A man said to the universe:
“Sir, I exist!"
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.”
(apologies to Stephen Crane)
2012 is here (though perhaps not for too long, if the doomsayers are correct and you never know-- a broken clock is right twice a day). I'm unspeakably relieved that 2011 is done, without any more damage wrought. It did bring me a few presents, like divorcing parents plying their child with therapy and gifts once they realize the impact of their actions. Which is not to say that I don't appreciate these bits of goodness-- mixed bags of success in unlikely places, unexpected love, rare moments of light that shine all the brighter against the darkness of the rest of the year. But the darkness, the pall that has hung over my life for almost a year is still quite undeniably there. I think I overestimated my own resiliency, especially with how difficult the holidays were. Trust me, little can completely sap that holiday spirit like accidentally ordering Christmas presents for your deceased little brother. Nor can I really enjoy the Steelers this season, lacking my brother (the king of Steelers criticism) and his non-stop bitching. And so on. Every little thing leads to a train of thought that leads back to the massive amount of grief that I'm apparently still processing. In ultra slow motion.
So, to sum up? It's still one day at a time.
Showing posts with label catching up. Show all posts
Showing posts with label catching up. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Here we go again.
I'm so over 2011. Can we move on to 2012 yet? The universe clearly wasn't done having fun at my expense this year, and now I've lost both grandmothers and my brother in the space of four months. Of course, my training for my big swim is wrecked with just one week to go. I'm physically and mentally exhausted. It's not just this latest loss, that of my other grandmother. It's the cumulative effects of so much in such a short time. It's hard to muster up any enthusiasm for or interest in anything, let alone my first open water swim. I'm lugubrious, despondent, disconsolate, with a side of melancholy. Instead of excitement about Purple Swim, I feel nervous and insufficiently prepared. I hate to admit this, but I'm struggling with maintaining interest in the now happening NFL season. Nothing seems to matter all that much anymore.
I'm so very, very tired of death and funerals. I would like the rest of the year off from death and funerals. In fact, don't have one for me if I should drown or die from a rabid jellyfish attack. I won't attend.
But now that I'm becoming something of an experienced mourner, allow me to make a few suggestions as to how to/ how not to treat the bereaved:
1. Do not comment on appearances, including attire, for the bereaved or the deceased. The bereaved may have had to travel at the last minute and may not have had time or the presence of mind to pack appropriately. Even if they didn't travel as great a distance, the enormity of the loss may make dressing and grooming challenging. And even if you think they look "good," they probably couldn't care less. Yes, my hair's back to long and blond-- do you think I particularly care if anyone likes it, when we're in front of a casket? Noooooo. And do not comment on the deceased's appearance at all, with the possible exception of how peaceful they may look. So many people fed me crap about my brother looking good-- which was total bull because it was obvious he was swollen and beaten up, with heavy makeup necessary, and lying about it just drew more attention to the obvious.
2. Do not discuss politics or religion. I'm more intimately aware than the average bear about what's going on in politics, but I don't really want to hear a political debate in front of a casket. And do not offer platitudes about how "God has a plan" or that the deceased is an angel/ is with the angels or similar such sentiments unless you are absolutely certain that the bereaved would find such sentiments comforting. For example, I consider myself a marginal verging on lapsed, extremely liberal eastern rite Catholic and I find none of those sentiments comforting in the least. I also have 13 years of Catholic education, and I will smack down your misinterpretation of doctrine regarding angels if you annoy me enough.
3. Do not tell the bereaved what they need to do unless they actually need to do it. Yes, get them something to eat/ drink, to sit down or to sleep. But don't tell them to call-- you call them. Don't tell them to email-- you email them. Don't tell them to visit-- you call or email and invite them. Why? Because the phone works both ways, email works both ways, and you're an insensitive berk if you don't realize that lots of people say nice things they don't mean and make promises they don't intend to ever keep, so how should the bereaved know which is sincere and which isn't?
3.a. As a corollary to 3, do not lecture the bereaved for not doing something that you think is important unless a) it actually is important and b) you're not a huge hypocrite about it. And even then, don't lecture. You're probably not a professor, and even if you are? It's not class time. I may also be a little irritated that my grandfather lectured me about not calling when he's never inquired after my or my parents' well-being after losing my brother and only offered the scantest words at the time. It was only for the sake of keeping peace that I didn't snap back that I only returned all of his calls while I've been wrestling with the crippling depression that came with losing my brother. Oh wait, that's right. No calls to return. I can count the calls from anyone outside my parents and closer friends on one hand.
4. Do not make promises you won't actually keep. It makes it difficult for the bereaved to figure out who they can really trust and rely on when the shock wears off and the actual, long-lasting mourning begins.
Finally, a "do":
5. Do shut up and just be there. Talk is cheap, unless it's at 2am and you're willing to talk to someone suffering through grief-wracked insomnia. Hugs, alcohol, and ice cream are even better.
I'm so very, very tired of death and funerals. I would like the rest of the year off from death and funerals. In fact, don't have one for me if I should drown or die from a rabid jellyfish attack. I won't attend.
But now that I'm becoming something of an experienced mourner, allow me to make a few suggestions as to how to/ how not to treat the bereaved:
1. Do not comment on appearances, including attire, for the bereaved or the deceased. The bereaved may have had to travel at the last minute and may not have had time or the presence of mind to pack appropriately. Even if they didn't travel as great a distance, the enormity of the loss may make dressing and grooming challenging. And even if you think they look "good," they probably couldn't care less. Yes, my hair's back to long and blond-- do you think I particularly care if anyone likes it, when we're in front of a casket? Noooooo. And do not comment on the deceased's appearance at all, with the possible exception of how peaceful they may look. So many people fed me crap about my brother looking good-- which was total bull because it was obvious he was swollen and beaten up, with heavy makeup necessary, and lying about it just drew more attention to the obvious.
2. Do not discuss politics or religion. I'm more intimately aware than the average bear about what's going on in politics, but I don't really want to hear a political debate in front of a casket. And do not offer platitudes about how "God has a plan" or that the deceased is an angel/ is with the angels or similar such sentiments unless you are absolutely certain that the bereaved would find such sentiments comforting. For example, I consider myself a marginal verging on lapsed, extremely liberal eastern rite Catholic and I find none of those sentiments comforting in the least. I also have 13 years of Catholic education, and I will smack down your misinterpretation of doctrine regarding angels if you annoy me enough.
3. Do not tell the bereaved what they need to do unless they actually need to do it. Yes, get them something to eat/ drink, to sit down or to sleep. But don't tell them to call-- you call them. Don't tell them to email-- you email them. Don't tell them to visit-- you call or email and invite them. Why? Because the phone works both ways, email works both ways, and you're an insensitive berk if you don't realize that lots of people say nice things they don't mean and make promises they don't intend to ever keep, so how should the bereaved know which is sincere and which isn't?
3.a. As a corollary to 3, do not lecture the bereaved for not doing something that you think is important unless a) it actually is important and b) you're not a huge hypocrite about it. And even then, don't lecture. You're probably not a professor, and even if you are? It's not class time. I may also be a little irritated that my grandfather lectured me about not calling when he's never inquired after my or my parents' well-being after losing my brother and only offered the scantest words at the time. It was only for the sake of keeping peace that I didn't snap back that I only returned all of his calls while I've been wrestling with the crippling depression that came with losing my brother. Oh wait, that's right. No calls to return. I can count the calls from anyone outside my parents and closer friends on one hand.
