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 moody. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moody. 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.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
A west country girl with a big fat cat that looks into her eyes of green
Today marks four months since I drove a jeep full of plants and two miserable cats down the long road to Baltimore. I think the cats have finally more or less recovered, though the plants have been less resilient. And me? Well... that's more complicated. I miss home. I was in one of the most amazing areas for over a decade. But I needed to move on, move away, get away from the ghosts of the past and the familiar places so patinated with memories as to be petrified. Most days I think I took the right job. I like being closer to the coast and New York and DC, but I'm not sure that Baltimore is the city for me. The jury's still out on that. But I can always move. In fact, I think I will in the not too terribly distant future.
I've now worn my wool coat and scraped frost-- actual frost-- from my windshield two mornings in a row. I also wore non-khaki type pants today for the first time since wearing a suit during orientation. Woe. I'm not quite ready for it to be winter just yet. Though the summer was long and painfully hot (literally when sitting on seats that have baked in 105 degree heat all day), I feel like I missed something. Perhaps because fall has felt so short. Labor day came, but it was marked only by the closing of the complex's pool and the appearance of children waiting for buses in the morning. It remained unseasonably warm-- to me, anyway. True, I was born & bred a northerner and all, but it's not THAT far south of the Mason-Dixon line here. And then a few short weeks, not even a full month, of what I consider fall, and then BAM! We're into winter now.
Granted, this would be the beginning of the rainy season back home. November means perpetually leaden skies spitting icy rain that soaks through your hair and coat. It means trudging from a too-cold office to a coffee shop or noodle place with windows heavy with condensation to a tiny apartment where the radiator clanks and hisses all night while sleet ticks against the window. It's a fantastically cold and lonely time of year, even if you're paired up. Pairing up this time of year is really a desperate charade with the end game of keeping warm. Oooh, listen to moody, cynical me.
Which is probably why I'm in a Nick Cave listening mood lately. And doing my best PJ Harvey. Come take him by his lily-white hands, come take him by his feet.
I've now worn my wool coat and scraped frost-- actual frost-- from my windshield two mornings in a row. I also wore non-khaki type pants today for the first time since wearing a suit during orientation. Woe. I'm not quite ready for it to be winter just yet. Though the summer was long and painfully hot (literally when sitting on seats that have baked in 105 degree heat all day), I feel like I missed something. Perhaps because fall has felt so short. Labor day came, but it was marked only by the closing of the complex's pool and the appearance of children waiting for buses in the morning. It remained unseasonably warm-- to me, anyway. True, I was born & bred a northerner and all, but it's not THAT far south of the Mason-Dixon line here. And then a few short weeks, not even a full month, of what I consider fall, and then BAM! We're into winter now.
Granted, this would be the beginning of the rainy season back home. November means perpetually leaden skies spitting icy rain that soaks through your hair and coat. It means trudging from a too-cold office to a coffee shop or noodle place with windows heavy with condensation to a tiny apartment where the radiator clanks and hisses all night while sleet ticks against the window. It's a fantastically cold and lonely time of year, even if you're paired up. Pairing up this time of year is really a desperate charade with the end game of keeping warm. Oooh, listen to moody, cynical me.
Which is probably why I'm in a Nick Cave listening mood lately. And doing my best PJ Harvey. Come take him by his lily-white hands, come take him by his feet.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
stinkbugs and sleepwalking
Some days I feel like I'm regressing. Not just when I notice how long my hair is getting again, or when I'm wearing black-ish nail polish (which is ostensibly chic-ish once more), or even when I noticed that I was wearing a plaid shirt and light wash jeans (maybe I'll be lost in the 90s again for Halloween this year!), but when I encounter a (EUCH!) cockroach mere days after my apartment was supposedly treated or (EUCH!) two* stinkbugs that snuck into my bedroom and I just want to assume the fetal position because I really DON'T WANT TO DEAL WITH IT, but I HAVE to because I'm an ADULT who lives ALONE and junk so there's NOBODY ELSE and I don't want to NOT KNOW where they are so I HAVE to take care of them IMMEDIATELY. So, euch.
*I'm not sure if they were two, or the same one I sucked up into the vacuum cleaner managed to escape and plot its deadly revenge upon me. The situations are equally disturbing.
Alright, now that I've mostly got that out of my system, can I tell you what a freaking weird week it's been? Not really, because that would be revealing far more detail on a blog about work and other sensitive matters. But I assure you, it's been a bizarre week. Not just a bizarre week, but a bizarre ass week. And when a week has earned the "ass" modifier, you know it has been quite a week indeed.
Of the things this week that I do feel at liberty to share with the (totally hypothetical) large audience (did I mention hypothetical? I know I can count my readers with one hand) that may potentially see this blog, I can share why I remembered why I don't really wear red lipstick. For one thing, I spent my day paranoid that I looked like a clown when it was fresh and that it looked gross and uneven when more than five minutes old. For another, it gets everywhere. By which I mean EVERYWHERE. Lame.
