the morning after

It's the morning after Christmas. And the only people who should be out early are the bargain shoppers. (There were about 100 in line this morning at MicroCenter this morning. My guess is that they made a mad dash for the 47-inch HDTVs, which were priced at $799.99 for a mere 25 minutes.)

It's the morning after Christmas. And I am at work. I'm one of the few in the office today. My bosses are gone. My actual tasks are few. And despite trying to dawdle as much as possible, I arrived at work early. Sigh.

oh where, oh where...

...has my favorite Sharpie gone?

I can't find my Sharpie. Have you seen it?

why don't you just shine already?

My brain is stalled. I have three partially written posts with no endings. My mind is full of incomplete thoughts. As soon as I think them, I hit a wall and investigation stops.

I'm in a place before the beginning of something. I sense change and movement. I suspect, but I cannot see. I'm in darkness, waiting for the sun to rise. Only then may I choose my path.

The hard part is the waiting. I'm antsy. I don't want to stand still and wait. It's uncomfortable. It's trying. It stresses me out. I want to know now. I have an urge to start walking even though I lack the ability to see what lies before me.

What I really want is an aerial view. I want to see each path's start, middle and--most important--end.

The sun needs to wake up, because I can't sleep.

come celebrate!

My roomie and I are having a party this Friday at our apartment. And if you know us and know where we live, you're probably invited. Outsiders are welcome. Just give me a call before you extend the invite.

What we're celebrating:

• countingpigs! She's came in late this Saturday and leaving on Dec. 10 (which is her birthday)
• Birthdays! The list: my roomie, countingpigs, my roomie's boyfriend, kcprogrammer's sister, and AM (if you didn't happen to see her for her birthday) and anyone else who wants to claim a November/December birthday
• Pre-Christmas! Meaning my roomie and I may have put the Christmas tree up by then
• Cambodia! countingpigs and I will--I hope--have pictures and stories about our adventure in Cambodia
• Me! This will be a great chance to see me (and it's probably been awhile since you've been able to do that)
• Work! While not something to celebrate for most of us, I just heard that aulurienne got a promotion at one job (meaning that she may be able to quit her other job)
• Moving! With aulurienne and Big-Bold-D moving in above my roomie and me, I'm sure you'll all want to take a tour of a floor plan nearly identical to mine and a mirror of Big-Bold-D's old pad

We'll have:

• music (but feel free to bring your own--no Christmas music, please)
• food (cake and ice cream at the very least) you're more than welcome to complement it with your own selection of favorite snacks and drinks, especially if you want alcohol
• fun (board games, perhaps G-man trying to swallow a teaspoon of cinnamon) please bring any other entertainment that you'd like
• ample seating
• a hot heater
• a clean bathroom
• and hopefully pictures of the ancient temples of Angkor and of me looking like a terrorist waging a losing war against sunburn

neighbors again

Big-Bold-D and aulurienne are moving in above my roomie and me. I'm so excited to have them both as neighbors, again, but for the first time together.

Fall 1999 to spring 2000: aulurienne and another friend from high school take up residence in the dorm room across the hall and one down from me. My roomie transfers to KU and by luck ends up in the room directly across from me.

Fall 2000 to winter 2001: aulurienne and her roommate end up in the on-campus apartment that is across the hall--as well as next to--my apartment with my roomie.

Summer 2004 to summer 2006: Big-Bold-D and G-man take the the apartment across the hall from my roomie and me.

Winter 2006: Big-Bold-D and aulurienne move in to the apartment above!

I'm giddy. I get to have my friends near me once more. I was feeling the loss of friendship a little bit of late. I don't leave much room in my weekends for socializing these days. And after the boys moved out, my opportunities to visit them and their visitors evaporated. Friendships take work--work that I realize that I haven't been putting in my fair share of, and I'm feeling the effects of it. So, I'm happy for this new opportunity.

i'm back, i'm tired

Jet lag sucks. A day's worth of time in the air to get home ain't all that grand either.

But the trip itself was great. Being with countingpigs was great. The food was great.

The US Department of Agriculture wasn't great though when they took away my yummy treats. :(

I've copied all my pictures to my computer. My little lappy only has 1.5GB of space left on it. I'll need to do a bit of backup work.

I'll post them when I can. This week is going to be crazy.

Countingpigs will actually be coming into town next weekend. Her birthday is on the 10th. And I was out of the country for my roomie's birthday. So I'm thinking a party is needed. Maybe either next Sunday (because countingpigs gets in late on Saturday) or the Friday or Saturday after (she leaves the following Sunday).

Oh, and the Thanksgiving Day dinner with kcprogrammer's family and my family went well. He did a lot of work to prepare for it. I was quite impressed.

OK, must run. More later--hopefully with pictures

in two days

In two days I'll be on a plane home. I'll be happy to be home with my family for thanksgiving. I'll also be sad to be leaving this experience.

I'm not the type to move very far away. Chicago seems like a world away. So, if I can't think of moving to a city that's a mere two hours away by plane, I probably won't be packing up for a relocation to a foreign country any time soon. That said, I have the travel bug.

I love learning how other people live.
I love seeing the sunset behind oceans and seas.
I love listening to the song of an unknown language being hummed all around me.
I love tasting all the different foods.
I love taking pictures of the places I go.

I miss my life and the safety I find in being able to fall into set patterns of waking, working, eating, being.
I miss my people. I miss the security from hugs from my family. I miss the comfort from kcprogrammers hand interlaced with mine. I miss the insight that only my roomie can provide. I miss the connectedness of knowing the inside jokes that come from being a part of my friends' daily lives.
I miss my food. I love the food I've been eating these past two weeks, don't get me wrong. And I'm taking full advantage of the opportunity. But I'm really craving a bean burrito right now.
I miss my bed, my bathroom, my cell phone, my computer and all my comforts.
I miss my life, but I don't regret the decision to leave it for a time. My live is waiting. Two weeks is a short time that, when thinking of the life on hold, can feel like a long time. But most of my life will wait for me, almost as it was when I left.

And in two days I'll be back.

last night's dinner

Leftovers
Originally uploaded by theCallowQueen.

I'm in Singapore. The food is tasty and very different from my usual. Here, I often prefer to eat first and ask later.

I did know that these were frog legs, though, when I plopped them into my soup. They're kept alive in tanks like lobsters or in big plastic bags. This, of course, didn't really whet my appetite, but it didn't hold me back, either.

"It tastes like chicken," Countingpig's friend joked with me.

He's right. The meat from a frog's leg tastes very much like that from a chicken's. The texture is smoother though.

But onto one of my favorite meats: pork. The pork here is amazingly tasty. It's either they're using a different kind of pig or a different kind of flavoring--or both. For lunch it was steamed pork soup dumplings. For an after-dinner bite it was a crispy pastry filled with egg and pork floss. Floss is very tasty, but it's like hot dogs or Jell-O--you don't want to know how it's made or what parts of the animal are used in it.

Oh, and for dessert we had these fried pastries that, when dunked into the juice from our bean curd dessert, tastes very much like funnel cake. Yummy!

test

I'm playing with Blogger's new beta interface. It offers some new abilities at the price of losing many of my HTML and CSS tweaks. I need to figure out whether I can integrate them into the new template.

Oh, but look, I can tag my posts.

word of the day: concatenate

con·cat·e·nate tr.v. 1. To connect or link in a series or chain. 2. Computer Science To arrange (strings of characters) into a chained list.
adj. Connected or linked in a series.
I came upon the word twoard the end of an article I edited this morning. The sentence: A worldwide sports event earlier this year demonstrated the results of a poor concatenation of standards converters.

bottling time

It feels as if I have accomplished more in the last five hours than I usually get done in five days. I want to bottle that feeling of productivity. It's invigorating.

My freelance work has also given me a bit of a professional jump-start. I met with my newest client yesterday over lunch. They like my work. And their client list is growing, so there's potential for more projects to come my way. I have two parts to a long-term project to finish for them before I leave for Singapore.

Add in to this going to the gym and watching a bit TV to decompress with my roomie or with my boyfriend, and you have my life in a nutshell.

And if you're wondering if I've read your blog recently, I haven't. Thanks for reading mine though. (I'll catch up soon. I hope you all are well.)

lost and found

Lost starts up again this Wednesday. My roomie and I are reviving our Wednesday Lost-watching parties.

The show starts at 8 pm, but you're welcome before then. If you want to drop by before 6:30, call first.

A special this-Wednesday-only bonus: My roomie mentioned that her boy may be bringing over some food fixings.