4. Do not make promises you won't actually keep. It makes it difficult for the bereaved to figure out who they can really trust and rely on when the shock wears off and the actual, long-lasting mourning begins.
Finally, a "do":
5. Do shut up and just be there. Talk is cheap, unless it's at 2am and you're willing to talk to someone suffering through grief-wracked insomnia. Hugs, alcohol, and ice cream are even better.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
crisped critter
Dear blog,
Long time, no write. What can I say, it's turning into a hectic summer. Which probably isn't the worst thing in the world, because that means a little less time to ruminate and cry, but it's also not leaving me much time for myself. Or things like laundry and litterboxes.
The hollowness from losing my brother is cementing itself pretty well in place. It's just this massive brother-shaped gap that I'm learning to manage around. It's like I've lost a limb, but there won't ever be a prosthetic that can help me manage. I experience this moment of sinking disappointment every time I arrive at my parents' house and know he's not there, and not just because he's out running errands. And I cry with guilt every time I drive back to Baltimore because I'm leaving my parents alone. But... nobody really cares about that anymore. The rest of the world has moved on and spares little time or thoughts or sympathy for those of us still in mourning. So there's little point in sharing the grief-- nobody's asking or listening anyway.
In my misguided attempt to give myself something to swim FOR, I registered for PurpleSwim Baltimore, an open water swim in the Bay. It's... a little sooner than I'd like, especially because I'm nowhere near my best swimming shape. And I managed to thoroughly burn my back this weekend when I went out to the bay to spend some time in the open water-- despite liberally applying SPF 30 water resistant sunblock multiple times. So my back is an angry shade of magenta bordering on fuchsia, noticeably swollen, and unspeakably painful. Even my limbs are slightly swollen. I've used most of a 12oz bottle of aloe gel in the past 48 hours, on top of cold compresses, ibuprofen, and giving vinegar the old college try-- to minimal avail. I sucked it up and got a bathing suit on tonight (no such luck yesterday), but moving my arms in the water caused too much pain. So... now I'm in danger of falling behind on training thanks to sunblock failure. I did order a rashguard today to minimize this issue in the future, but still. OW. STUPID STUPID STUPID.
Sigh. Let's see if the NFL can give me some good news... oh wait. DAMMIT, HINES. DAMMIT, OWNERS.
Sorry, blog-- mamma's going to have to cut this little reunion short get herself a drink. It's just one of them summer.
Long time, no write. What can I say, it's turning into a hectic summer. Which probably isn't the worst thing in the world, because that means a little less time to ruminate and cry, but it's also not leaving me much time for myself. Or things like laundry and litterboxes.
The hollowness from losing my brother is cementing itself pretty well in place. It's just this massive brother-shaped gap that I'm learning to manage around. It's like I've lost a limb, but there won't ever be a prosthetic that can help me manage. I experience this moment of sinking disappointment every time I arrive at my parents' house and know he's not there, and not just because he's out running errands. And I cry with guilt every time I drive back to Baltimore because I'm leaving my parents alone. But... nobody really cares about that anymore. The rest of the world has moved on and spares little time or thoughts or sympathy for those of us still in mourning. So there's little point in sharing the grief-- nobody's asking or listening anyway.
In my misguided attempt to give myself something to swim FOR, I registered for PurpleSwim Baltimore, an open water swim in the Bay. It's... a little sooner than I'd like, especially because I'm nowhere near my best swimming shape. And I managed to thoroughly burn my back this weekend when I went out to the bay to spend some time in the open water-- despite liberally applying SPF 30 water resistant sunblock multiple times. So my back is an angry shade of magenta bordering on fuchsia, noticeably swollen, and unspeakably painful. Even my limbs are slightly swollen. I've used most of a 12oz bottle of aloe gel in the past 48 hours, on top of cold compresses, ibuprofen, and giving vinegar the old college try-- to minimal avail. I sucked it up and got a bathing suit on tonight (no such luck yesterday), but moving my arms in the water caused too much pain. So... now I'm in danger of falling behind on training thanks to sunblock failure. I did order a rashguard today to minimize this issue in the future, but still. OW. STUPID STUPID STUPID.
Sigh. Let's see if the NFL can give me some good news... oh wait. DAMMIT, HINES. DAMMIT, OWNERS.
Sorry, blog-- mamma's going to have to cut this little reunion short get herself a drink. It's just one of them summer.
Monday, April 25, 2011
gimme some rope, I'm coming loose..
I've been listening to Wasting Light on repeat. I do love me some Foos. Wasting Light may not be a life-altering album, but it's solid and pretty much what I'd hoped for and not entirely unlike aural comfort food (even though it really makes me want to learn how to play guitar). The Letterman webcast? Pretty fricking amazing. Thank you guys for your most excellent timing with this release.
So. Easter kind of sucked. Which I guess was to be expected, but still. Bad. Very bad. I mean, once upon a time I couldn't wait until I could host holidays and try new things. But the circumstances that brought about my first hosted holiday? Kind of put a damper on that. To say the least. Plus I hardly got any sleep. And then we've secretly replaced our Pittsburgh Penguins with Folger's instant crystals, which really sucks given that I'm surrounded by Caps fans. So. Not the greatest weekend in the history of me. Let's see, what's positive right now? Hm. My super sketchy neighbors will be gone as of Saturday? And then I can feel reasonably confident coming and going after dark again? I guess that's something, as long as they don't trash the common areas any more than they already have or try to burn the building down on their way out. Oh, Baltimore. Your utter lack of buffer between acceptable risk and dangerously sketchy is oh so charming.
So. Easter kind of sucked. Which I guess was to be expected, but still. Bad. Very bad. I mean, once upon a time I couldn't wait until I could host holidays and try new things. But the circumstances that brought about my first hosted holiday? Kind of put a damper on that. To say the least. Plus I hardly got any sleep. And then we've secretly replaced our Pittsburgh Penguins with Folger's instant crystals, which really sucks given that I'm surrounded by Caps fans. So. Not the greatest weekend in the history of me. Let's see, what's positive right now? Hm. My super sketchy neighbors will be gone as of Saturday? And then I can feel reasonably confident coming and going after dark again? I guess that's something, as long as they don't trash the common areas any more than they already have or try to burn the building down on their way out. Oh, Baltimore. Your utter lack of buffer between acceptable risk and dangerously sketchy is oh so charming.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
tasting spring
I engaged in a bit of activism followed by a trip to the Botanic Gardens, which I haven't visited for a while. True, it's not Phipps, but it's nice. Lots of plants I'd love to take home with me. Lots of reminders that spring is coming-- time to start planning the balcony garden.
And once again, I'm reminded that I'm in dire need of a new camera. Mine is a six year old point and shoot that's been through hell and back. And while it's a trooper, it's old. And worn out. And not exactly the kind of camera you'd use trying to pursue a hobby. Not that I think I'm a brilliant photographer by any means, but sometimes I take pictures that I find pleasing.