Also lame? The noises that woke me up at quarter to four this morning. Because then I couldn't get back to sleep and I sleepwalked (sleptwalk? sleptwalked?) through the day. Not a good way to go through the kind of day where you need to be on point with teeny details while everything seems fraught with delicate interpersonal relationships.
*I'm not sure if they were two, or the same one I sucked up into the vacuum cleaner managed to escape and plot its deadly revenge upon me. The situations are equally disturbing.
Alright, now that I've mostly got that out of my system, can I tell you what a freaking weird week it's been? Not really, because that would be revealing far more detail on a blog about work and other sensitive matters. But I assure you, it's been a bizarre week. Not just a bizarre week, but a bizarre ass week. And when a week has earned the "ass" modifier, you know it has been quite a week indeed.
Of the things this week that I do feel at liberty to share with the (totally hypothetical) large audience (did I mention hypothetical? I know I can count my readers with one hand) that may potentially see this blog, I can share why I remembered why I don't really wear red lipstick. For one thing, I spent my day paranoid that I looked like a clown when it was fresh and that it looked gross and uneven when more than five minutes old. For another, it gets everywhere. By which I mean EVERYWHERE. Lame.
Also lame? The noises that woke me up at quarter to four this morning. Because then I couldn't get back to sleep and I sleepwalked (sleptwalk? sleptwalked?) through the day. Not a good way to go through the kind of day where you need to be on point with teeny details while everything seems fraught with delicate interpersonal relationships.
Monday, October 11, 2010
insert clever title here
Because I am a (allegedly) lazy ass federal employee sucking at the teat of the taxpayer-- though I am most assuredly also a taxpayer, so I'm still trying to figure that out-- I'm home today. Though I have a lot of things to do, and I'm severely sleep deprived. So whilst I await my laundry-- and I assure you, it's not nearly all of the laundry I have to do, just the laundry that I needed to get done so that I don't have to rewear more clothes-- I finally downloaded pictures from my camera so I can start posting to Flickr again. I mean, I paid for the Pro status so I'd better use it.
The problem with slightly older pictures for someone in my position (that is, a recent transplant) is that they make you homesick. I saw a very large (Orthodox) Jewish extended family in Target yesterday-- and was immediately pierced with longing for my crappy but homey apartment and all of Squirrel Hill. All of the east end. I miss the 61C (the cafe, but I kind of miss the bus too now that I don't use public transportation daily) and having that kind of cozy hangout open until late. I miss stir fry with rice cakes from Rose Tea and dropping by the Sq. Hill CLP branch. I miss happy hours at Kelly's and Big Azz margaritas from Mad Mex, and not being surrounded by tacky purple.
The problem with slightly older pictures for someone in my position (that is, a recent transplant) is that they make you homesick. I saw a very large (Orthodox) Jewish extended family in Target yesterday-- and was immediately pierced with longing for my crappy but homey apartment and all of Squirrel Hill. All of the east end. I miss the 61C (the cafe, but I kind of miss the bus too now that I don't use public transportation daily) and having that kind of cozy hangout open until late. I miss stir fry with rice cakes from Rose Tea and dropping by the Sq. Hill CLP branch. I miss happy hours at Kelly's and Big Azz margaritas from Mad Mex, and not being surrounded by tacky purple.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
If you ain't a Steelers fan, you ain't...
I found a Steelers bar. It's an, er, unusual gathering place-- a budget hotel bar. I suppose that it's easier that way. No "regular" clientèle that might be offended by the notion of STEELERS FANS? IN MY BAR? (complete the meme: it's more common than you think!). And the bar is happy to take money they probably wouldn't be taking in otherwise. So I watched the game with about 200 of my new best friends. We had the Steelers Polka. There were Terrible Towels. Easily 85% of the people wore jerseys. We didn't have any of the fine products brewed by Penn Brewery (truly Pittsburgh beer!), but there was Yuengling (an adequate substitute). There were no seats if you arrived after 11. Best of all, there was a Steelers win despite playing the dreaded OldOilers and being 5.5 point underdogs and all of the injuries in the game.
Which is good. I needed a good Sunday, because I know this week is going to be a challenge. My consolation is that next week at this time I'll be down the Banks.
Which is good. I needed a good Sunday, because I know this week is going to be a challenge. My consolation is that next week at this time I'll be down the Banks.
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, August 9, 2010
come sail your ships around me
Fixing up jewelry and listening to Nick Cave. I have such a thrilling life, I know. On the plus side, maybe this'll finally drive Weezer out of my head once and for all.
Then again... maybe he's not the best thing to listen to when you've got other things running through your head. So here is a picture of a cute frog.