Note to all: You're more than welcome to bring any food or drink items with you. It's great if you want to share. Be advised, we almost never have pop. We have water aplenty, though. We'll even throw in ice at no extra charge.

Note to Lost-haters: You're welcome to come by and socialize if you'd like. If you come over while the show is on, no Lost-hating comments.

Lost about lost? Those who want a quick summary, come at 7 pm. We've got last night's mega two-season recap on the DVR. (Yes, we have a DVR. I know, I'm still recovering from the shock. Sorry, no HD viewing abilities at this time. Maybe with my roomie's next promotion...)

ABC is supposed to show all new episodes for the next six or seven weeks. So, consider this a standing invitation for every Wednesday in October plus a few more into November. Hey, what else do you have to do on your Wednesday evenings?

So what happens if you miss a week? Come an hour early the next week; we'll probably be replaying the episode you missed. Oh, and we do take requests if the price is right.

And pass the word on. The more people we can bring into the cult of the Lost the better.

What's been keeping me busy
OK, so I know this blog has been a bit neglected. I'm busy. I'm tired. I miss my friends.

I'm on a triple deadline right now. US edition goes out today, world edition tomorrow and a supplement the day after.

My freelance work has also been keeping me busy. I've got a new client who likes my work and has passed a sizable project my way. I also had this interview with a custom communications group. I'll let you all know more when, well, I know more.

Things are good with me and the boy (because I know you all will ask if I don't say so). This Saturday will be one year. Now that's a crazy thought--a nice, but crazy thought. I kind of wanted to go to the restaurant where we had our first date. My roomie says that we could go there anytime and to make him spring for a nice meal at McCormick & Schmick's or some place like that. Tempting...

My Singapore trip is scheduled for the beginning of November. Now countingpigs wants me to pick the location of our trip (a week-long trip within my trip). I'm having a tough time deciding where we should go. If I could have a moment to pause in my busyness (and not be brain dead from exhaustion), I would be able to better show my excitement that this is finally working out.

OK, that's all the big stuff, I think. Have a happy Monday!

the debt-free dance

A letter sent to me last week stated:

DEBITS SUSPENDED

Huh? Further down:

Electronic debiting of your Direct Loan payment is being halted temporarily because we granted a deferment, forbearance, or other type of suspension of payments on your Direct Loan(s).

We will send you a Notice when the electronic debiting is to resume for your monthly payment.

Huh? So, I called.
I told the woman on the phone that my payments have been halted, but I hadn't asked for a deferment or forbearance or done anything else to halt repayment. Her reply: Yes, you have.

Huh? She explained: You paid off your loan.

WooHoo! I am debt free! It's kind of an odd thought in this day and age. I owe no one. I am not working to pay for my past. I'm free.

manuscript submission of the day

"I’d like to pique your interest in writing about IPDR - IP detail record-streaming protocol. It doesn't sound very sexy, but it is critical in the cable and telecom industries today."

First, um, sexy? Does this PR person understand this industry? Sexy really isn't a part of the equation.

Second, the redundant nature of "IP detail record-streaming protocol" is driving me nuts. The "P" in "IP" stands for Protocol, so Internet Protocol detail record-streaming protocol is just dumb. And I won't even venture to touch on the capitalization issues here.

I suggested to a fellow editor that it should be renamed as "Detail Record-streaming Internet Protocol," or "DRIP." (Drip also carries a double meaning: a tiresome, annoying person. Hmm. How fitting.)

I actually looked up what this protocol's proper name is: Internet Protocol Detail Record. So, the PR person at least got the acronym correct as IPDR. Still, I think there should be a petition to change it to DRIP.

editing quote of the day

"I suggest that shooting naked is not the best course of action..."

I rarely get to edit such exciting material — about the benefit of "dressing" the front of a camcorder lens with a filter. Next on my editing menu: directional antennas.

crack

I rock hit my windshield this morning on the way into work. It's not big, but it still wasn't the way I would have liked to start out my week.

When a house is tottering to its fall,
The strain lies heaviest on the weakest part,
One tiny crack throughout the structure spreads,
And its own weight soon brings it toppling down.
—Ovid

Cracks happen against your will. They happen in spite of your efforts to avoid them.

Words strain,
Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,
Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,
Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place,
Will not stay still.
—T.S. Eliot

Fissures suddenly spring up and can't be closed or mended. One is helpless watching the crack, willing it not to spread.

It ain’t no sin if you crack a few laws now and then, just so long as you don’t break any.
—Mae West

Leave it to Mae West to put life and it's flaws back into perspective.

strange news

ABC News: A Pregnant Man?

OK, you've got to read this. It's so bizarre.

Quote: Inside Bhagat's stomach was a strange, half-formed creature that had feet and hands that were very developed. Its fingernails were quite long.

Read more at www.abcnews.go.com/Prim...

off making money

Affluenza, my current book club book, is all about how our consumeristic culture is killing us. And how we believe making more money will make us happier but just makes us emptier.

I think many of us would agree with this. The Pope recently told us to chill out a bit and relax before we all became hard-hearted and spiritually stunted.

But that's easier said than done isn't it? We want what others have. We want what we think will improve our lives. And most of the things we've got to have cost money. So we work.

My roomie and I have recently decided to get a DVR because videotaping is too troublesome anymore, oh and while we're at it, we might as well upgrade to digital cable and add the internet. We haven't had the internet in five years. It's going to be tough going from a $12 bill to a $90 one. But we have to have it, right?

I can justify the internet. My freelance work is growing. I just got another job. And having the internet will simplify my work. So I'm working to pay for the internet, which I need to do my work. Hmm...

For the rest of the week, I'm going to push off the book and the Pope's recommendations. I have a magazine to get out and a rush-order freelance gig to get through before Friday. Maybe this time, maybe money will be able to buy me happiness.

Or maybe not. At least my weekend looks to be work-free. I might even have time to look for a affluenza remedy. Do you think I can find that with the flu and cold meds at CVS?

flickr time

Magazine play
Originally uploaded by theCallowQueen.

I finally posted new photos to Flickr. They're from my recent trip to Chicago. I'll put more up as time allows.

My dear friends and former co-workers on my faux magazine cover were able to attend the conference too, and they got to trot home with a stack of award plaques.

nibble, nibble, bite

I'm not hungry, but I have the desire to eat and eat and eat today. Sigh.

Twix, I hear you calling.

a royals evening

Kcprogrammer and I went with A&J to the Royals' game last night against the Red Sox. It was a good game. A ball hit by one of the Red Sox guys went flying straight toward us (AT and I ducked while the boys were eyeing the potential prize). Thankfully, it continued flying over our heads and out of the ballpark. The Royals won! And it was nice to spend some time with friends. (And I didn't get a sunburn!)

i want candy

It was one thing for my roomie to go on a super health kick. She's eating all this low-cal stuff, which I'm cool with (I like having good snack options), and going to the gym every freakin' day, which makes me feel a bit lazy and tired. But then last week, kcprogrammer kicked exercise and health eating into high gear as well.

The overall end result I'm good with. I don't eat out as much. I eat healthier foods. I'm motivated to go to the gym a bit more often so I don't feel like such a slug.

The problem: There's a sever lack of chocolate in my life. Yes, I could go to the store and buy candy bars to eat. But that requires, um, effort.

See, I'm not the grocery shopper in my household. My roomie may give me instructions to pick up and item or two on rare occasions, but she's the buyer. (This is due partly to my avoidance of the task, her preferred shopping time on the way home from work, and the fact that I don't think she trusts me to make the most cost-effective choices.)

And now no candy or dessert with kcprogrammer either. If he's going to indulge, he tends more towards pizza or BBQ than chocolate and ice cream.

The other day at the store (yes, I have been known to go into stores), I looked at the fat and calories in my favorite candy bars. The facts weren't good, I know, no surprise. But I was hoping that one, just one, of my preferred sweets might somehow slip into the not outrageous category. For more sad news, see CNN's Nutrition Comparison of Sweets.

In the words of my doctor, "If it tastes good, spit it out."

headaches

So that headache from Monday worsened. And the meds I was given to relieve the headache (since I'm not supposed to take ibuprofen any longer and Tylenol does nothing for me) turned out to be nothing but trouble, intensifying my upset stomach. A trip to the porcelain god was required before calling it quits for the day.

I went home still hoping to take a nap and then finish my day's work. That didn't happen. The throbbing continued in my head and the nausea came like waves. Thank you, to my very attentive roomie. I'm very lucky to have you.