And I'd like to take more. Of course, I need a bigger hard drive and/ or a new computer because I'm pressed for space as it is. And I have competing budget priorities-- I'm going to need new tires very soon, plus I'm noticing the solenoid issue that most vehicles like mine seem to get around a certain mileage, plus I appear to have a coolant leak, plus I need a new phone, plus the student loans, plus I need a new couch... so, anyway, priority-wise, getting a new camera any time soon is a stretch. Plus, well, there's nothing in place keeping the government funded beyond next Friday, so we'll see if I even get paid at all. Not being homeless: definitely a higher priority.
And once again, I'm reminded that I'm in dire need of a new camera. Mine is a six year old point and shoot that's been through hell and back. And while it's a trooper, it's old. And worn out. And not exactly the kind of camera you'd use trying to pursue a hobby. Not that I think I'm a brilliant photographer by any means, but sometimes I take pictures that I find pleasing.
And I'd like to take more. Of course, I need a bigger hard drive and/ or a new computer because I'm pressed for space as it is. And I have competing budget priorities-- I'm going to need new tires very soon, plus I'm noticing the solenoid issue that most vehicles like mine seem to get around a certain mileage, plus I appear to have a coolant leak, plus I need a new phone, plus the student loans, plus I need a new couch... so, anyway, priority-wise, getting a new camera any time soon is a stretch. Plus, well, there's nothing in place keeping the government funded beyond next Friday, so we'll see if I even get paid at all. Not being homeless: definitely a higher priority.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
New year, new post.
Oh Baltimore, you funny little big city. With your pissing contest over a three letter word and painting yourself purple and dead fish. Wait, dead fish? Yep. Dead fish. Ew. Well, I guess that's one to remind me of home.
Being sick and all, I've spent an inordinate amount of time on my couch the past few days. The closest books within reach of said couch are Mandarin language instruction books and depressing Russian books (random history and Solzhenitsyn-- One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich and The Gulag Archipelago). (I've mentioned before that I met a guy once who actually claimed Solzhenitsyn was his favorite author. That still cracks me up. I mean, come on. Could you try to make it a little less obvious that you're a pretentious pompous ass overeager to be perceived as a politically aware intellectual?). Anyway, nothing light and non-challenging for my poor addled brain, so I watched far more television than I'm used to. Which? Really adds to the feeling of unreality brought on by high quality decongestants and a few days off from work. But now I'm back to work and still trying to shake this annoyingly persistent bug. Damn reality. And my poor cube neighbors that get to hear me hacking away.
Speaking of work, I had one of those days yesterday. It was a matryoshka doll of badness kind of day. That would be the opposite of the Mary Tyler Moore Moment day (which inspired the MTMM tag on this a-here blog)-- you know, the times you're just so freaking chipper that you want to throw your hat in the air while a disembodied voice from above intones that you're going to make it after all. Yesterday: not one of those days. Just one bad thing inside another, like evil nesting dolls. I actually originally coined the term to describe a situation at work where there were so many nuances and layers of wrongness that contributed to a bad situation, so I think I'm entitled to strain that metaphor to the breaking point. Thankfully, things are looking a little better. For the time being.
If only I could stop coughing. Consumptive authoresses/ heroines are so 19th century.
Being sick and all, I've spent an inordinate amount of time on my couch the past few days. The closest books within reach of said couch are Mandarin language instruction books and depressing Russian books (random history and Solzhenitsyn-- One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich and The Gulag Archipelago). (I've mentioned before that I met a guy once who actually claimed Solzhenitsyn was his favorite author. That still cracks me up. I mean, come on. Could you try to make it a little less obvious that you're a pretentious pompous ass overeager to be perceived as a politically aware intellectual?). Anyway, nothing light and non-challenging for my poor addled brain, so I watched far more television than I'm used to. Which? Really adds to the feeling of unreality brought on by high quality decongestants and a few days off from work. But now I'm back to work and still trying to shake this annoyingly persistent bug. Damn reality. And my poor cube neighbors that get to hear me hacking away.
Speaking of work, I had one of those days yesterday. It was a matryoshka doll of badness kind of day. That would be the opposite of the Mary Tyler Moore Moment day (which inspired the MTMM tag on this a-here blog)-- you know, the times you're just so freaking chipper that you want to throw your hat in the air while a disembodied voice from above intones that you're going to make it after all. Yesterday: not one of those days. Just one bad thing inside another, like evil nesting dolls. I actually originally coined the term to describe a situation at work where there were so many nuances and layers of wrongness that contributed to a bad situation, so I think I'm entitled to strain that metaphor to the breaking point. Thankfully, things are looking a little better. For the time being.
If only I could stop coughing. Consumptive authoresses/ heroines are so 19th century.
Friday, December 31, 2010
happy(ish) new year
My New Year's has gone so far awry it's not funny. I appear to have caught bronchitis from my brother, and, of course, after getting so stir crazy that I just had to get off my couch, the normally reasonably reliable Jeepers' check engine light came on. When most places are already closed for the holidays and it looks like I'll be waiting until Monday to have anyone look at it. Of course. But aside from my confinement and boredom, it's traditional at the end of the year to reflect on the year that was and try to pretend that we can exert control over the year that will be. Except, well, I don't want to jinx myself or set myself up for disappointment. No pretending I can control things that much-- man proposes and God disposes, and all that. So. Just reflection on the year that was.
I think it's safe to say that 2010 has brought quite a few changes. Finally got the damn masters degree after years of procrastination (long term relationships will do that). I also bought a car, got lucky enough to entertain multiple job offers, got a job at my preferred agency, and moved a few hundred miles away to a place where I hardly know anyone. I learned how to sail small craft & got my little red book certification. I now have done enough long-ish haul drives by myself to be frustrated by those who are clearly not regular interstate drivers. The brats are adjusting, and I'm, well, perhaps not used to but resigned to being a Steelers/ Pens fan in Ravens/ Caps territory. I still find the "hon" thing funny, though. They're so possessive 'round these parts of that little word that I don't have the heart to mention that it's pretty common back home.
Of course, while I've reaped the benefits of moving hundreds of miles away from most people I care about and who care about me... and the disadvantages. I still hardly know anyone here all that well (trying to work on that...), which has been made all the more clear by my current situation. But. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? I mean, I guess I could have found a job back home, but it would have been harder to find one at all and whatever I found would have been a compromise that would have taken me further away from the ultimate direction I want my career to take. Neither was an appealing choice, but I need to make up for lost time. So here we are.
I think it's safe to say that 2010 has brought quite a few changes. Finally got the damn masters degree after years of procrastination (long term relationships will do that). I also bought a car, got lucky enough to entertain multiple job offers, got a job at my preferred agency, and moved a few hundred miles away to a place where I hardly know anyone. I learned how to sail small craft & got my little red book certification. I now have done enough long-ish haul drives by myself to be frustrated by those who are clearly not regular interstate drivers. The brats are adjusting, and I'm, well, perhaps not used to but resigned to being a Steelers/ Pens fan in Ravens/ Caps territory. I still find the "hon" thing funny, though. They're so possessive 'round these parts of that little word that I don't have the heart to mention that it's pretty common back home.