Then again... maybe he's not the best thing to listen to when you've got other things running through your head. So here is a picture of a cute frog.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Panic time
Down to under 72 hours until moving day. There's so much to do in so little time, and everything I do eats up s o m u c h t i m e. Just dropping off NuJeep at the dealer for minor work (Jeepzilla has finally reached the end of its run with me-- at 215,510 miles and damn I wish I'd driven just two more miles before deciding to take NuJeep-- and there is NuJeep which is basically Jeepzilla but silvery grey, 5 years younger, and with 143,000 fewer miles. Oh, and with air conditioning) took two and a half hours out of my day. Printing & faxing papers took another hour plus. Hell, it took three and a half hours at the dealer's Saturday, another two hours to pick up la mère's gift from my brother, probably four or five hours shopping for car insurance (plus another hour and a half to actually buy it after comparing the coverage with les parents).
Of course I'm panicking. Because on top of that, every stupid little thing that can go wrong has. NuJeep's tachometer mysterious dropped to zero while on 76 in Ohio and again while trying to go through a green light. Instead of getting it back today, I'll probably get it back tomorrow (in the meantime, I have a convertible loaner-- on a rainy day, natch). I can't find anything-- and I mean anything in my apartment. And believe you me, there is little more difficult than trying to pack in a studio apartment of a certain size. Where do you put the boxes? Frankly, I just want to toss out so much stuff just to avoid having to deal with it. Clothes, plastic food containers, you name it. I've had the misfortune of discovering such a severe moth infestation that I had to toss most of my not inconsiderable fiber and yarn stash (basically, anything not cotton or synthetic-- and I hate synthetics and knitting with cotton). There was simply too much damage and not enough time or space to try to treat the problem. And yes, it is exquisitely heart-wrenching. I will never, ever accept an unprocessed fleece unless I have an outdoor chest freezer where I can debug it.
My poor cats have born the brunt of my flipping out. Dashing away while I pull my hair out, trying to find the brand new scotch brite pads I JUST SAW, then curling by my feet when I need to just stop for a moment-- I'm really lucky to have these monsters. I'm dreading how they will react to the move, but I hope that they appreciate how much space they're about to have.
I think I need to listen to some angry, energizing music.
Of course I'm panicking. Because on top of that, every stupid little thing that can go wrong has. NuJeep's tachometer mysterious dropped to zero while on 76 in Ohio and again while trying to go through a green light. Instead of getting it back today, I'll probably get it back tomorrow (in the meantime, I have a convertible loaner-- on a rainy day, natch). I can't find anything-- and I mean anything in my apartment. And believe you me, there is little more difficult than trying to pack in a studio apartment of a certain size. Where do you put the boxes? Frankly, I just want to toss out so much stuff just to avoid having to deal with it. Clothes, plastic food containers, you name it. I've had the misfortune of discovering such a severe moth infestation that I had to toss most of my not inconsiderable fiber and yarn stash (basically, anything not cotton or synthetic-- and I hate synthetics and knitting with cotton). There was simply too much damage and not enough time or space to try to treat the problem. And yes, it is exquisitely heart-wrenching. I will never, ever accept an unprocessed fleece unless I have an outdoor chest freezer where I can debug it.
My poor cats have born the brunt of my flipping out. Dashing away while I pull my hair out, trying to find the brand new scotch brite pads I JUST SAW, then curling by my feet when I need to just stop for a moment-- I'm really lucky to have these monsters. I'm dreading how they will react to the move, but I hope that they appreciate how much space they're about to have.
I think I need to listen to some angry, energizing music.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
My last week
I returned my last library items and counted out my piggy bank's contents ($40.93 in spare change-- not bad considering that I constantly raided it for quarters for meters, the laundromat, the pop machine at school). Phone and DSL are a go at the new apartment (no tv service just yet-- it's a long story involving an hour on chat with a rep and ineligibility for Comcast phone service and being forced to pay $50+ more a month for tv and internet access than I would for the same exact services plus the phone I can't have hooked up).
Still so much packing to do. I feel like I've packed s o m u c h, but there's always more. I need to do a serious weeding of my closet's contents. And donate all this canned stuff to the food pantry, and give away the opened-but-still-useful stuff. Assuming anyone wants it, that is, which nobody does. I hate the waste that comes with moving.
Still so much packing to do. I feel like I've packed s o m u c h, but there's always more. I need to do a serious weeding of my closet's contents. And donate all this canned stuff to the food pantry, and give away the opened-but-still-useful stuff. Assuming anyone wants it, that is, which nobody does. I hate the waste that comes with moving.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
hot & humid weather makes me irritable
Why did we have to spring forward to August? Yuck.