I did feel well enough to venture back to work at 6a.m. to work for a few hours without the noise of co-workers or the glaring lights. I didn't accomplish as much as my managing editor would have liked. But she was, understandably stressed. My illness left her alone on the editorial staff to tackle two magazine deadlines and the day's ration of newsletters. I felt bad, but I would have felt even worse if I had stayed. I simply could not look at my computer screen for an instant longer.

My boss, who has less to do with production and didn't know of the stress my managing editor was under, was surprised and impressed with my dedication. He even asked me if he could get me anything from downstairs. (OK, most of you would not be impressed by this, but if you knew what a reclusive type my boss is, you'd be impressed.)

I went home a bit after 9a.m. to spend a second day nursing my headache. I tried to nap. I grew restless. And then last night, I couldn't sleep at all. I tossed and turned and woke a bit grumpy and with aches in my back.

So, after two days of resting to nurse a headache, I'm more tired than when I began.

asleep at the keyboard

I'm working in a fog this morning. I have my multitude of tasks vying for attention in my brain.
"Me next!"
"No, me first!"
"Don't do that!"
"I'm the priority"

And I have a headache.

I haven't read any blogs in weeks. Bloglines is showing that I have 1549 unread posts.

I have two 800-word articles to write that are past due. I was given a short deadline; they're not for my magazine, I'm not getting paid for them, and I haven't written anything that substantial in a long time. Yes, I'm procrastinating.

On Sunday kcprogrammer came with me to help my paternal grandmother move into her new place. We began at 7a.m. and had moved two loads in an hour and a half. But the work wasn't over. We then went to my maternal grandmother's house to assist my mom in sorting through the last of the items and putting them into a U-Haul truck bound for a storage unit. Kcprogrammer got an excellent chance to see how the two sides of my family operate very differently.

I don't know how it happened but the sale of both houses is today.

That's it from me for now. Toodles.

back and busy

I'm back from the Windy City. Had a great time. And most of my favorite magazine friends were there in all of their award-winning glory.

My bed was ridiculously hard. I mean really hard. So hard that it wasn't just me complaining. One person was moved to a different room and wasn't charged for his uncomfortable night. Others just complained. For me in the end, they put a thick feather bed down, and with six pillows around me, I was able to sleep just fine.

On Saturday night I got an amazing chance to see Cirque du Soleil's Corteo. It was one of the best performances that I have ever seen. It had a story line that I think I almost was able to understand. And that's only because they threw in a bit of English. OK, I just read a little more about the story line for Corteo. I need to downgrade my estimation of how much I understood. I got the funeral part and the procession. But I completely didn't catch on that he was a clown!

time flies

I leave for Chicago in two days. There is so much to get done before then. I have a running mental list (and am sure to forget half of its contents).

One thing I didn't forget this morning was finding my flight itinerary so that I could send it to kcprogrammer. He had kindly volunteered to take his girlfriend to the airport for her flight on Wednesday morning. Except when I looked to check the exact time, this is what I saw: 7:05PM. Shite.

kcprogrammer even had to read it a second time before he notice the error. Now what?

My choices:

• Fly out at 7:05pm and miss out on a reception where I'd meet the other scholarship winners, the organizations board members and staff, and conference speakers. There was even a chance that I could go to the national board meeting and talk about my chapter's blog. And I was going to try to fit in a wee bit of sightseeing.
• Pay $151 to change my flight to 7:40am. Um, no.
  
• Fly standby and risk the boredom of a day spent at KCI and the chance that my butt could still be on that 7pm flight.
• Call three hours in advance of the flight I want to get advance standby. Confirmation price: $25. First flight out (and probably the most likely to have open seats): 6:20am. Three hour call ahead time: 3:20am. Ugh.
  

So, I'm feeling understandably brilliant this morning.

a day's difference

OK, so Thursday kinda sucked. Friday in contrast was great.

The family stuff calmed down a bit.

At work, we met with a new hire who's going to be taking over a nice chunk of our web duties. I am so happy. I was about to drown with rolling out three newsletters a week along with my regular duties. And then I found out that it was my day to take summer hours (and leave work at 1pm). I owe my thanks to the editor who took care of a task for me that afternoon. And before I left, our company fed us free pizza.

And it was my nine-month anniversary with kcprogrammer. Cheesy, maybe, but it makes me happy. He brought me some gorgeous roses and treated me to a lovely dinner. And the weather was good, so we walked to Blockbuster.

family wear and tear

It's been a busy week.

I worked 11 straight hours yesterday. My very empty stomach was grateful for the Maui Express my roomie and YellowDancer picked up for me.

I also got a troubling email from my uncle and a call from my mom. It's stuff about my grandma and the sale of her house. But what I think it's really about is power. There's a tug of war for control right now in my family. And I'm sad. Everyone is acting how each thinks is best. But the ideas of "best" counter each other and create friction.

I've been thinking about family a lot lately.

One of the morning shows on the radio was talking about a dating website that is targeted at married people. The host was basically talking about how cool of an idea it was and how he'd love to get with a rich, married woman. And my heart hurt.

My roomie and I watched an episode of Bridezillas the other night. The show followed two brides as they prepared for their weddings. Now the show works hard to cherry pick the craziest of the crazy for the best emotional explosions, but I think these women offer magnified views of our culture's warped sense of weddings and married life. And I'm including both Christians and secularists into this culture, so don't think you're exempt for some reason. We're all warped.

Even if we try not to be, we're still affected by consumer culture. We're hungry for more, for what's different than what we currently have, for what's more expensive than what the person next to you has, for what "better," for more power, for power over others.

And it subtly seeps in to our decisions. We may be able to explain or support our positions without reference to our inner greed, but that doesn't mean it isn't there. And the more we ignore it, the more we hide the true source of our actions, the more difficult we make it to align our goals with others.

i smell swimmingly

Things may not be going swimmingly right now, as I am about to drown in the work before me. But I do smell like chlorine. It's amazing how that can linger on the skin and in hair.

Anyway, if someone with CPR certification would please stand by...

bashing fox 4 news

Not that it's hard to find reason to criticize WDAF-TV, but I really didn't understand just how horrible the reporting is. Two recent Fox 4 stories were riddled with errors. I have two people close to me who knew the real facts involved. The inaccuracies in both these stories are so numerous that there is no element of news left. It's storytelling. It's filling news space—of which Fox 4 has a lot to fill.

And I know that the Fox 4 team is working on a tight budget. And I know that they have to spit out news lightning fast. But really, people, you need to actually check your facts. Just because one kid tells you something doesn't make it news. Did you ask anyone else what happened? Did you contact the company for an official response? Did you actually see the police report or talk to the government official? Did you bother to recheck your facts before running an update news piece. No? No. And it's the viewers who are being misled.

This morning I caught a piece where a Fox 4 reporter was standing outside some education building in Kansas City, Mo. Now this "on location" shoot gives the report an air of more credibility to the TV audience, it has nothing to do with her gathering the facts of the story. She had no actual reason to be standing there. She hadn't interviewed anyone on the school board about the new superintendent. She hadn't gone there to receive any information first hand. The news she reported came from no work on her part, or on the part of Fox 4. She merely reported "according to The Kansas City Star."

On the TV show, "How I Met Your Mother," there's a scene where two of the characters make fun of a morning show host who actually reads the morning paper to his audience. Maybe Fox 4 should actually think of doing this. Doing so may put their audience to sleep, but at least the fiction can return to its proper home: the stuff of dreams and nightmares.

up, down, all around

I wanted to make a post for you all. I wanted to give you a little glimpse into my busy life and offer an excuse as to my infrequent posting and the lengthening lapse of time between the time I see or talk with many of you.

But when I tried to do so, all my little activities seemed quite boring. Now if one is not busy, one looks lazy. And a lazy person who does nothing should be a boring person. But I think it's really the busy person who's boring because he or she is rushing through a sea of tasks, chores, and have-tos.

There's a saying about keeping always busy so that the devil will find you always engaged. But if the devil can't find an entry point into your life, neither will anyone else. When one becomes busy, the larger world becomes hidden.

I've been thinking about that drive to do more, accomplish more, achieve more lately. This morning I came across the following quote. Maybe this one struck me because kcprogrammer and I watched "Click" last night, bringing out thoughts about the family-work balance.