Of course, while I've reaped the benefits of moving hundreds of miles away from most people I care about and who care about me... and the disadvantages. I still hardly know anyone here all that well (trying to work on that...), which has been made all the more clear by my current situation. But. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? I mean, I guess I could have found a job back home, but it would have been harder to find one at all and whatever I found would have been a compromise that would have taken me further away from the ultimate direction I want my career to take. Neither was an appealing choice, but I need to make up for lost time. So here we are.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Home from the holidays
Merry belated Christmas, mes chers who celebrate. I only have to go two generations or so back to find ones that celebrated Orthodox (aka Russian) Christmas, so I'm not really that late. Les parents were overgenerous as usual, and I now have a TV less than 15 years old. I only asked for a giftcard toward one, so. Whoa. Hopefully my gifts were as well-received (among other things, I got tickets to the Baltimore Grand Prix for le père & frère, and le frère & I finally got my mom the Terrible Towel autographed by Jack Lambert).
The brats are happy to be home, the Steelers are playoff bound, I thoroughly enjoyed NHL 24/7 (I don't have HBO, so I took full advantage of my parents' cable) and am SO PUMPED for the Winter Classic now (if I only had a spare $500 burning a hole in my pocket for tickets). And I totally lucked out-- the predicted 6-10" of snow didn't materialize at all and the drive back was far, far smoother than the ride up. Alas, back to reality and work tomorrow. I think I'm going to make popcorn and watch some MNF on my new TV.
The brats are happy to be home, the Steelers are playoff bound, I thoroughly enjoyed NHL 24/7 (I don't have HBO, so I took full advantage of my parents' cable) and am SO PUMPED for the Winter Classic now (if I only had a spare $500 burning a hole in my pocket for tickets). And I totally lucked out-- the predicted 6-10" of snow didn't materialize at all and the drive back was far, far smoother than the ride up. Alas, back to reality and work tomorrow. I think I'm going to make popcorn and watch some MNF on my new TV.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
there's no place like home
What about my little key store? RIP, Leslie Nielsen.
My first experience of serious holiday travel (as in, not just a day trip) was not terrible, though not exactly pleasant. Take last Wednesday-- between Baltimore & Frederick (the first ~40 miles), I saw five accidents and four speed traps. Plus random backups (Frederick, the outlets near Hagerstown, about an actual mile of traffic trying to get off 70..). On the way home I only saw two accidents and avoided the Breezewood Turnpike-70 backup (thanks to my instincts proving correct). And my timing was spot on-- I got to Frederick just after the Redskins game started and before the Ravens game traffic picked up. Whew. I really don't mind the drive too much, but the heavy traffic and the bizarre propensity Marylanders have for forming backups in the middle of nowhere (let alone at actual interchages) for no discernible reason are taxing.
Of course, I was greeted by two extremely pissed-off cats. They weren't amused that I watched the (gasp! televised!) Steelers game with a Mancini's pepperoni roll (baked fresh the day before) with Penn Pils instead of begging forgiveness. Poor things. You'd think that I didn't drop everything in my arms to pick them up as soon as I walked in. Or that I left treats and catnip hidden around the apartment, the lights and radio on, new toys scattered around. Or greeted them with nauseating amounts of petting and treats. Though Pete did pull out a few hunks of fur (thoughtfully leaving them in the middle of my bedroom floor). Poor baby. I'm not sure which is more stressful on him, being left alone or being driven to a strange place for a few days. A strange place with a dog. I don't know. But he's currently nesting in my partially unpacked duffel bag, giving me a none-too-subtle hint that I'm either not going anywhere or not leaving him behind.
But it's good to be home. And it's good to have another W, even though we can't seem to pull ahead of the Ravens. We'll see what happens Sunday. It's a very tense time around these parts. A very, very tense time.
Speaking of tense, I have no idea how people commute to DC from Baltimore. The incredible storms today made everything that much more fun. And by fun I mean horrifying. I'm glad I wasn't driving. I'm home comparatively early from work, so I think I'm going to put up some Christmas decorations. But first, I've been tagged for the 15 authors meme. Let's see...
Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen authors (poets,playwrights and screen-writers included) who've influenced you and who will always stick with you. List the first fifteen you can recall in no more than fifteen minutes. Tag at least fifteen friends, including me, because I'm interested in seeing what authors my friends choose (To do this, go to your Notes tab on your profile page, paste rules in a new note, cast your fifteen picks, and tag people in the note.).
Kurt Vonnegut (precious few authors have defined irony half as well or warped my world view half as much)
CS Lewis (Narnia >> Middle Earth to me)
Stephen King (literary junk food is still literary)
George Orwell (those who would misappropriate 1984 should read Down & Out in Paris)
Leo Tolstoy (everyone should have a ponderous Russian novel to love-- Anna Karenina is mine)
TS Eliot (arrogant bastard)
Dorothy Parker (if only my wit were one quarter as biting)
Wallace Stevens (let be be finale of seem, the only emperor is the emperor of ice cream)
HP Lovecraft (eldritch! batrachian! squamous! noisome!)
EA Poe (the first short stories I ever read)
Oscar Wilde (see comment for Parker, Dorothy)
William Goldman (The Princess Bride is the best romance ever)
Lewis Carrol (first experience I can recall with logic puzzles, wordplay, etc)
Hunter S. Thompson (We can't stop here-- this is bat country!)
Sylvia Plath (predictably enough)
My first experience of serious holiday travel (as in, not just a day trip) was not terrible, though not exactly pleasant. Take last Wednesday-- between Baltimore & Frederick (the first ~40 miles), I saw five accidents and four speed traps. Plus random backups (Frederick, the outlets near Hagerstown, about an actual mile of traffic trying to get off 70..). On the way home I only saw two accidents and avoided the Breezewood Turnpike-70 backup (thanks to my instincts proving correct). And my timing was spot on-- I got to Frederick just after the Redskins game started and before the Ravens game traffic picked up. Whew. I really don't mind the drive too much, but the heavy traffic and the bizarre propensity Marylanders have for forming backups in the middle of nowhere (let alone at actual interchages) for no discernible reason are taxing.
Of course, I was greeted by two extremely pissed-off cats. They weren't amused that I watched the (gasp! televised!) Steelers game with a Mancini's pepperoni roll (baked fresh the day before) with Penn Pils instead of begging forgiveness. Poor things. You'd think that I didn't drop everything in my arms to pick them up as soon as I walked in. Or that I left treats and catnip hidden around the apartment, the lights and radio on, new toys scattered around. Or greeted them with nauseating amounts of petting and treats. Though Pete did pull out a few hunks of fur (thoughtfully leaving them in the middle of my bedroom floor). Poor baby. I'm not sure which is more stressful on him, being left alone or being driven to a strange place for a few days. A strange place with a dog. I don't know. But he's currently nesting in my partially unpacked duffel bag, giving me a none-too-subtle hint that I'm either not going anywhere or not leaving him behind.
But it's good to be home. And it's good to have another W, even though we can't seem to pull ahead of the Ravens. We'll see what happens Sunday. It's a very tense time around these parts. A very, very tense time.
Speaking of tense, I have no idea how people commute to DC from Baltimore. The incredible storms today made everything that much more fun. And by fun I mean horrifying. I'm glad I wasn't driving. I'm home comparatively early from work, so I think I'm going to put up some Christmas decorations. But first, I've been tagged for the 15 authors meme. Let's see...
Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen authors (poets,playwrights and screen-writers included) who've influenced you and who will always stick with you. List the first fifteen you can recall in no more than fifteen minutes. Tag at least fifteen friends, including me, because I'm interested in seeing what authors my friends choose (To do this, go to your Notes tab on your profile page, paste rules in a new note, cast your fifteen picks, and tag people in the note.).
Kurt Vonnegut (precious few authors have defined irony half as well or warped my world view half as much)
CS Lewis (Narnia >> Middle Earth to me)
Stephen King (literary junk food is still literary)
George Orwell (those who would misappropriate 1984 should read Down & Out in Paris)
Leo Tolstoy (everyone should have a ponderous Russian novel to love-- Anna Karenina is mine)
TS Eliot (arrogant bastard)
Dorothy Parker (if only my wit were one quarter as biting)
Wallace Stevens (let be be finale of seem, the only emperor is the emperor of ice cream)
HP Lovecraft (eldritch! batrachian! squamous! noisome!)
EA Poe (the first short stories I ever read)
Oscar Wilde (see comment for Parker, Dorothy)
William Goldman (The Princess Bride is the best romance ever)
Lewis Carrol (first experience I can recall with logic puzzles, wordplay, etc)
Hunter S. Thompson (We can't stop here-- this is bat country!)
Sylvia Plath (predictably enough)
Saturday, October 2, 2010
We can't stop here. This is bat country.
Hunter S. Thompson made my little whiteboard this week at work. The resultant conversations made me nostalgic for undergrad days.
I turned my heat on. It was either that or I learn how to function with two cats permanently attached to my lap. I daresay fall is definitely here.
At some point, I'll get around to looking over my pictures from the Banks and post them to Flickr. It was a depressingly awful trip-- sick, almost non-stop rain, speeding ticket of questionable fairness, and cutting my part even shorter so I could skedaddle before the briefly nameable tropical system made the drive back to Baltimore even more fun. No sailing. I didn't make it to see all of the lighthouses. My swimsuit went unworn. Pretty pathetic. At least NuJeep got to ride the ferry and go on the beach. Talk about putting it through its paces.
I think the only drivers scarier than Maryland drivers are Virginia drivers. Seriously. I was on 64 between Hampton & Richmond in a driving rain, water ponding across the road, visibility down to 25 yards... and for about five miles, I had a tiny silver-grey car tailgating me. With no headlights on, for extra invisibility. Really freaking unnerving.
At any rate, let's focus on the positive. One week from today I'll be in NY, dragging my momma to MOMA to see Mats. Yay! I do so like New York, like any good East Coaster that doesn't actually live there. Not in the possessive kind of way that people who live in the New Jersey or Connecticut or Long Island exurbs do, but in the respectful, what an amazing city kind of way. Even though I'd still rather live in Pittsburgh over Manhattan. And now I'm only three hours away and a Megabus ride away. Speaking of which, I should probably finish going through my pictures from May...
I turned my heat on. It was either that or I learn how to function with two cats permanently attached to my lap. I daresay fall is definitely here.
At some point, I'll get around to looking over my pictures from the Banks and post them to Flickr. It was a depressingly awful trip-- sick, almost non-stop rain, speeding ticket of questionable fairness, and cutting my part even shorter so I could skedaddle before the briefly nameable tropical system made the drive back to Baltimore even more fun. No sailing. I didn't make it to see all of the lighthouses. My swimsuit went unworn. Pretty pathetic. At least NuJeep got to ride the ferry and go on the beach. Talk about putting it through its paces.
I think the only drivers scarier than Maryland drivers are Virginia drivers. Seriously. I was on 64 between Hampton & Richmond in a driving rain, water ponding across the road, visibility down to 25 yards... and for about five miles, I had a tiny silver-grey car tailgating me. With no headlights on, for extra invisibility. Really freaking unnerving.
At any rate, let's focus on the positive. One week from today I'll be in NY, dragging my momma to MOMA to see Mats. Yay! I do so like New York, like any good East Coaster that doesn't actually live there. Not in the possessive kind of way that people who live in the New Jersey or Connecticut or Long Island exurbs do, but in the respectful, what an amazing city kind of way. Even though I'd still rather live in Pittsburgh over Manhattan. And now I'm only three hours away and a Megabus ride away. Speaking of which, I should probably finish going through my pictures from May...
Saturday, September 18, 2010
When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro
God, what a godawful week.
And there's nothing like coming home from said godawful week, looking forward to the blissful feeling of just not. thinking. about. anything. for a few hours to find a past-due notice for a parking ticket I never received. I mean, I was where I was alleged to be, but this ticket that I allegedly received? Most certainly was not there. I know this for a fact because I did receive another parking ticket that day, which was paid, and for which I also received a past-due notice (though it has been paid in the parking awful-thority database). This appears to be a duplicate-- same violation, fine, issued within a minute of the one I paid, and a sequential ticket number with the one I paid. Hopefully I can resolve this without having to take a day off, driving four and a half hours back to Pgh, and everything that appealing a ticket usually entails. But let's be realistic. The parking awful-thority is nobody's friend, and certainly not reasonable.
Very frustrating.
Somewhat less frustrating was renewing my Flickr Pro account. Just in time for vacation. My mini-cation. The quality of my pictures has declined so much over the course of my Flickr account ownership, which is really depressing. I guess that's what happens when your camera wears out. Mine is a five year old basic point & shoot, so I think I really can't put it off any longer.
This week's Steelers game won't be shown in Baltimore, which means I need to find a safe haven to see it. Unfortunately, identifying an actual safe haven is challenging when all there is to go on is a five year old list that links to places that are out of business and defunct fan club pages.
Bleh. So much bleh lately. I think I need to go torture the cats with catnip and laser pointers to make myself feel better.
And there's nothing like coming home from said godawful week, looking forward to the blissful feeling of just not. thinking. about. anything. for a few hours to find a past-due notice for a parking ticket I never received. I mean, I was where I was alleged to be, but this ticket that I allegedly received? Most certainly was not there. I know this for a fact because I did receive another parking ticket that day, which was paid, and for which I also received a past-due notice (though it has been paid in the parking awful-thority database). This appears to be a duplicate-- same violation, fine, issued within a minute of the one I paid, and a sequential ticket number with the one I paid. Hopefully I can resolve this without having to take a day off, driving four and a half hours back to Pgh, and everything that appealing a ticket usually entails. But let's be realistic. The parking awful-thority is nobody's friend, and certainly not reasonable.
Very frustrating.
Somewhat less frustrating was renewing my Flickr Pro account. Just in time for vacation. My mini-cation. The quality of my pictures has declined so much over the course of my Flickr account ownership, which is really depressing. I guess that's what happens when your camera wears out. Mine is a five year old basic point & shoot, so I think I really can't put it off any longer.
This week's Steelers game won't be shown in Baltimore, which means I need to find a safe haven to see it. Unfortunately, identifying an actual safe haven is challenging when all there is to go on is a five year old list that links to places that are out of business and defunct fan club pages.
Bleh. So much bleh lately. I think I need to go torture the cats with catnip and laser pointers to make myself feel better.
Monday, September 13, 2010
falling...