The disembodied floating head of Andrew Carnegie for the Arts Festival is funny, but sort of cements the idea that you can be a right mean bastard with gallons of blood on your hands for your entire life, but the donation of a few million here and there will turn you into a kindly old uncle. I mean, the man had shared responsibility in the Johnstown Flood (over 2,200 killed and still one of the largest disasters in US history) and dumped the Homestead Strike in Frick's lap before hiding out in Scotland-- plus he played an active role in the subsequent subjugation of immigrants fresh off the boat. But it's all good. You can buy your way to a polished legacy and a teddy bear image with a few libraries and music halls (though no funds for their continuation) and such.
Speaking of libraries.... I tend to not want to do things that are overhyped. Like, I have no desire to watch Firefly/ Serenity, Avatar, Lost, or many of the things I quote-unquote should obsess over based on my demographic. I'll take a look at things in my own time, thank you very much. But with time to kill, I picked up The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen from the library (while picking up BPRD 1946). And... I'm done with Alan Moore. Watchmen was decent, but League magnified the sexism issues I had with Watchmen into artful misogyny and I can not tolerate that. The Hellboy universe is an Eden of feminism compared to everything I've read from Moore, and Hellboy is decidedly non-political or partisan (well, except for being anti-Nazi-- but who isn't?). A+ for conceit, F- for execution.
Speaking of execution, the problem with recently watching Death Race-- which is admittedly big and dumb and surprisingly entertaining, though not nearly as hilarious as its predecessor-- is that when I'm on the parkway and already feel like most of the other drivers are out to kill me, I really think it would be awesome to have a cow catcher and anti-tank missiles on jeepzilla. I think jeepzilla would like it, too.
DamnCat is still afraid that the new covered litter box is a carrier. She's FINALLY out for short stretches after hiding for about 35 hours. I managed to get her new collar-- with SKULLS!-- on her by touch when she was in the closet, but she's a little... edgy at present. Poor baby.
I am so going to miss Pittsburgh real estate prices. Assuming that my two years turn into permanent, houses in the area-- and we're talking moderate houses further out from the city core, where prices should be lower-- are still about 1.5-2.5x what you'd pay for comparable housing in the Pittsburgh area. Yikes.
The disembodied floating head of Andrew Carnegie for the Arts Festival is funny, but sort of cements the idea that you can be a right mean bastard with gallons of blood on your hands for your entire life, but the donation of a few million here and there will turn you into a kindly old uncle. I mean, the man had shared responsibility in the Johnstown Flood (over 2,200 killed and still one of the largest disasters in US history) and dumped the Homestead Strike in Frick's lap before hiding out in Scotland-- plus he played an active role in the subsequent subjugation of immigrants fresh off the boat. But it's all good. You can buy your way to a polished legacy and a teddy bear image with a few libraries and music halls (though no funds for their continuation) and such.
Speaking of libraries.... I tend to not want to do things that are overhyped. Like, I have no desire to watch Firefly/ Serenity, Avatar, Lost, or many of the things I quote-unquote should obsess over based on my demographic. I'll take a look at things in my own time, thank you very much. But with time to kill, I picked up The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen from the library (while picking up BPRD 1946). And... I'm done with Alan Moore. Watchmen was decent, but League magnified the sexism issues I had with Watchmen into artful misogyny and I can not tolerate that. The Hellboy universe is an Eden of feminism compared to everything I've read from Moore, and Hellboy is decidedly non-political or partisan (well, except for being anti-Nazi-- but who isn't?). A+ for conceit, F- for execution.
Speaking of execution, the problem with recently watching Death Race-- which is admittedly big and dumb and surprisingly entertaining, though not nearly as hilarious as its predecessor-- is that when I'm on the parkway and already feel like most of the other drivers are out to kill me, I really think it would be awesome to have a cow catcher and anti-tank missiles on jeepzilla. I think jeepzilla would like it, too.
DamnCat is still afraid that the new covered litter box is a carrier. She's FINALLY out for short stretches after hiding for about 35 hours. I managed to get her new collar-- with SKULLS!-- on her by touch when she was in the closet, but she's a little... edgy at present. Poor baby.
I am so going to miss Pittsburgh real estate prices. Assuming that my two years turn into permanent, houses in the area-- and we're talking moderate houses further out from the city core, where prices should be lower-- are still about 1.5-2.5x what you'd pay for comparable housing in the Pittsburgh area. Yikes.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Mole day (alternate; unobserved)
It's been exactly one month since graduation, and exactly one month until I take possession of my new place. Still feeling a bit unreal-- though that could be the drugs talking. My family shares a little too much sometimes. This time it's a narsty chest cold. There's little more irritating than a cold in the summer time, especially when you have pre-existing feelings of unreality exaggerated by decongestant.
I'm kind of over this sudden sprint into August weather. I despise the hot and humid, and it's been pretty much all hot, all humid all the time for the past month. On the plus side, we're starting to get majestic thunderstorms. Yay!
Speaking of happy, I've got a bloom.
And the dendrobium keiki continues to develop.
Did I mention that I got an avocado pit to sprout? I didn't have activated charcoal for an aquarium, so it's horticultural charcoal keeping the water a little fresher.