People are so busy dreaming the American Dream, fantasizing about what they could be or have a right to be, that they’re all asleep at the switch. Consequently we are living in the Age of Human Error.
—Florence King

Side note: At first, I found the moral lesson of putting family first in "Click" kind of odd. This was an Adam Sandler comedy. Then I thought back to some of his other movies. Many of them share a common theme of a guy who's off track or who doesn't understand what his life needs or is missing. I'm still trying to decide if this disturbs me.

And it has me thinking about the "lessons" taught to us through other comedies. Maybe I'll wait to make my decision until I see what Jack Black tries teach me about life in "Nacho Libre."

back from beantown

Well after the last post, I realized that some of you might think that something bad happened while I was away. No, the trip to Boston was good. I'm good. Most things in my life are good.

But there is always the thorn. Such a little thing a thorn. But such pain it can cause. Why is it that one flaw can draw one's attention away from the otherwise beautiful state of a thing?

I know my eye is drawn away from the good and to the problem spots. I know I waste my time worrying over the little bad and cheat myself of enjoying all the good.

OK, back to focusing on the good. The weather was fine in Boston last week. I roamed around the city, mostly on foot, and spent two days in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. And I ate lots of yummy food, though kcprogrammer and I agree that the baked beans really aren't deserving of their fame.

I'm working on a freelance project right now. But when I have some time, I'll post pictures from the trip.

quote

Life improves slowly and goes wrong fast, and only catastrophe is clearly visible.
—Edward Teller

drat, i wanted that

Official word: No house for me.

I wonder if I would be as disappointed had I found this out a month ago.

I wouldn't have spent the energy to investigate and measure.
I wouldn't have lost all that sleep.
I wouldn't have reworked my finances time and a gain, perfecting, balancing, aligning.
I wouldn't have traveled the up and down emotional roller coaster from the highs of being told that this is almost assured to happen to the many wrenches to the many versions of the plan.

I wouldn't have the knowledge and self-assurance.

Yes, I'm disappointed, but I feel more confident about myself. I realized that I could handle the responsibilities that come with owning a home.

Yes, I suspected that I could take on the challenge. But I've always allowed myself to hide behind any hint of immaturity to avoid facing my adulthood. This experience flooded my field of view with light, eliminating the looming shadows created by the remnants of irresponsibility and leaving few places for hiding.

And now I wonder why it was that I was hiding.

Through this process, I have better defined what I want for myself. It may take me longer than I'd like to get there. But with my newly acquired understanding of myself, I can now work on another needed personality trait: patience.

A quartet of quotes on disappointment:

Hope tells a flattering tale,
Delusive, vain, and hollow.
Ah! let not hope prevail,
Lest disappointment follow
—Miss Wrother

Disappointment is a sort of bankruptcy—the bankruptcy of a soul that expends too much in hope and expectation.
—Eric Hoffer

Disappointment, when it involves neither shame nor loss, is as good as success; for it supplies as many images to the mind, and as many topics to the tongue.
—Samuel Johnson

Disappointment proves that expectations were mistaken.
—Mason Cooley

i'm not a pauper or a beggar

OK, I'm not sure what's going on with this house thing now. Apparently the realtor is telling my grandma that she could sell the house for $20k more than we were valuing the house at (including the needed repairs).

So, of course, everything that was in place is now out of place.

My grandma is one of those people who, when presented with one new piece of information, must go back and reconsider every other thought she's had on the issue. I can't judge her on this; I am pretty much the same way.

I would like for this to work. But if it doesn't, it doesn't. No expectations. I know my grandma will feel guilty if she decides to put the house for sale. There's even talk of her still giving me money toward buy another house.

I don't want it. I don't want guilt money. I'm not poor. I'm not in need. I have a good life. I buy what I need. I save as much as I can. And I'm doing just fine.

I love gifts and opportunities that are offered freely from the heart. I treasure them. I am thankful for them. But things given out of guilt (which I am guilty of doing) are false. And in taking them, one takes on the guilt. And while the intent is different, such gift giving presents many of the same problems as manipulative giving, which involves hidden emotional strings and commitments. I've fallen into the trap of accepting these before, not realizing them for what they were. This is a danger zone for relationships.

Now, in my (oh-so-unbiased) opinion, the realtor is bettering her estimate in an attempt to snag the deal. She could get almost $10k from the sell of the house. (Thanks for kcprogrammer for the math here. And he reminded me not to forget the $$ due to the buyer's realtor, which the seller usually pays for as well.) And the realtor knows that my grandma was considering selling the house to me, and so it's understandable that she'd be putting on the pressure to keep this from slipping through her fingers. How much would you do for a quick $10k?

need stressed

I have a theory that needy people tend to be stressed people.

Maybe I can get Big-Bold-D to work his math brain and come up with a proof for this.

hypocrisy

There are times that I feel like such a hypocrite.

The characteristic tends to show itself the most when I'm stressed. Wait, when am I not stressed?

always open

OK, so 24 Hour Fitness isn't open continuously; it does close up shop for a bit on major holidays. But other than that, the place is always brightly lit and open.

I arrive at the gym just before 5 a.m. this morning, and the place was dark. This not being a holiday, I was a bit confused by this. Then I saw someone leaving the building and watch someone else go in. Hmm.

Not wanting to have gotten up at the butt crack of dawn for nothing, I decided to see what was up. Inside, there was no one sitting at the front desk. A few people were scattered through the darkened gym working out. It was weird. In the dark, employeeless gym, it felt almost as if the gym members had broken into the place.

I looked to the glass windows that separate the gym from the pool. It looked pretty dark back there. And it was. The light from the sauna room was on though, so it cast a little light down the lanes of the pool. But the far end of the pool was pretty much dark as night.

I loved it. There was something calm and peaceful about it. All I was lacking was a night sky filled with stars.

My grandparents' pool was my second home during the summers. (And I mean that literally. I had this game where I'd hold my breath underwater while playing house and having a tea party with a friend.)

But the best time of day to swim was in the evening. I'd float on my back and watch the stars come out. I miss that.

superior children

OK, this post is from The Dilbert Blog. I read it the latest post this morning and it made me laugh. My parents were so proud of my school projects. The other kids' stuff was obviously inferior.

Open House: "I recently attended a school open house for the kids, ages 6 and 8. It was my first one and I didn’t know what to expect. The main point, as I learned, was for the kids to show their parents the projects they worked on during the year. The first thing I noticed was that our kids produced spectacular works of art whereas all the other kids produced utter crap.

I listened as the other parents heaped lavish praise on their little losers, despite the obvious low quality of the work. I worried that praising shoddy workmanship would cause the kids to stall in their development. Why would you improve when you’re already impressing the people that control your access to candy? That sort of thinking is where hobos come from, and it disturbed me to hear the little tykes getting such bad guidance.

Determined to set things right, I waited until one set of parents was distracted by the teacher. Their offspring stood in front of a wall of alleged art, admiring his work. I leaned over and whispered, “You call that a dog? It looks more like a squirrel that got caught in the lawnmower.”

Naturally he started crying. But I too cry when I learn. So I figured I was on the right track. I slipped out the side door before his parents could discover who had saved their son from a future of mediocrity. Call it humility if you will. I just like to help. I don’t need to get credit.

Okay, that didn’t really happen. How many of you believed I really said that?

the house saga continues

So what once seemed off may now be on.

I went with my parents to see a lawyer who proposed a very fair solution that I thought should be satisfactory to all.

I went with kcprogrammer to walk through the house again and sit and think. Could I see myself living here? Could I make this work? I think I could.

But there still seems to be at least one objector from the family. OK, objector is a bit harsh. Wrench thrower may be more accurate.

But I'm trying not to worry about it anymore. What happens happens. If it works out, I think this could be good for me. If it falls through, well, oh well.

Part of the push for this new philosophy in my life is the bad acid refux attack I had on Saturday. I missed the two weddings and the graduation party of the day. And got to take a ride to urgent care, care of kcprogrammer. It was the worst pain I've ever felt. The doctor says that I may be developing an ulcer. I need to cut down on my stress.

I wonder if that can wait until after this house thing has been resolved and after we replace the girl who just quit on my magazine.

i love not having

I love my apartment.
I love not having a yard to mow.
I love not having to pay for repairs.
I love not having to listen to dogs barking in neighbors’ backyards.
I love not having to commit to staying in one place long term.
I love not having a house. OK, well we all know that's not true.

But it doesn't look like this house-buying thing is going to happen. So, I'm back to my old two-year plan. And I'm back to the present, in which I live in an apartment and where I'd like to be content to live out at least another year and a half (if I stick with the plan).