It's been a strange week. Summer is definitely over. Trust me. It may climb back into the 80s, but once you ascertain that the heater works in your new vehicle out of actual need for heat and not out of test driving need, you can't take it back. On the plus side, I didn't have to buy a new tire for said new vehicle this week. On the down side, there is a non-zero chance that someone may be messing with my tires because I'm in Ravens territory. That... blows, quite frankly. Something to keep an eye on, I suppose.
In the meantime, I'm doing a massive amount of training at work, breaking in a gift from an overgenerous benefactor, and getting ready for an actual vacation. Well, an abbreviated vacation. Down the Banks. Here I come. Think about them every time I'm on the water. Why yes, I may have looked at navigation charts and wondered how one would traverse the Chesapeake and Albemarle Canal on windpower alone. Daydreams are fun.
I spent so much time getting my tire looked at on Saturday that I missed my sailing class. Sunday, it was 65 and raining. The bay was downright toasty compared to the boat, and I got truly seasick for the first time in my life. How embarrassing. On the plus side, I still got my little red book (like a small craft sailing cert). And because the wind gusted to 20-22 knots during some of our classes, we got a big and small air signoff. Rock on. Though I still would rather another course before I would trust myself to spend much time on the water without an instructor. Sailors are that special kind of outdoor sports crazy that I've observed among serious cavers and climbers. I wonder how well my garden-variety eccentricity would mesh. I'm not a racer, definitely more of a cruiser. I think I need to find a sugar daddy down here with a nice sloop or cutter or ketch to try out. You know, so I can decide what kind I'm going to buy. Eventually. After a little place on the water. Priorities, people.
In the meantime, I'm doing a massive amount of training at work, breaking in a gift from an overgenerous benefactor, and getting ready for an actual vacation. Well, an abbreviated vacation. Down the Banks. Here I come. Think about them every time I'm on the water. Why yes, I may have looked at navigation charts and wondered how one would traverse the Chesapeake and Albemarle Canal on windpower alone. Daydreams are fun.
I spent so much time getting my tire looked at on Saturday that I missed my sailing class. Sunday, it was 65 and raining. The bay was downright toasty compared to the boat, and I got truly seasick for the first time in my life. How embarrassing. On the plus side, I still got my little red book (like a small craft sailing cert). And because the wind gusted to 20-22 knots during some of our classes, we got a big and small air signoff. Rock on. Though I still would rather another course before I would trust myself to spend much time on the water without an instructor. Sailors are that special kind of outdoor sports crazy that I've observed among serious cavers and climbers. I wonder how well my garden-variety eccentricity would mesh. I'm not a racer, definitely more of a cruiser. I think I need to find a sugar daddy down here with a nice sloop or cutter or ketch to try out. You know, so I can decide what kind I'm going to buy. Eventually. After a little place on the water. Priorities, people.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
I like to be there when I can
A little more than a month on, and I'm adjusting to Baltimore. Slowly. I still need to figure out where I can get my hair cut, what dentist to see, those kinds of things. At least I can find the Ulta. And dyed my hair blonde-blonde. As in, I finally found dye that has me more-or-less at my natural color. For reals this time. It's weird to look in the mirror and still not quite see myself, even though this is the closest to natural I've looked for so long. Amazing how much identity is tied to hair.
I didn't realize how homesick I was until I crossed back into Pennsylvania and was surrounded by other vehicles bearing Steelers emblems. It's preseason, but it's Steelers football on TV in front of me. A-freaking-men. The off-season lasts forever.
My old place feels like an empty shell and an anchor around my neck and not at all like my former sanctum. Got to finish cleaning and patching and everything-- even though I know it's going to be (slightly) remodeled anyway. Frustrating, that. At this point, I kind of just want to hire a cleaning service so I don't have to worry about it anymore.
Now if you'll excuse me, the black and gold and a certain black and (white with) gold (eyes) cat that would like my attention.
I didn't realize how homesick I was until I crossed back into Pennsylvania and was surrounded by other vehicles bearing Steelers emblems. It's preseason, but it's Steelers football on TV in front of me. A-freaking-men. The off-season lasts forever.
My old place feels like an empty shell and an anchor around my neck and not at all like my former sanctum. Got to finish cleaning and patching and everything-- even though I know it's going to be (slightly) remodeled anyway. Frustrating, that. At this point, I kind of just want to hire a cleaning service so I don't have to worry about it anymore.
Now if you'll excuse me, the black and gold and a certain black and (white with) gold (eyes) cat that would like my attention.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
the good, the meh, and the pretty
Dendrobium atroviolaceum in bloom. Mom is not a fan-- she thinks the downward facing blossoms are weird.
Good news: The WunderCorgi is apparently doing better. It was the magic of my presence, I know. Heh.
Meh news: You know how a wound initially heals really fast, then healing slows down as it nears the end? That's my eye. It's infinitely better than it was (in the way that sand in the eye is preferable to a hot poker to the eye), but I've got another two weeks of off vision, antibiotic eyedrops, and glasses. And the persistent feeling of something in my eye.
Bleh news: The "lily of the valley" votive that smelled so nice at Pat Catan's smells like scented toilet paper (remember that?) or cheap bathroom air freshener when lit. Uck. I do so dislike cheap candle fragrances.
The sunny days have me wishing I were growing a garden, but there's too much uncertainty to commit this year. I took it out on my orchids. They're really taking over my shower (go to Flickr to see what's what).
Good news: The WunderCorgi is apparently doing better. It was the magic of my presence, I know. Heh.
Meh news: You know how a wound initially heals really fast, then healing slows down as it nears the end? That's my eye. It's infinitely better than it was (in the way that sand in the eye is preferable to a hot poker to the eye), but I've got another two weeks of off vision, antibiotic eyedrops, and glasses. And the persistent feeling of something in my eye.
Bleh news: The "lily of the valley" votive that smelled so nice at Pat Catan's smells like scented toilet paper (remember that?) or cheap bathroom air freshener when lit. Uck. I do so dislike cheap candle fragrances.
The sunny days have me wishing I were growing a garden, but there's too much uncertainty to commit this year. I took it out on my orchids. They're really taking over my shower (go to Flickr to see what's what).
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Where did you go? Where have you been?
Where did January go? At least I'm down to one more month of waiting to hear if I'm a finalist for the fellowship I really want. Also, totally missed mentioning two years since officially adopting FatCat. DamnCat still looks at me as if asking when I'm going to return the interloper.
Paul Krugman and Arianna Huffington on the round table on This Week: could there be two less effective "defenders" of the proposed health care reform? With all due respect to Mr. Economic Nobel Prize, Krugman's a great writer but terrible speaker/ debater. Arianna Huffington.. oy.
I am a redhead again. I missed it. Very few blondes (whether natural or "blonde") look their best with that color. I include myself in that category-- it was pretty on its own, but made me look washed out). And I'm just not a brunette in either personality or color (no offense to the brunettes out there). Which leaves black and red. Black might actually work... but it's a commitment (and probably the one color that would actually shock my mother). Red is fun, it makes my eyes stand out even more, and random strangers ask me if it's my natural color when I'm not burgundy (obvi, no) and if I'm Irish (not a drop). And while it might be pushing the envelope a bit with job interviews in which I'm supposed to be extremely serious and reliable... well, I hope that the extra confidence makes up for whatever seriousness I lose.