My shower window really is a happy place for the plants. I'm going to have a hard time replicating these conditions.
I'm kind of over this sudden sprint into August weather. I despise the hot and humid, and it's been pretty much all hot, all humid all the time for the past month. On the plus side, we're starting to get majestic thunderstorms. Yay!
Speaking of happy, I've got a bloom.
And the dendrobium keiki continues to develop.
Did I mention that I got an avocado pit to sprout? I didn't have activated charcoal for an aquarium, so it's horticultural charcoal keeping the water a little fresher.
My shower window really is a happy place for the plants. I'm going to have a hard time replicating these conditions.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
counting the days
I had a King family reading fest-- Under the Dome and Horns. Dome was not great, but far better than most of SK's recent stuff. Horns was even better than Heart Shaped Box. There are little bits in Dome where you can so tell that SK has had a corgi (one of the main characters has one). It's really funny, though you might have to have one to really appreciate it.
Bleh. I'm so bored, waiting around to hear whether anyone wants me to do anything for a month. I've put in with several temp agencies and volunteer inquiries to see if I can give these few weeks some shape. I'm not used to this.
I'm also kind of tired of feeling like those closest to me don't exactly respect my career choices. I consider myself fairly moderate (except when it comes to social issues), but that still puts me pretty far to the left of most of my family. Guess that's what happens when you actually listened when the nuns talked about the original dirty hippie. Anyway, I chose to study public health/ health policy and now I'm choosing to work for the feds in a pretty important, pretty big agency. Which is like, the antithesis of conservatism on the face of it. Public health is all about pragmatic liberalism. And wanting to work for the feds automatically makes me a pencil-pushing bureaucrat worthy of withering contempt. It kind of sucks when the congratulations are tempered with the suspicion that they think I'm an idiot.
Let's think about something happy now. Ducks?
see more Lolcats and funny pictures
It's funny because I did have ducky minions once. They were so excited by crackers that they followed me around and even allowed me to pet them.
Bleh. I'm so bored, waiting around to hear whether anyone wants me to do anything for a month. I've put in with several temp agencies and volunteer inquiries to see if I can give these few weeks some shape. I'm not used to this.
I'm also kind of tired of feeling like those closest to me don't exactly respect my career choices. I consider myself fairly moderate (except when it comes to social issues), but that still puts me pretty far to the left of most of my family. Guess that's what happens when you actually listened when the nuns talked about the original dirty hippie. Anyway, I chose to study public health/ health policy and now I'm choosing to work for the feds in a pretty important, pretty big agency. Which is like, the antithesis of conservatism on the face of it. Public health is all about pragmatic liberalism. And wanting to work for the feds automatically makes me a pencil-pushing bureaucrat worthy of withering contempt. It kind of sucks when the congratulations are tempered with the suspicion that they think I'm an idiot.
Let's think about something happy now. Ducks?
see more Lolcats and funny pictures
It's funny because I did have ducky minions once. They were so excited by crackers that they followed me around and even allowed me to pet them.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
oh, bother.
I'm effectively done.
BUT.
(there's always a but)
But for the signature of my second reader, who said she was ready to sign off on things three weeks ago (but I had to wait for #1 to find my work at least acceptable, and that's been a painful ongoing draahhhmmaaaa), and is now MIA. As in, not replying to VM or email or physically in her office when I drop by (which is hard to do, given that her office is in a corner near the top of the Cathedral and there's really nowhere to hang out in case she comes by-- assuming that she hasn't run off to Mallorca or somewhere, which would just be the freaking cherry on the sundae that's been this semester).
Loverly.
I am effectively finished, though my mind is still racing and my body is still in ultra-stress mode thanks to several weeks of irregular sleep and grabbing whatever crap is handy to eat. My apartment is in shambles and utterly disgusting-- I can't find a thing and my refrigerator is a mix of spoiled/ rancid and condiments. I just love the end of the semester.
BUT.
(there's always a but)
But for the signature of my second reader, who said she was ready to sign off on things three weeks ago (but I had to wait for #1 to find my work at least acceptable, and that's been a painful ongoing draahhhmmaaaa), and is now MIA. As in, not replying to VM or email or physically in her office when I drop by (which is hard to do, given that her office is in a corner near the top of the Cathedral and there's really nowhere to hang out in case she comes by-- assuming that she hasn't run off to Mallorca or somewhere, which would just be the freaking cherry on the sundae that's been this semester).
Loverly.
I am effectively finished, though my mind is still racing and my body is still in ultra-stress mode thanks to several weeks of irregular sleep and grabbing whatever crap is handy to eat. My apartment is in shambles and utterly disgusting-- I can't find a thing and my refrigerator is a mix of spoiled/ rancid and condiments. I just love the end of the semester.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Others may not see things the way you do
Obvious horoscope is obvious. I don't know why I have mine on my Google home, but there it is-- providing wildly broad and inaccurate advice for entertainment value only. I guess I'm entertained enough to quote from it for post titles.