And perhaps that's best. I'm young, and much can happen in a year and a half.

i'm a winner

I just found out that I was selected as a winner in a scholarship competition I entered. The scholarship pays for me to attend a national conference that I'd really wanted to go to (but feared was too expensive to persuade my boss to pay my way). I'm going to Chicago. WooHoo!

The other reasons why I feel like a winner:

• I was honored by the group of friends who gathered to celebrate my birthday with me on Saturday.
• I found a good, soft bed at a ridiculously cheap price. (Really, if you need a bed, go to Sleep World. And if you tell them that I sent you, we can split a discount.) And I slept the night through, which is such a treat for me. (And thanks to my family for the birthday checks that make this bed purchase even more affordable for me.)
  
• I had such a pleasant birthday and Mother's Day with my family (thanks, Dad, for the delicious meal at Longhorn) and with kcprogrammer's family.
• I cleaned my cubicle on Friday. And, today, one side of my desk is filled with birthday treats from co-workers. Oh, and I'm caught up on my work for the most part, which feels good. (Although, I see a rushed deadline on the horizon. Sigh.)
  
• I'm simply feeling happy. I think it's this solid sleep I'm getting. I sure hope it keeps up.

I'm feeling modivated, like I want to set out and accomplish something.

We should be taught not to wait for inspiration to start a thing. Action always generates inspiration. Inspiration seldom generates action.
—Frank Tibolt

update: birthday

So, my birthday is on Sunday (along with mother's day and my maternal grandmother's birthday). My friends are invited to come by Fred P. Otts on Saturday evening to celebrate with me.

I like this plan. People can stop by and then go when they please. And I don't have to be stressed about cleaning my apartment or the mess that will be left behind. And I can leave and go to bed when I please. It's a good thing, especially considering that I need to be bright and cheery for the next day's birthday-Mother's Day lunch.

Oh, and I found out that my family will be adding a new birthday to our calendars at the beginning of the next year. My cousin and his wife are having a baby. It's really quite exciting. The youngest in our family is 20, so we've been sans baby for quite some time.

This is the second oldest of the cousins (I'm the oldest). He's the first —— and so far only —— of us to get married. Now, he'll be the first to have kids.

He'll make a good dad. And his wife, I can see her being such a great mom. She has this amazing warmth and accepting patience with others.

I'm happy for them. (I just hope it doesn't put any ideas in my mom's head about how long she'll have to do without the title of Grandma. OK, it's just plain weird to think of my mom as a grandmother.)

And continuing on the baby note: Congrats also go out to my roomie's sister who we just found out is taking her second trip down to babytown.

update: bed

I haven't been sleeping well with my old mattress on the floor, so I decided the time had come to find a new one. The problem is that I like soft, and soft doesn't come cheap.

After much debating between a good deal on a really expensive bed (so now it's just expensive) and a extremely expensive bed (which will be more comfortable long term), I went to Mattress Firm to buy the cheaper one.

But the woman who was supposed to be holding it for me wasn't there. The guy who was said he couldn't find any evidence of a hold or even that mattress at that price.

Annoyed, I went back to pondering the wonderful, big-money sleep number bed. I'd almost decided to get it, when — at the suggestion of a co-worker who'd gotten her mattress at the same place —— I called for one last check.

I got the woman I'd worked with before. She had the mattress on hold for me still. The man I spoke with, it seams, treats his own customers right, but not hers. This isn't the first time that he couldn't find something that she had placed on hold. (I really didn't care to hear about their internal squabbles and politics, but at least my bed was still there.)

So, I had to redecide to recommit to buying this bed. I did, but not happily. I was kind of liking the excuse to go and buy the expensive mattress, and I didn't want the dream to die. But I agreed to buy the cheaper one. Then —— I love how rationalization works —— I figured that, if I still really wanted that sleep number bed in a few years, I could get it (because, hopefully, I won't be as strapped for cash) and make the other bed into a guest bed.

This solution automatically gave me a 75 percent level of contentment with my decision. I expect this number to fluctuate a bit over the next week or so, but to level out at about 80 percent.

Had I gone the other way, I could have rationalized myself to a similar contentment level with my decision to spend twice as much money. (In the long run it's cheaper to buy the terrificffic mattress now then to buy another that you'll only have to replace at an additional cost.)

update: house

My mom and I met with the house inspector today. I didn't get to stay for the whole thing, but what I heard wasn't all good.

The big bad: the electrical. The wiring is either really old or shoddily done new and is just spliced into the old 60-amp breaker (they were supposed to have put in a 100 amp). He seemed pretty concerned about that. As he looked in the breaker box, I think he might have thought it would start a fire right there, before his eyes.

Also with the electrical, only the kitchen has grounded three-pronged outlets. The rest is the old-fashioned, will-blow-out-your-electronics, two-pronged kind. The upgrade in the kitchen was supposed to include an upgrade to a 100-watt breaker, but it doesn't seem that the shoddy workmen actually did that. They also neglected to return to raise the outside electrical line to its proper 10-foot height. It hangs in a low diagonal across the backyard.

big thoughts, little girl

OK, this post is in response to Kat's comment on my last post. (Her comment: Sweetheart, WHAT is going on?!?)

I'm putting it here, because I want you all to know that all is fine.

I'm just a girl who suddenly found herself contemplating a big-girl issue. And thinking about herself as a big girl makes her think about all the ways in which she still feels very much like a little girl.

So, here's the deal: I'm considering buying a house. It's been in my two-year plan for about a year or so (but that home-owning date has always been a moving target, staying two years out of reach). Then last weekend, when I was still physically and emotionally drained from my conference trip, my mom called asking if I'd be interested in buying my grandma's house.

It may not happen, but even so, it got me thinking about where I'm at right now and where I want to be. It's a bit scary; I recommend not doing it.

don't, i'm tired

Liars share with those they deceive the desire not to be deceived.
——Sissela Bok

I am tired of being duped. I am tired of being lied to.
I am tired of forcing myself to be blind. I am tired of being lied to.
I am tired of hunting for the hidden truth. I am tired of being lied to.

Don't tell me it's good when it's mediocre.
Don't tell me I'm great when I'm just OK.
Don't tell me it's nothing when it's something.
Don't tell me what you think I want to hear.

Don't hold back. Don't make me the fool. Tell me the truth.

Tell me the truth, and I may, just may, do the same for you.

who cares?

I do.

Kcprogrammer says that I care too much about what others think of me. I know that's true. And it's a topic that's been in my thoughts frequently of late.

My argument: If I didn't try to figure out what others think, I wouldn't have any idea of what's going on?

Really, I'm clueless about the world around me. And sometimes, probably more often than I would like, I feel as if I must squeeze thoughts out of people or else remain in the dark, clueless and stupid.

My denial: I could blame it on others. But this isn't true because I find myself struggling in these situations over and over again.

My truth: I'm the one perpetuating this. I am making it difficult for information to reach me. Or maybe I know just as much as everyone else and just think everyone else knows more.

And why do I care? I care because I am horrible at detecting how someone is feeling or reacting to what I am doing. If you don't tell me, I don't know.

I am the one who is boisterous when other wishes for silence.
I am the one who keeps a conversation going long after the other wishes the topic were dead.

I am the one who wants approval that I'm doing it right because I doubt my own judgment.
I am the one who wants assurance that my presence is wanted.

And after writing the above, I am the one who is surprised why she didn't understand why she tends to become depressed when she spends an evening alone.

You may find this all rather pathetic. I find it rather selfish. Whenever one is unnecessarily dependent on another, it is a selfish act.

My solution: ?

Stop being a baby would be a good place to start. And trust people. I don't really trust others to tell me the truth. Not that I think everyone goes around lying. But, I wonder, how much is sugar coated for my benefit? On the reverse, how much to I manipulate the truth? And does that influence my doubts of truth from others? Oh, lets save those conversation morsels for another post.

Newspapermen, as journalists used to be called, have long been charged with the sin of cynicism... a characterization that many of us encourage to deflect attention from our far more widespread flaw, incorrigible sentimentalism.
—Robert Manning

Note: I realize that this is the latest in a series of morose posts. I want to reassure readers that I am indeed in fine spirits. I've just been a bit reflective lately.

Everybody has that thing where they need to look one way but they come out looking another way and that’s what people observe. You see someone on the street and essentially what you notice about them is the flaw. It’s just extraordinary that we should have been given these peculiarities... Something is ironic in the world and it has to do with the fact that what you intend never comes out like you intend it.
—Diane Arbus

alone in the crowd

Alone, lonely people talk to themselves. In company, they often continue.
—Mason Cooley

I think I'm becoming a bit reclusive. It's not that I'm hiding; I'm just not actively looking to be found.