Speaking of which, I found a fabulous Calvin Klein suit with an inseam that might actually work for me... but it's a little pricey. Of course. Because the one freaking suit at Macy's that wouldn't look completely ridiculous on me is also about the most expensive. Just try to find 36" inseams in women's sizes-- talls are hard enough to come by, but almost all clothing manufactures assume that tall people are just stretched out normal people with proportionately narrower hips and all. And shorties can kiss my ass on that matter. At least they can hem things. I can't add fabric to make the legs and arms longer.
My jewelry making skills are improving. I will have to take pictures. But showering, laundry, library, and such should take priority at the moment.
Paul Krugman and Arianna Huffington on the round table on This Week: could there be two less effective "defenders" of the proposed health care reform? With all due respect to Mr. Economic Nobel Prize, Krugman's a great writer but terrible speaker/ debater. Arianna Huffington.. oy.
I am a redhead again. I missed it. Very few blondes (whether natural or "blonde") look their best with that color. I include myself in that category-- it was pretty on its own, but made me look washed out). And I'm just not a brunette in either personality or color (no offense to the brunettes out there). Which leaves black and red. Black might actually work... but it's a commitment (and probably the one color that would actually shock my mother). Red is fun, it makes my eyes stand out even more, and random strangers ask me if it's my natural color when I'm not burgundy (obvi, no) and if I'm Irish (not a drop). And while it might be pushing the envelope a bit with job interviews in which I'm supposed to be extremely serious and reliable... well, I hope that the extra confidence makes up for whatever seriousness I lose.
Speaking of which, I found a fabulous Calvin Klein suit with an inseam that might actually work for me... but it's a little pricey. Of course. Because the one freaking suit at Macy's that wouldn't look completely ridiculous on me is also about the most expensive. Just try to find 36" inseams in women's sizes-- talls are hard enough to come by, but almost all clothing manufactures assume that tall people are just stretched out normal people with proportionately narrower hips and all. And shorties can kiss my ass on that matter. At least they can hem things. I can't add fabric to make the legs and arms longer.
My jewelry making skills are improving. I will have to take pictures. But showering, laundry, library, and such should take priority at the moment.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
The scary, scary future, or why my generation is screwed
This has been such a freaking bizarre week.
First, decompression: Hell really is other people. Some people are hellbent on being such assholes that calling them assholes is an insult to assholes everywhere. I console myself with the firm belief that in whatever kind of afterlife exists, they'll have their own room with one another for company.
Second, I was called cool by merit of my docs by a little high schooler wannabe punk type. I suspect the kid was in diapers when I got my first pair of docs, which I have worn through coolness into uncoolness and apparently back into coolness. I also suspect the kid wasn't even in school yet when I first played with Manic Panic, which I think was the dye in their hair. I am so very, very old.
Third, let's not talk about work.
Fourth, politics are sadly progressing exactly the way I expected them to: bitter and divisive.
Can we talk politics for a bit? It's my blog, so I'm going to anyway.
First, decompression: Hell really is other people. Some people are hellbent on being such assholes that calling them assholes is an insult to assholes everywhere. I console myself with the firm belief that in whatever kind of afterlife exists, they'll have their own room with one another for company.
Second, I was called cool by merit of my docs by a little high schooler wannabe punk type. I suspect the kid was in diapers when I got my first pair of docs, which I have worn through coolness into uncoolness and apparently back into coolness. I also suspect the kid wasn't even in school yet when I first played with Manic Panic, which I think was the dye in their hair. I am so very, very old.
Third, let's not talk about work.
Fourth, politics are sadly progressing exactly the way I expected them to: bitter and divisive.
Can we talk politics for a bit? It's my blog, so I'm going to anyway.
Friday, October 16, 2009
blog of the living dead
Happy early Halloween. Here we have Zizi doing her best zombie (or zombi, if you want to get all continental on me) impression for you.
Following on that theme (the dead), a cold and wet summer makes for weak plants that have a difficult time resisting insects and disease even when not following organic principles strictly. Instead of Indian summer, this week has brought us frost, constant cold rain, and potentially slushy snow tonight and tomorrow. Le potager aux parents, c'est fini.
Le sigh. Le bleh. Etc.
My little indoor, er, collection is not so happy with the sudden lack of natural light and unceremonious transition to artificial lamps. Two orchids are limping along since being damaged; my large Alice appears to be sprouting a new pseudobulb. I added a Tillandsia to keep the orchids company, while the Euphorbia, Rosemary, and Dwarf orange were hurriedly brought in-- alas, they appear to have brought along some scale insects that are attacking Murray the Murraya. Boo, indeed. Murray's overdue for a repotting anyway, so I guess I'll give it a wash with weak Ivory while I'm at it.
It's been so long since I've posted, so let's see... I enjoyed my residency at a certain health insurer in the really tall building I mentioned in a previous post, but now I'm back to reality. Back to school. Now I'm working on Medicaid policy related matters, applying for fellowships, and trying to figure out what I'm going to do and where on earth I'm going to live when I graduate in six and a half months. Oh, yeah, and there's the whole school thing. I'm impatient to be out in the world DOING something now that I've had a taste. My application for my first choice fellowship is in, but that process takes until April (assuming that I make the various cuts). Bleh.
With this whole literally not knowing where I'll be in seven months, it puts a damper on the rest of my social life. I want to do things with people, especially when I think that it was potentially my last birthday in Pittsburgh in August, and it may well be my last Halloween/ last New Year's/ last whatever. But I'm so busy and I don't want to cry wolf if I do wind up with a job here. It turns the whole dating thing on its ear-- at first, I figured why bother dating, since I'm outtie in a few months. But I've been asked for coffee and such, so I thought maybe a short term thing would be fun. And aren't guys supposedly happy with a completely in the moment, pressure-free relationship that I fully expect to end when I move? But apparently it's a turnoff to date someone that detached, even if they don't want to form their own attachment. Go figure. Les garcons, I will never understand them. I'm too attached and emotional, so they end it. I'm too detached and methodical, so they end it. They know how tall I am, then tell me I'm too tall. They know my relative intelligence, then tell me I'm "snobby" because I read more books in a week than they do in a year. Of course, glutton for punishment that I am, I'm meeting someone completely ill-suited for me next week.
And I think that catches us up for now!
Following on that theme (the dead), a cold and wet summer makes for weak plants that have a difficult time resisting insects and disease even when not following organic principles strictly. Instead of Indian summer, this week has brought us frost, constant cold rain, and potentially slushy snow tonight and tomorrow. Le potager aux parents, c'est fini.
Le sigh. Le bleh. Etc.
My little indoor, er, collection is not so happy with the sudden lack of natural light and unceremonious transition to artificial lamps. Two orchids are limping along since being damaged; my large Alice appears to be sprouting a new pseudobulb. I added a Tillandsia to keep the orchids company, while the Euphorbia, Rosemary, and Dwarf orange were hurriedly brought in-- alas, they appear to have brought along some scale insects that are attacking Murray the Murraya. Boo, indeed. Murray's overdue for a repotting anyway, so I guess I'll give it a wash with weak Ivory while I'm at it.