I have corrupted files that I need to recreate for work, but the sheer volume and frustration somehow diminishes my desire to even look at them anymore. One reader sent a lovely note that she likes my masters essaythesisthingummy-- but she hasn't read it read it, and I'm waiting to hear from the other with breath that would be bated if I could draw any because I'm too tense to breathe. There's the phone interview, and I'm still congested and coughy despite good old mucinex and wrapping up my z-pack last week. I have yet another followup for my eye this week, where I'd better hear that it looks completely healed. My final final is Thursday, and I have the work to wrap for that. It's weird-- my last class is done, my last final and homework will be done this week. Such a weird, stressful feeling. I'd better file my paperwork for COBRA coverage this week, though I don't know how I'm going to pay for it without a job. Or my rent. Cashing in my retirement account had to go back to the beginning, thanks to missing paperwork. Is it any wonder that I'm a ball of nerves? I forsee an antixylotic or a highball in my future, and it's still morning.
Sigh. Think about happy things. Lovely orchids living in the shower window. Two adorable cats that vie for attention. A pretty necklace that turned out fairly well (needs a few tweaks, but the basic concept is solid-- multistranded mixed green, blue, and silver beads, with wire wrapped sea glass and a silver ball charm pendants). Minor indulgences: my new piggybank to replace the cheap vase that used to hold my change and crazy looking shoes that really do seem to improve my posture and are oddly comfortable for walking distances even though I seem to walk slower. 90s nostalgia dominating the radio every time I get in jeepzilla. My brother calling me at 6:30 in the morning to tell me I was right (granted, it was that the Steelers would get rid of Santonio Holmes, but still).
I have corrupted files that I need to recreate for work, but the sheer volume and frustration somehow diminishes my desire to even look at them anymore. One reader sent a lovely note that she likes my masters essaythesisthingummy-- but she hasn't read it read it, and I'm waiting to hear from the other with breath that would be bated if I could draw any because I'm too tense to breathe. There's the phone interview, and I'm still congested and coughy despite good old mucinex and wrapping up my z-pack last week. I have yet another followup for my eye this week, where I'd better hear that it looks completely healed. My final final is Thursday, and I have the work to wrap for that. It's weird-- my last class is done, my last final and homework will be done this week. Such a weird, stressful feeling. I'd better file my paperwork for COBRA coverage this week, though I don't know how I'm going to pay for it without a job. Or my rent. Cashing in my retirement account had to go back to the beginning, thanks to missing paperwork. Is it any wonder that I'm a ball of nerves? I forsee an antixylotic or a highball in my future, and it's still morning.
Sigh. Think about happy things. Lovely orchids living in the shower window. Two adorable cats that vie for attention. A pretty necklace that turned out fairly well (needs a few tweaks, but the basic concept is solid-- multistranded mixed green, blue, and silver beads, with wire wrapped sea glass and a silver ball charm pendants). Minor indulgences: my new piggybank to replace the cheap vase that used to hold my change and crazy looking shoes that really do seem to improve my posture and are oddly comfortable for walking distances even though I seem to walk slower. 90s nostalgia dominating the radio every time I get in jeepzilla. My brother calling me at 6:30 in the morning to tell me I was right (granted, it was that the Steelers would get rid of Santonio Holmes, but still).
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Patience is your best strategy for now.
- Today's horoscope is ironic, as I am so on edge that my patience is practically non-existent. Hence my flipping off half the people on the road yesterday, despite being in a relatively good mood after the fantastically atrocious ball of Velveeta called Damn The Gods! Or Titans Will Clash! Or Clash of the Titans. Whatever. There was clashing. There was some mention of Titans. However, Titans proper did not actually clash, but as Titans also failed to clash in the original (of which I am also inordinately fond) that is ultimately immaterial to my enjoyment of the sheer spectacle of BAD. I could just see the screenwriters telling Bullfinch he's got a purty mouth, because it did truly awful things to Greek mythology-- even worse than the original! And it was fabulous. It was that rare treat of a film that is so thoroughly awful that it's entertaining from start to finish. Seriously, I want to see this again and again.
- I was very confused when I took a nap the other day and woke up to a radical weather shift. Perhaps that is why the brats have been acting out on an epic scale. Books flying off the shelves, garbage cans knocked over, broken vases, the works. The citrus grove came in & now I think it's safe to go back out. Springtime in Pittsburgh.
- Jude Thaddeus: patron saint of desperate cases, hopeless situations, lost causes... and my family. Unofficially. I won't pretend that my family, in any of its various ancestral branches, was ever anything other than peasants scratching out a living in the old country; ergo, no faux coat of arms or patrons for us. At any rate, I grew up with my mom constantly invoking Jude through all of the crazy stuff that happened as a kid-- hence my doing so now. In order of increasing importance, I have a non-trivial amount of work to finish and an interview to prep for, plus the question of whether my essay will be accepted in time for graduation. Losing a significant amount of time to sight loss and such did not help. Hence turning to the patron of desperate cases.
