech was THERE, as opposed to keeping his own schedule totally not in keeping with everyone else's. Much more pleasantly, around midday I heard from the Brit, via e-mail: "Weird, your not being here." Yeah, to say the least. I miss him so damn much.)
I think I'll like the new job; I just wish it would START.
...once they get the air-conditioning fixed.
I feel as though I've been slow-cooked in my own juices all day--like a pot roast.
I definitely like my bosses, though. They as much as confessed that they're not quite sure what all I'm going to do; the official job title appears to be "Jack of All Trades" and so I'll be doing a little bit of everything. Which is fine with me, but I'm anxious to get started.
(Not that the past is behind me, even the parts I wish would go away: at 9:15 AM I got a call from Amy looking for a password to my old machine. Like the new tech couldn't have reformatted the machine--oh, wait. That would only have worked if the new tech was THERE, as opposed to keeping his own schedule totally not in keeping with everyone else's. Much more pleasantly, around midday I heard from the Brit, via e-mail: "Weird, your not being here." Yeah, to say the least. I miss him so damn much.)
I think I'll like the new job; I just wish it would START.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Regrouping
I am nothing if not resilient.
Also "stubborn".
Plan B: quiet persistence. (Which I don't think will be a hardship for either of us; I just got an e-mail from him at my real-life addy, wishing me good luck for tomorrow. Such a sweetheart that man is.)
Things happen, you know. Stuff doesn't always work out the way people plan. And as long as I'm THERE--as long as we're in touch--there's always the possibility that he'll be whacked in the head by the clue-brick.
In the meantime, I have a new job to start tomorrow. And a house to reconstruct, and a book to write, and...Yeah, I'll keep busy.
Also "stubborn".
Plan B: quiet persistence. (Which I don't think will be a hardship for either of us; I just got an e-mail from him at my real-life addy, wishing me good luck for tomorrow. Such a sweetheart that man is.)
Things happen, you know. Stuff doesn't always work out the way people plan. And as long as I'm THERE--as long as we're in touch--there's always the possibility that he'll be whacked in the head by the clue-brick.
In the meantime, I have a new job to start tomorrow. And a house to reconstruct, and a book to write, and...Yeah, I'll keep busy.
Friday, July 22, 2005
Aaaaaaaaand.........KABOOM.
I don't know which is worse: making an ass of yourself where everyone can see it, so you're at least forced to laugh at yourself and can thus preserve a shred of dignity...
...or making an ass of yourself only in some secret hopeful naive recess of your own mind, so that when the true depth of your delusion and silliness is exposed, you have no recourse but to writhe in the total agony of having been a sucker, AGAIN.
"So I'm going to do this marriage thing again," he said on the last ride home today.
Followed by something something something blah blah something something and counterpointed by the screaming kettle-whistle sound of every stupid, silly hope I had, deflating.
There were times over the past few days when I would catch my mind going in some way-too-hopeful direction and I would open my eyes and say out loud Stop it. You're being an idiot. You know better.
I knew better.
I KNEW I knew better.
You see what good knowing-better does me.
Thirty-five years old and still I haven't learned. Or maybe I have, and I just hoped I was wrong.
Sucker.
...or making an ass of yourself only in some secret hopeful naive recess of your own mind, so that when the true depth of your delusion and silliness is exposed, you have no recourse but to writhe in the total agony of having been a sucker, AGAIN.
"So I'm going to do this marriage thing again," he said on the last ride home today.
Followed by something something something blah blah something something and counterpointed by the screaming kettle-whistle sound of every stupid, silly hope I had, deflating.
There were times over the past few days when I would catch my mind going in some way-too-hopeful direction and I would open my eyes and say out loud Stop it. You're being an idiot. You know better.
I knew better.
I KNEW I knew better.
You see what good knowing-better does me.
Thirty-five years old and still I haven't learned. Or maybe I have, and I just hoped I was wrong.
Sucker.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
What a Day
Oh ho ho ho ho ho.
Wow.
There was a conversation today that I can't quite process yet. (No, nothing definitive or irrevocable was said, but that wall--the one that ensured we talked only about 99% politics, office and otherwise--was very clearly breached today.)
I'll go to the end because it seems illustrative.
We sat in the car for about five minutes in the parking space on the other side of the street in front of his building, talking about international politics as usual (I TOLD you, we're NERDS); then he got out and said "see you tomorrow" and walked away.
As he crossed over to the median he turned and waved.
And a few feet down the street, turned and waved again.
And once more as I pulled out of the parking space into traffic.
I laughed the whole way home.
I'm trying to talk myself out of the things I'm thinking; I'm trying to talk myself out of thinking there's anything more to this than the absolute shallowest surface interpretation of "friendly concern". I'm not succeeding, and for a change I'm not sure I should be.
And ohhhhh, I am going to miss this man.
Wow.
There was a conversation today that I can't quite process yet. (No, nothing definitive or irrevocable was said, but that wall--the one that ensured we talked only about 99% politics, office and otherwise--was very clearly breached today.)
I'll go to the end because it seems illustrative.
We sat in the car for about five minutes in the parking space on the other side of the street in front of his building, talking about international politics as usual (I TOLD you, we're NERDS); then he got out and said "see you tomorrow" and walked away.
As he crossed over to the median he turned and waved.
And a few feet down the street, turned and waved again.
And once more as I pulled out of the parking space into traffic.