It's been so long since I've posted, so let's see... I enjoyed my residency at a certain health insurer in the really tall building I mentioned in a previous post, but now I'm back to reality. Back to school. Now I'm working on Medicaid policy related matters, applying for fellowships, and trying to figure out what I'm going to do and where on earth I'm going to live when I graduate in six and a half months. Oh, yeah, and there's the whole school thing. I'm impatient to be out in the world DOING something now that I've had a taste. My application for my first choice fellowship is in, but that process takes until April (assuming that I make the various cuts). Bleh.
With this whole literally not knowing where I'll be in seven months, it puts a damper on the rest of my social life. I want to do things with people, especially when I think that it was potentially my last birthday in Pittsburgh in August, and it may well be my last Halloween/ last New Year's/ last whatever. But I'm so busy and I don't want to cry wolf if I do wind up with a job here. It turns the whole dating thing on its ear-- at first, I figured why bother dating, since I'm outtie in a few months. But I've been asked for coffee and such, so I thought maybe a short term thing would be fun. And aren't guys supposedly happy with a completely in the moment, pressure-free relationship that I fully expect to end when I move? But apparently it's a turnoff to date someone that detached, even if they don't want to form their own attachment. Go figure. Les garcons, I will never understand them. I'm too attached and emotional, so they end it. I'm too detached and methodical, so they end it. They know how tall I am, then tell me I'm too tall. They know my relative intelligence, then tell me I'm "snobby" because I read more books in a week than they do in a year. Of course, glutton for punishment that I am, I'm meeting someone completely ill-suited for me next week.
And I think that catches us up for now!
Sunday, June 21, 2009
C'est la vie
I have been a very neglectful blogger, I know, but this little thing called life sometimes gets in the way. I love my residency, but it is a LOT of work. 7:30 am meetings one day, meetings until 8pm the next. This week, I'm actually going out of town-- I get to go to the capital and spend a day and a half attending hearings, observing lobbyists, perhaps meeting with a few officials... and be back in time for work on Friday morning.
But the garden grows (and how!). Aside from my spinach never really growing and the slug issue, I think we're doing relatively well-- especially considering that we went several weeks without any rain followed by extremely strong storms and flooding (about 4" of rain over just a few hours!). Pictures soon.
But the garden grows (and how!). Aside from my spinach never really growing and the slug issue, I think we're doing relatively well-- especially considering that we went several weeks without any rain followed by extremely strong storms and flooding (about 4" of rain over just a few hours!). Pictures soon.
Monday, April 20, 2009
the light at the end of the tunnel is an oncoming train
Alright, I just have two papers to finish-- and one is finished, but needs to be revised/ appendix appended/ bibliography finalized, and the other has maybe... 4 pages left to write? And then there is the bibliography/ footnotes. Something like that. And I have to attend a lecture. And then this semester is in the books.
Of course, it's hardest to concentrate when you're this. close. to the finish line.
Trying to talk to my family about the stuff I'm doing is at times similar to telling my cats about the stuff I'm doing. I get the same bored lack of understanding and changing of the subject. So what's someone like me to do? I'm too nerdy/ geeky/ whatever for normal people, and not smart or experienced enough to have a realistic chance at getting into a health policy/ economic PhD program. It's sadly similar to the problem I have with dating. I'm "too smart for a girl" for the guys that are also into things like sports and good beer, but I'm too "pedestrian" (or, gasp, not into alternative relationship dynamics) for the smart/ geeky types. It's the kind of thing that reminds me of Hunter Thompson--
Perhaps I should have entitled this blog "God's Own Prototype." I always thought I was more of the Raoul Duke than Dr. Gonzo type, but perhaps not.
For some reason, my mother seemed weirded out that I was listening to David Bowie (Young Americans, to be specific) when I talked to her. I don't know why-- I've had that particular mp3 for over ten years now. My current playlist would really weird her out-- it's rather eccentric. REM, Crash Test Dummies, U2, Neil Diamond, U2 covering Neil Diamond, Grateful Dead, Rolling Stones, Barry Manilow, Barenaked Ladies, Tom Jones, Chris Isaak, Fatboy Slim, ODB, Gnarls Barkley, Marilyn Manson, Monkees, Beatles, Sinatra, Beastie Boys, Abba, Sonny & Cher, RHPS soundtrack, Ramones, Foo Fighters, RHCP, KC & the Sunshine Band, Cake, Wyclef, the Who, NIN, Blues Traveller, Kenny Rogers, CCR, Stevie Wonder, Cat Stevens, Smashing Pumpkins, Blue Oyster Cult, Smashing Pumpkins covering Blue Oyster Cult, Simon & Garfunkel, Queen, Janis Joplin, Shirley Bassey, NFL Films music, Al Hirt, Jimimy Psihoulis (oh yes, the Steelers Polka), Moby, Rob Zombie, Barry White, TMBG, Weezer, Gnarls Biggie (Biggie Smalls/ Gnarls Barkley smashup)... and that's not nearly all. I think I hit virtually every genre on this particular playlist. Go me.
Of course, it's hardest to concentrate when you're this. close. to the finish line.
Trying to talk to my family about the stuff I'm doing is at times similar to telling my cats about the stuff I'm doing. I get the same bored lack of understanding and changing of the subject. So what's someone like me to do? I'm too nerdy/ geeky/ whatever for normal people, and not smart or experienced enough to have a realistic chance at getting into a health policy/ economic PhD program. It's sadly similar to the problem I have with dating. I'm
There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. Some kind of high powered mutant never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die.
Perhaps I should have entitled this blog "God's Own Prototype." I always thought I was more of the Raoul Duke than Dr. Gonzo type, but perhaps not.
For some reason, my mother seemed weirded out that I was listening to David Bowie (Young Americans, to be specific) when I talked to her. I don't know why-- I've had that particular mp3 for over ten years now. My current playlist would really weird her out-- it's rather eccentric. REM, Crash Test Dummies, U2, Neil Diamond, U2 covering Neil Diamond, Grateful Dead, Rolling Stones, Barry Manilow, Barenaked Ladies, Tom Jones, Chris Isaak, Fatboy Slim, ODB, Gnarls Barkley, Marilyn Manson, Monkees, Beatles, Sinatra, Beastie Boys, Abba, Sonny & Cher, RHPS soundtrack, Ramones, Foo Fighters, RHCP, KC & the Sunshine Band, Cake, Wyclef, the Who, NIN, Blues Traveller, Kenny Rogers, CCR, Stevie Wonder, Cat Stevens, Smashing Pumpkins, Blue Oyster Cult, Smashing Pumpkins covering Blue Oyster Cult, Simon & Garfunkel, Queen, Janis Joplin, Shirley Bassey, NFL Films music, Al Hirt, Jimimy Psihoulis (oh yes, the Steelers Polka), Moby, Rob Zombie, Barry White, TMBG, Weezer, Gnarls Biggie (Biggie Smalls/ Gnarls Barkley smashup)... and that's not nearly all. I think I hit virtually every genre on this particular playlist. Go me.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Still in finals
Still in the midst of finals-- but now it's papers and posters. Have a few pics from my post-exam walk home today plus Pete being adorable. I just love rubbing his little jelly belly. It's like a living stress ball.
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