Maybe it's the aftereffects of the trip. I spent so much time away. And so much of that time was with unknown face after unknown face. I was around others almost nonstop; yet, I was alone.

But I'll work myself out of this funk soon. I'm too curious about everyone else's lives to stay away for long.

We’re born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we’re not alone.
—Orson Welles

unknown
Union
enjoin
unicorn
union
Edit...
Revert to "unkown"

else's
Else's
Elise's
Elsie's
Elyse's
Edit...
Revert to "elses"

nap time!

I just finished my last booth visit. Tomorrow I'll hand out some awards and then fly home.

My shins and feet ache. But at least my feet are nearly blister free. (I have one tiny one near my second toe on my right foot.)

I've passed out a hundred business cards, visited fifty booths and crammed my shoulder bag full of press releases and CDs.

Now, I'm going to take a nap.

Cheers.

good night, and good luck

I'm off for Vegas this weekend to see the TV broadcast community in action.

So, no posts from theCallowQueen for a week.

Sorry I haven't the time to write more. There is much to be done before I go.

stumble, fumble, fall

I feel like I just keep stumbling from one fumble to the next. I feel like a baby who keeps falling down as he learns to walk, minus excuse of not knowing how to walk. It makes me want to shrink back from others and hide in some little, dark, hidden nook. From there, it would be harder for me to accidentally harm with my words or deeds.

But no matter how hard I might wish to hide right now, I know that I won't. My spirit grows restless to quickly. My desire to watch the world around me is too strong. And, so, I'll continue my series of apologetic fumbles.

A word to the wise: Don't listen to what I say, don't read what I write, and don't watch what I do. Also, if you see me driving, get away quickly. And don't entrust me with your plants, pets or breakables.

Now, if you are not wise or choose to disregard the warning, welcome to my world, and I mean no harm. But, even so, please proceed with caution.

Hmm...perhaps I should pass out hardhats.

comp time

We had a pre-convention meeting today. My boss must be in a good mood. He gave us two extra days off because we'll be in Las Vegas on Saturday and Sunday (well, I won't be there on Saturday with the rest, but I'm not going to argue about that little point). And this is after he gave us an extra day for all the work we did to get our mammoth March and April issues out on time.

Now, I don't get many official vacation days. And my two major trips could use the extra padding that these off-the-book days now afford me. Woohoo! Now I need to start planning my trip to Asia.

Oh, and my boss to us out to Carrabba's for lunch. He isn't a very social guy. And, we kind of roped him into it. His original proposal was to pick up food to bring back to us. Hehe. Lunch was fabulous. The salmon was the best I think I've ever had and the chocolate cake that I split with two of my co-workers was divine.

I'd better work now while I'm still hyped up from the sugar. I'll probably lose steam early. I'm so full. And there's still the Seder dinner tonight.

bug or beetle

So it may be carpet beetles instead of bed bugs. Carpet beetles are much more common, often being brought in from the outside or through improperly sealed screen doors and windows (which I definitely have), so in that respect, they are the more likely the culprit.

And they are easier to get rid of. But this doesn't do much to lessen the gross factor.

One problem with this theory: Carpet beetles feed on fabric and food, which isn't something I've seen evidence of in this case.

Anyway, the exterminator comes tomorrow. I am just so disgusted. It's just icky. I'm ready for this to be over with.

infested

Remember when you were in elementary school and the school nurse would visit your class and inspect each child's head with a tongue depressor placed in one of her latex-glove-protected hands?

Remember how the kids found with lice were marked as dirty, as outcasts? Or maybe you were one of the unfortunately who hung their coats next to that of an unknown host or however else one gets such a nuisance. I wasn't one of those kids. I was lice free and felt free to judge those who weren't.

But something happened over the weekend, and I think I have an idea of how those loused kids felt.

I found a little bug crawling across my mattress a while back. I'd never seen anything like it. But, as I'd just recently been outside, I figured the little guy had hitched a ride. But then on Saturday morning I saw another. I didn't want to think what I was thinking. Later at Big-Bold-D and G-man's apartment, I sat down at the computer, went to Google Images and typed in "bed bugs."

It's disgusting. It's creepy. It can't be in my room. I borrowed a flash light from the boys and when back across the hall. I pulled the bed away from the wall, and my fears were realized. Along the wall was evidence of enough bug activity to make my stomach turn. (Big-Bold-D says this is why he makes it a policy never to look under or around his bed.)

I immediately began putting all of my bedding in huge, black trash bags. I called my apartment manager, who was out of town, but the maintenance guy said the exterminator was already scheduled to visit on Wednesday and that he'd add my apartment to the list. After about 20 phone calls to and from my dad, I went to the store for zip up allergy covers for my mattress and box springs.

Kcprogrammer and his sister happened to be near by and came to assist in damage control. We tore the bottom off of the box springs and saw evidence of past activity. That sucker went immediately to the curb. The next day, my dad cut down the box spring so it would fit in the trash bins. He said that while he saw old stuff, he hadn't seen any signs of recent activity. I don't know that this information was particularly comforting, but it got me thinking about where these buggers came from.

The possibilities:

1. They were already there when I moved in. They like to live in the crevices between carpeting and the wall, in cracks in the wall and in electrical sockets.
2. They traveled via apartment wiring from a neighboring apartment. To these bugs, hotels and apartments are the happening spots to be.
   
3. They hitched a ride from a college apartment. I'd put this one on the old Towers on campus more than our little place off of Florida St. Although the latter did have an ant issue. (The building neighboring the former had a roach issue.)
   
4. They followed me home from a trip. If this is the case, they could have originated in any of a number of places from here to California, North Dakota or Texas, and then there were my two trips to New York. And not to be left out: most of Western Europe and Singapore.

The last on the list is the most disconcerting because I'm about to go to Las Vegas for a week. I'm not looking forward to that hotel stay. Even if it is the Hilton.

Did you see that recent news story on the woman who stayed in this upscale hotel room, which was infested with bed bugs, which went home with her and proceeded to bite here a zillion times? Right, so my mind goes back to all those hotel, hostel and B&B rooms I've stayed in. I shudder. And then to think how long they were there in secret, showing no sign of existence. It's scary. But if it hadn't been for that story, I don't know that I would have even considered bed bugs. That's a nasty problem that other people--dirtier people--get, not me.

I write all this, not just because I love flagellating myself for you all, but because I want you to be aware. Check your bedding carefully. The only evidence on my bed (aside from the live critter walking across it) was found only by ripping the bottom of the box spring away. They're hiders. The shy away from light.

And I'm going to keep my new matteress and box spring (if I can bring myself to have a box spring--I'm really doubting the need for one) in those allergy covers that people use for dust mites. If tiny dust mites can't get through that protective bag then bed bugs won't be able to either.

This public service report has been brought to you by theCallowQueen who urges you to sleep responsibly.

my, my

I woke up this morning at 4am and decided to write a bit in my journal (hoping that my mind and would soon allow me to return to sleep). I wrote down the word "my" and stared at it for the longest time.

Is that how that's spelled?
It looks like it's missing a letter.
Is it even a word?
Yes, of course, it's a word.
Yes, it's spelled right.
But where's my dictionary?
I should check just to make sure.
No, I won't check.
I know it's right, and I'll just feel silly looking up such a common, easy word.

Yeah, I can't believe I forgot the word "my" either. But I did.

word power

One little accomplishment
receiving
One little compliment
offers
One spirit raised
and
One day praised

the biggest issue ever

OK, well I don't know that this is the biggest issue ever, but at 494 pages, it's the sumo wrestler that were currently trying to squeeze through production.

You read right. Four-hundred and ninety-four pages. Thankfully we are not the producers of all 494 pages. A giant insert counts for 249 of the pages. Take that away and we're still looking at 155 pages, which is still substantial for a magazine that hovers around 100 pages.

Right now my fellow editors an I are working on more than 80 pages of new products. Yay!

And my headache, which sat yesterday behind my right eye, has now settled in behind my left eye. I think I preferred the pain on the right.

winter's last

Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
——T.S. Eliot

OK, I know what you're thinking, a post on the end of winter should go back before the beginning of spring. But think about it: Our calendars tell us when the first day of spring is. What is ignored is the last day of winter.