- Along those lines, I'm turning to aromatherapy and other stress control measures. Sandalwood and lavender spray for my bed, sandalwood and such in my perfume. In a fit of fleeting madness a few weeks back, I bought two bottles from BPAL via Amazon: Shub-Niggurath ("A blend of ritual herbs and dark resins, shot through with three gingers and aphrodisiacal spices") and Mouse's Long and Sad Tale ("Vanilla, two ambers, sweet pea and white sandalwood"). I like them both, but Shub-Niggurath seems to be causing a bit of irritation and so I've been wearing the sandalwood-laced Mouse. Of course, there were a bundle of samples, of which one reminded me disturbingly of an ex's aftershave (I raced to scrub it off), some of which were meh or too foody smelling. But I especially liked Death Cap. And I'm amused by wearing perfume called Death Cap.
- Speaking of beauty and cosmetic issues, hopefully my eye will be declared healed this week and I can resume contacts and eye make-up (both of which have been verboten the past three weeks and change now). The catch? I'm so mercurial when it comes to eye makeup. My eyes are my single best feature, so I do play them up. And I have no idea which mascara, eyeliner, eye shadow, etc I used in the days leading up to my symptoms. I use drugstore mascara and liner (along with drugstore lipsticks and foundation), so that's a bit pricey but not the end of the world if I have to toss a couple of $6 mascaras and $8 eye liners. But my Urban Decay primer potion and eye shadow palettes are a completely different matter. Those were investments on my tiny student budget, and relatively new to boot. I really don't want to have to toss out a small fortune in eye cosmetics. Woe, indeed.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
I want to run/ I want to hide
Some days you just need to run away. Today was one of those days. I spent the morning hiking through the park conveniently between myself and the blood drive where I needed to go (I couldn't donate anyway this time because I'm still on antibiotics-- I just blew off the appointment because Schenley was gorgeous and Phipps called out for me to stop by), then driving out into the country. It was a good day to ramble. The radio cooperated, with lots of 90s/ early 00s (I haven't listened to Dirty Vegas in ages!) and oldies to accompany with my crappy voice. Poor jeepzilla is not happy that it's 80-something. Poor jeepzilla needs a radiator. But still it goes, and every time I arrive safe and sound I pat the dash. That'll do, jeep. That'll do.
Yes, really. Or "Good job jeep."
Now I'm exhausted. Full of grilled chicken and the most delicious fresh asparagus (nice and thin, very tender) and home again with DamnCat and FatCat, both of which are acting out because TheHuman had the temerity to leave them alone. Heaven forfend! DamnCat is actually half on the chair, half on top of my backpack, and glaring at me for daring to not throw myself at her tiny paws in supplication. FatCat just demolished the fourth out of the six drawers in my dresser. Can kids be any worse than the brats (who are now SociopathCat and NutjobCat)?
Kids. Yeah, I guess once I graduate... and get a job... maybe then I'll dip another toe into the dating pool. We'll see. I'm tired of guys who lie, guys who use you to work out their issues from their exes, guys who use you to cheat on their alleged exes, guys who are intimidated by my education, guys who feel hopelessly emasculated when they see jeepzilla is about five times as big as their vehicle, short guys with Napoleon complexes, non-drinkers that suggest meeting up at brewhouses, guys who drink out of flasks, guys who think that rolling chicken in Cheez-it crumbs is the height of culinary sophistication, guys who yell at you on a first date (then wonder why their "debating" doesn't get you hot), guys who literally do not own more than five books-- including the manual for their computer, guys who cannot accept any disagreement (even a preference for tea over coffee), guys who tell me that I'm a terrible Catholic-- not for supporting gay marriage or being pro-choice, mind you, but for thinking there should be female and married priests. Really, I know I'm far from perfect, but can you blame me for being just so tired of it all?
Sometimes I wonder what might have been, were certain things a little different. If only I had been single when I met that one person, or if this or that didn't happen. I think we all do that kind of thing. There's one in particular... but it doesn't matter. Years too late now. I hope that they're happy, but I refuse to give in to temptation and google them or look them up on Facebook to find out. Besides, I am, as La Mère has observed, disturbingly independent. I do not need a boyfriend or spouse to make me whole and happy. If anything, being attached held me back in the past. Someday, I'll meet someone who reads as much as I do and can obsessively follows the NFL, with a diverse palate and an appreciation of cult film-- who also lets me pick the music we listen to in the car half of the time. I've realized that radio/ music hogs are a major peeve. But I'm hardly suffering for want of a significant other.
Ah well. I am so very tired, but there are miles to go before I sleep.