I laughed the whole way home.
I'm trying to talk myself out of the things I'm thinking; I'm trying to talk myself out of thinking there's anything more to this than the absolute shallowest surface interpretation of "friendly concern". I'm not succeeding, and for a change I'm not sure I should be.
And ohhhhh, I am going to miss this man.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Okay, I Guess That's Better.
But I seriously have to get a fucking handle on my self-esteem as it relates to men.
It goes a little something like this: if the guy I'm interested in gives me even the slightest, most fragile sign of interest, or of anything my over-eager mind can even interpret as interest, then all is well with the world. Otherwise: gloom and black despair.
Guess which option we went with today?
And he's not INTERESTED. He's FRIENDLY. There's a difference. But someone please explain that to my interior eleven-year-old girl. Preferably using a large, heavy object--a cudgel, perhaps, or a large housebrick. And while you're bludgeoning, please ALSO explain to this interior eleven-year-old brat that she is NOT entitled to control my self-image. Because she's really, seriously dancing on my last fucking nerve.
(Friendly, interested, or in-between, it was still great fun to spend the day e-mailing each other with a running dialogue between George Bush and Karl Rove about (among other things) whose turn it was to feed Cthulhu. (Yes, we're nerds. Don't ask.))
People at work are starting to grasp that I'm not going to be around any more, which is a) true and b) awesome. And it has benefits, as well: Noreen (yes, the same Noreen with whom I spent my first three years at war and the last two in an uneasy detente) brought in my favorite coffeecake--and an extra whole coffeecake for me to take home--this morning. And she hugged me and told me how much she was going to miss me, and how even though we'd had our differences, she felt like she'd learned a lot from me. Which...wow, you know? Just...wow. (Also, coffeecake.)
I'm pretty sure that some of the accolades, though, come from the almost-universal unhappiness with which the announcement of my successor has been greeted. Sam is a great tech, but he's not an easy man to get along with--especially when women try to tell him what to do. (It may be cultural.) Everyone who knows anything about him has had to be reassured, more than once, that he will take good care of them. But what they're really looking for, I think, is reassurance that Sam will be as easy to run over as I was--and I can't give them that. (I've almost killed him three times in the past two days, so you can imagine how reassuring I'd be anyway, under the circumstances.)
Today on the train home the Brit asked me if I'd be celebrating this weekend. And I thought about it for a minute, and I told him: "Probably not. I'll probably go home and go about my business, and get up on Monday and go to work, only it'll just be a different 'work'." And I thought about how sad that was, though I tried not to make it sound to him like "poor me, I have no one to celebrate with"--except...well, I HAVE no one to celebrate with. I SHOULD, but I don't. I don't have a problem with that; I'm a solitary person and people, by and large, are hard work for me. But it just seems kinda wrong to me that even the person I'm supposedly closest to probably won't acknowledge that anything is even worth celebrating.
Two more days, anyway. Woo hoo.
It goes a little something like this: if the guy I'm interested in gives me even the slightest, most fragile sign of interest, or of anything my over-eager mind can even interpret as interest, then all is well with the world. Otherwise: gloom and black despair.
Guess which option we went with today?
And he's not INTERESTED. He's FRIENDLY. There's a difference. But someone please explain that to my interior eleven-year-old girl. Preferably using a large, heavy object--a cudgel, perhaps, or a large housebrick. And while you're bludgeoning, please ALSO explain to this interior eleven-year-old brat that she is NOT entitled to control my self-image. Because she's really, seriously dancing on my last fucking nerve.
(Friendly, interested, or in-between, it was still great fun to spend the day e-mailing each other with a running dialogue between George Bush and Karl Rove about (among other things) whose turn it was to feed Cthulhu. (Yes, we're nerds. Don't ask.))
People at work are starting to grasp that I'm not going to be around any more, which is a) true and b) awesome. And it has benefits, as well: Noreen (yes, the same Noreen with whom I spent my first three years at war and the last two in an uneasy detente) brought in my favorite coffeecake--and an extra whole coffeecake for me to take home--this morning. And she hugged me and told me how much she was going to miss me, and how even though we'd had our differences, she felt like she'd learned a lot from me. Which...wow, you know? Just...wow. (Also, coffeecake.)
I'm pretty sure that some of the accolades, though, come from the almost-universal unhappiness with which the announcement of my successor has been greeted. Sam is a great tech, but he's not an easy man to get along with--especially when women try to tell him what to do. (It may be cultural.) Everyone who knows anything about him has had to be reassured, more than once, that he will take good care of them. But what they're really looking for, I think, is reassurance that Sam will be as easy to run over as I was--and I can't give them that. (I've almost killed him three times in the past two days, so you can imagine how reassuring I'd be anyway, under the circumstances.)
Today on the train home the Brit asked me if I'd be celebrating this weekend. And I thought about it for a minute, and I told him: "Probably not. I'll probably go home and go about my business, and get up on Monday and go to work, only it'll just be a different 'work'." And I thought about how sad that was, though I tried not to make it sound to him like "poor me, I have no one to celebrate with"--except...well, I HAVE no one to celebrate with. I SHOULD, but I don't. I don't have a problem with that; I'm a solitary person and people, by and large, are hard work for me. But it just seems kinda wrong to me that even the person I'm supposedly closest to probably won't acknowledge that anything is even worth celebrating.
Two more days, anyway. Woo hoo.
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