It's as if we're meant to forget the old as soon as we're presented with the new. And though we like the idea of a clean break, that's not how life is. Just because it's officially the first day of spring doesn't mean that it can't still snow. And the fact that it was winter didn't hide our eyes to the coming evidence of spring. She didn't just turn up on March 20. We saw her coming. We had a spell of warmer days. We had markers that a change was happening.

We loiter in winter while it is already spring.
—Henry David Thoreau

In life, there isn't a separation, a mark that says what came before is wholy separate from what comes after. Firsts and lasts overlap, beginnings and endings are mixed.

Last Wednesday, my friends filled my living room. And though they were around me, the winds of change were around me as well. It may have been spring's third day with winter officially retired, but in that room it felt like a crisp, knowing winter wind whirled around my head as I listened to their chatter. The chillness whispered to me. It said we were drifiting apart.

Where I once knew everything, had been a part of every event, I now more often hear about happenings after the fact. It's partly that I'm not around as much. It's partly that they aren't either. Before I was always available, as was Big-Bold-D and the G-man. But that was five years ago. Much has changed. But through all the changes, I was always on the inside. But it is the inside that is going out.

I'm not the only one feeling the ties loosening. Many of us are reaching out for something new. But for the new there is a sacrifice. To fully grasp the new, the hold on the old must be slackened.

New beginnings are not clean breaks from the past. The old coming to an end and the new gaining prominence is a slow progression. So slow that we don't realize the impact when it begins. So slow that we don't notice the subtle changes as it works in the background. So slow that, by the time you notice the power of the new, it has firm hold and it is too late to fully save the old. We're past the point of no return.

I'm not saying that it's the end of the old. In this case, I'm not saying that our friendships are over, but I am saying that they are fundamentally changing. Life isn't new or old. Life is changing. And it's not really changing from one definite thing to another definite thing. It's just changing constantly. I accept that. But I also recognize my power to guide my life's changes to an extent.

Through winter-time we call on spring,
And through the spring on summer call,
And when abounding hedges ring
Declare that winter's best of all;
And after that there'’s nothing good
Because the spring-time has not come....
—William Butler Yeats

So, here's to the old, the new and every beautiful moment in between.

ups and downs

What is life without it's ups and downs?

The down: The trauma of sending a freelance project to the printer with a tiny, tiny mistake (that just happened to be repeated on every page.

The up: The printer was sympathetic and cut my bill in half.

The down: In another printing incident, the photo credit was left off one of my articles from last month. (We rarely have photo credits, and this photographer is extremely picky about them.) So my editor is all upset. And I got to have a closed-door talk with my managing editor. And I'm all annoyed because I put the photo credit in the file above the photo captions because I didn't know which the art director would choose for the opening photo (where the photo credit would go). So, this guy's name is in the article. It just wasn't in the actual printing range. Ugh. And my review should be coming soon.

The up: ?

expensive medicine

So I have this habit of waking up at 3 a.m. The three main reasons: restless sleep, a brilliant idea or a forgotten thing remembered. I woke this morning with a start.

Crap. I didn't remember to change that. Is it too late?

First thing this morning (when those of you who know how to properly sleep through the night arrived at work), I found out that it was to late to be changed. The project would have to be redone. And to save face, the cost would be mine. (Shhh! It's a secret.)

So this morning I swallowed an expensive pill. Let's hope it's the last time I have take it. This pill is particularly bitter.

spring's first

Spring has sprung
the grass has ris'
I wonder where the birdies is

So the first day of spring has me thinking about another first, my first name and how it defines me. I don't really like being grouped with the girls named Summer or April. My name is more than that. My name is deeper than that. I'm more than that. I'm deeper than that. I know how petty this must seem, but what ever. I'm a petty person.

My mother's inspiration for my name: John 7:38

He who believes in Me [who cleaves to and trusts in and relies on Me] as the Scripture has said, From his innermost being shall flow [continuously] springs and rivers of living water.

This is how my mother wished me to be. Now, as an adult, who am I? How do I define myself? How much have I allowed myself and my identity to be bound by my name? By the meaning behind the word?

In an attempt to broaden Spring, I offer these definitions of my life as Spring (based from definitions of the word spring):

• I am in a perpetual season of growth.
• I am lively in spirit and movement.
  
• I am resilient when pushed, pulled or pressed and keep my original position or form.
• I move forward by leaps and bounds.
• I am a source, the beginning for ideas.
  
• I produce, disclose and develop suddenly and unexpectedly.
• I follow life and allow it to happen in the season appropriate for me.
• I am a bit warped, cracked and bent.
  

Maybe this seems a bit much to all of you. Maybe for you you're identity isn't entangled with your name. But mine has been. And in the end, it isn't the entanglement with my name that's become the problem. It's all the ideas and thoughts I hold about who I think Spring should be in the eyes of others.

As a child — and on occasion as an adult — I've wanted to be called by my middle name. It's a nice, normal, professional name. With a name like that, people wouldn't peg me as being a bit dingy right off the bat nor would they question it or make a comment about it. It'd just be a name, my name. And maybe then I wouldn't feel the pull to feed their expectations by acting dingy. Maybe I'd transform to fit my new name. Maybe, maybe but maybe not.

Maybe I just need to allow me to be me.

Happy first day of spring.

nano woe

I want to listen to the music on my iPod at work. But my Nanette is formatted for my Mac. I hesitate to reformat it for the PC just to use it at work (formatted this way, Nanette would still work with Macs, but perhaps not as well). And other options require buying software for a PC that's not mine or hacking the iPod (poor Nanette!). Grumble, grumble.

and the award goes to...

My magazine just won a national award for our enewsletters. It's our second year in a row.

People seem pleased, but not thrilled. It was expected. Which is a bit sad.

I love the thrill. Besides, without the feeling of competition or challenge, where is the impetus to improve?

thoroughly modern millie

I've been listening to the music from Thoroughly Modern Millie as I've been working on my enewsletters. It's so good.

I hadn't made it a priority to see the show in the past because I loved the original movie with Julie Andrews so much. I didn't think I'd want to watch a musical with new songs. But the songs are great. I'm dancing in my chair.

The show is coming to the Music Hall March 14 to 19. Anyone want to go with me?

word of the day: sudoku

Sudoku, noun. A logic puzzle in which numbers must be arranged in a grid such that no number is repeated in a row, column, or subsection of the grid.

For example, "The rapid and inexorable rise of Sudoku mirrors that of the great crossword craze of the 1920s and 1930s." (Source: National Review)

Note: Sudoku is sometimes also written Su Doku; it comes from Japanese elements meaning roughly "single number." Sudoku puzzles typically use the digits one through nine in a nine-by-nine grid having three-by-three subsections (called regions), but some versions use letters or colors, or differently sized grids and regions.

This entry comes via Copy Editor. My thanks to the publication for it's back page with the latest additions to the Oxford English Dictionary.

And for those of you who didn't know, I love Sudoku. And for proof, here's my first post on the game.

content

After the negativity of my previous posts, I thought I should let you all know that I'm content right now.

Yes, I'm still feeling overworked. No, I'm not entirely happy with my job at the moment.

But kcprogrammer drove across town to take me out to lunch today. It's a beautiful, warm day. And it was a beautiful lunch. Just what I needed. Thanks.

office space repeats

Dom Portwood: Hello, Peter. What's happening? We need to talk about your TPS reports.
Peter Gibbons: Yeah. The coversheet. I know, I know. Uh, Bill talked to me about it.
Dom Portwood: Yeah. Uh, did you get that memo?
Peter Gibbons: Yeah. I got the memo. And I understand the policy. The problem is, I just forgot this one time. And I've already taken care of it so it's not even a problem anymore.
Dom Portwood: Yeah. It's just that we're putting new coversheets on all the TPS reports *before* they go out now. So if you could just remember to do that from now on, that'd be great. All right!

Trade out the memos with emails, and this is my work reality.

Yes, people, I got the freakin' email. Yes, I've talked to that person. Yes, I know; the person who told you already told me. It's already be handled/dealt with/fixed/controlled.

And you know this wouldn't be an issue if people were direct with each other and if we had a little open communication. But, no, instead we have to try to hint at what we want, and when we don't get what we want, we complain to someone marginally higher up, which just confuses the whole thing because she doesn't understand the issue. And then I just end up even more freakin' annoyed.

isolation

I've been feeling a bit alone at work lately. My two fellow editors who sit on either side of my cubicle wall are a tight little duo. They talk throughout the day using instant messaging. On my right I'll hear a giggle and typing then a few moments later the response giggle and typing on my left.