Yes, really. Or "Good job jeep."
Now I'm exhausted. Full of grilled chicken and the most delicious fresh asparagus (nice and thin, very tender) and home again with DamnCat and FatCat, both of which are acting out because TheHuman had the temerity to leave them alone. Heaven forfend! DamnCat is actually half on the chair, half on top of my backpack, and glaring at me for daring to not throw myself at her tiny paws in supplication. FatCat just demolished the fourth out of the six drawers in my dresser. Can kids be any worse than the brats (who are now SociopathCat and NutjobCat)?
Kids. Yeah, I guess once I graduate... and get a job... maybe then I'll dip another toe into the dating pool. We'll see. I'm tired of guys who lie, guys who use you to work out their issues from their exes, guys who use you to cheat on their alleged exes, guys who are intimidated by my education, guys who feel hopelessly emasculated when they see jeepzilla is about five times as big as their vehicle, short guys with Napoleon complexes, non-drinkers that suggest meeting up at brewhouses, guys who drink out of flasks, guys who think that rolling chicken in Cheez-it crumbs is the height of culinary sophistication, guys who yell at you on a first date (then wonder why their "debating" doesn't get you hot), guys who literally do not own more than five books-- including the manual for their computer, guys who cannot accept any disagreement (even a preference for tea over coffee), guys who tell me that I'm a terrible Catholic-- not for supporting gay marriage or being pro-choice, mind you, but for thinking there should be female and married priests. Really, I know I'm far from perfect, but can you blame me for being just so tired of it all?
Sometimes I wonder what might have been, were certain things a little different. If only I had been single when I met that one person, or if this or that didn't happen. I think we all do that kind of thing. There's one in particular... but it doesn't matter. Years too late now. I hope that they're happy, but I refuse to give in to temptation and google them or look them up on Facebook to find out. Besides, I am, as La Mère has observed, disturbingly independent. I do not need a boyfriend or spouse to make me whole and happy. If anything, being attached held me back in the past. Someday, I'll meet someone who reads as much as I do and can obsessively follows the NFL, with a diverse palate and an appreciation of cult film-- who also lets me pick the music we listen to in the car half of the time. I've realized that radio/ music hogs are a major peeve. But I'm hardly suffering for want of a significant other.
Ah well. I am so very tired, but there are miles to go before I sleep.
Monday, March 29, 2010
have you seen the ether bunny?
Behold the Ether Bunny and tremble.
Nothing like a little chemistry humor. Chemists as a class have a unique appreciation for awful jokes, especially visual puns. I haven't lost mine.
On a more serious note, I'm just not feeling Easter this year. I got a Leemar pysanky kit with the full intention of making a few. It sits unopened on a shelf. Last year, I got fed up with my family's noncommittal attitude. I went ahead and bought a ham and kielbassi and baked the paska and nut rolls out of frustration (if the majority of the food was there, there was little "work" for them to complain about). This year, I don't know. It's been a shitty school year, a shitty year so far, and a really shitty month. A spiritual holiday might under other circumstances be a nice opportunity for reflection and all that good stuff. But I'm just not feeling it. I'm too irritated with the Church as an institution to use it as a place of reflection, too frustrated with the parade of bullshit that has characterized my life since last August, too worried about my bad eye's seeming inability to focus at the present time. I'm just not feeling Easter-y or church-y or holiday-y or celebratory-y, you know? It's kind of pathetic. Easter was usually one of my favorite holidays.
Nothing like a little chemistry humor. Chemists as a class have a unique appreciation for awful jokes, especially visual puns. I haven't lost mine.
On a more serious note, I'm just not feeling Easter this year. I got a Leemar pysanky kit with the full intention of making a few. It sits unopened on a shelf. Last year, I got fed up with my family's noncommittal attitude. I went ahead and bought a ham and kielbassi and baked the paska and nut rolls out of frustration (if the majority of the food was there, there was little "work" for them to complain about). This year, I don't know. It's been a shitty school year, a shitty year so far, and a really shitty month. A spiritual holiday might under other circumstances be a nice opportunity for reflection and all that good stuff. But I'm just not feeling it. I'm too irritated with the Church as an institution to use it as a place of reflection, too frustrated with the parade of bullshit that has characterized my life since last August, too worried about my bad eye's seeming inability to focus at the present time. I'm just not feeling Easter-y or church-y or holiday-y or celebratory-y, you know? It's kind of pathetic. Easter was usually one of my favorite holidays.
Friday, March 26, 2010
enough!
Now Biscuit the WunderCorgi is very, very sick. I swear, this has been one of the absolute worst semesters ever. It's just one thing after another, a never ending parade of CRAP distracting from school and job hunting. Enough already! If I didn't know better, I'd swear that I ran over an old gypsy woman or something. Or that I've broken about a hundred mirrors while spilling salt and passing under a ladder. Enough already!
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