It's like being in the middle of a conversation without being able to hear a word of it.

And then the two teamed up to ask to go to a journalism conference. Someone must be able to cover for an editor when she is gone, so only two of us could go to this conference. The slots were filled even before I knew they were open.

I don't mean to make is sound like they were working behind my back. They're nice, friendly girls who know how to play the game of getting what they want. I don't know how to play the game.

I just feel very alone and on the outside here sometimes.

you down with opp?

Well, I hope you aren't down with OPP in the Naughty by Nature way. OPP, in this instance at least, stands for Overland Park Police. And let me tell you, a few weeks ago, I definitely was not down with OPP when one of them pulled me over for speeding.

I went to the courthouse on Tuesday to get my ticket reduced to a nonmoving violation. OP requires you to see a prosecutor and then a judge, which seems like a waste of resources to me. I was pleasantly surprised that they didn't even make me pay double my fine (almost, but not quite). Apparently, OP isn't down with big OPProfit.

Other cities just have you mail in double the fine. The ticket in the first place was mostly about making the city a bit of money, so the doubling of that is just icing to the city coffers. But OP doesn't have me pay double and lessens its profits by adding in need for courtroom, prosecutor and judge time.

A side thought from when I was waiting for my 3.5 seconds in front of the judge: The majority of the duties of the cop who pulled me over, the prosecutor who reduced my ticket and the judge who approved it are centered around making money for the city via these "violations." I wondered if they felt inferior to other cops, prosecutors and judges who they see dealing with real crime and delinquency. I wondered if they felt they were being used in the same way I feel my (and many of my fellow editors feel their) editorial talents are being used simply for the advertisers' gain. (Forgive my negativity on my profession; I just finished writing up more than 100 product descriptions.)

purveyor of porn

One of the links in my e-newsletter today was missing the letter s. The product name wasn't plural, so I didn't think anything about the web address not being plural. I checked to make sure the link worked. It did. It had a beautiful picture of a beach scene. I went on with my work.

An hour ago, I got an email warning me to check my links. Apparently, without that s in the address, readers are taken to an adult photography site. I swear it doesn't look like a porn site when you open it!

So I had to go tell my boss before he heard it from someone else. Thankfully, after explaining the situation and him looking at the correct website and the incorrect one — and my assurance that it wasn't on the actual email readers received and only on the website, where it was corrected within hours — he gave a little chuckle and said he saw how that could happen. And if he were the one making the product, he'd change the name.

Whew! I'm glad one of my co-workers urged me to tell him myself. If he had heard it first from a reader or that company, he would have been irate.

But a few luck old men got to go to a porn site as part of their efforts to keep up on their industry.

*embarrassed*

i think i'm paranoid

I had one of those nights where I go to sleep at 10ish, sleep hard and wake up thinking it's 6ish, but it's only 1ish. I usually have a hard time convincing my body that it should be sleeping; last night it was even harder.

I had woken up from this crazy, vivid dream. It had a bit of a "War of the Worlds" feel to it, except the invaders were kind of like rays of light. Anyway, the dream centered on this small group of children, who, of course, were somehow the only ones miraculously saved when the final extermination came. Then the rays of light came to inspect their new world. They bumped into the children, seemed surprised the kids had survived and were about to leave it at that when one of the kids — the oldest of the boys — started yelling at the rays of light.

Now, granted, he had every right to be mad. Those kids were the only humans left. But given the killing power these other beings had already shown, picking a fight really wasn't such a good idea.

The rays of light had, initially, thought of making friends with the kids — they could be entertainment, perhaps, like pets or something — but then one of them got angry — so distasteful. Well the kid was lucky, the rays of light simply decided to swear off the humans and ignore them. The boy swore to do the same. I seem to remember one of the girls trying to bring the two sides together, but neither would speak. The two groups moved to different areas. And then the dream morphed.

The children went to where another human was in hiding. It was a very old man, so old and withered he was nothing but bones with skin that looked like it was barely holding onto the man's frame. Visually, he would have been a terrific evil character, but he wasn't. He was more like the town's wise grandfather.

He sat and spoke with them, leaning to his right side, which looked as if it all blurred into an unrecognizable mass of tattered cloth and matted hair with no recognizable bone structure underneath. He made gestures as he spoke with his left hand. The arm was long and thin, the skin very pale. From a distance it looked like a skeleton's arm. And one had to wonder how he could possibly have the muscle strength to move his limbs at all.

Before this riddle was solved, the grandfather attempted to right himself. His long hair looked to be attached somewhere around where his arm should be as well as at his head. It looked somewhat like thick ribbons of dark, dripping molasses. Under the heavy blanket of cloth, if one looked hard enough, there was almost a structure that could be his right limb. If it was, he held it close to him and never used it.

He got up, began to walk around. He was trying to impart a few last directions to them before his death. The children told him that he'd survived when the rest of the world hadn't, and this was not the time to die. They needed him, they cried. But as they continued to watch as he talked, they saw the end. His shoulder bone came sliding out from his left side, elongating his arm when he made jerky movements.

Then there was a loud noise. They were coming. The children had to hide. The old man told them that they must leave him behind. They were sad, but also relieved not to have to see his gruesome skeleton.

At this point I woke up and realized that the loud noise was a beep coming from somewhere in the apartment. I couldn't figure out where. I tried to go back to sleep. I worried that someone had broken into the apartment. I went to the living room to check that the bar was down on the balcony door. It wasn't. I tried to go back to bed. But I worried about the safety of my documents and other belongings.

I heard the beep again. The smoke detector? What if there was carbon monoxide. We could die in our sleep. But nothing in the apartment runs on gas, and we don't have a carbon monoxide detector to beep at us. But what if there was carbon monoxide somehow? We don't have a detector. The air, at this point, began to smell a little odorous. (And, yes, I know that carbon monoxide doesn't carry a scent, but I'm in crazy land right now.)

Why was the smoke detector beeping? Were the batteries running low? When was the last time we'd checked to see if it was working properly? Had we ever checked? What if there was a fire somewhere in the apartment building? What if it was on the other side of the building? I then thought about how we didn't have renter's insurance. None of this stuff is covered. And then I thought about key records and papers. They need to be handy to grab them and run out in case of a fire. But they need to be locked away in a safe in case of a burglar.

But a safe doesn't do any good if it isn't bolted into the floor or some other sturdy structure. I then wondered about bolting one to the floor in my closet. Would the floor hold? Or would the intruder simply be able to rip it from the plywood? Perhaps I needed a thick board that ran the length of the closet. Would bolting it to that help?

But back to the fire concern, I needed to be able to quickly open the safe and pull those files out. Oh, and then there are my pictures from childhood in the box just above. Should I take it and drop it off the balcony in an attempt to save them? Would that hamper the firefighters? Well, maybe it wouldn't if the fire was on the other side of the building.

Then I pictured my roomie and I trying to escape from the balcony. We are not as limber as Rick, who so nimbly showed how vulnerable we were to an intruder. Was I being petty and selfish to try to save my stuff? It is just stuff after all — but what about my laptop and my journals filled with my thoughts and story ideas?

Realizing this line of thought was silly and not conducive to sleep, I tried once again to push away all of these thoughts and sleep. The beep again. I'm sure at this point it's the smoke detector. About ever 10 minutes. Probably low on batteries. Don't want to disturb my roomie by checking it now. Must remember to mention it to her. And I readjusted the covers and went to sleep.

This morning, I didn't notice the beeping.

a short break

Work's been busy. And it will probably stay that way through April. I've been working in e-newsletter hell today. I'm such a print girl at heart. I'm trying to embrace this digital medium, but some parts of the process of getting from idea to internet are just ugly, boring and stupid.

I say this because I, of course, am more comfortable with the familiar. On an up internet note, my chapter blog is doing well. I added a link to the site feed — which I should consider doing for this blog — today, as well as adding a post with a follow up question after our meeting yesterday.

I've asked the other board members to help get the ball rolling and post their comments. Somehow I think I may be waiting on that for a while. Some of the board members can be a bit slow to act at times. The positive to that is that all my work will help give me a good position me for the vice president spot on the board next year.

And now for to Valentine's Day notes:
First, I found out that the husband who I wrote about in "flower points, part two" is a faithful reader of my blog, which tickled me. Also relating to that post, the guy who sent the flowers to the girl got an excited phone call of thanks. And my roomie did finally get her flowers — roses not daisies, but still flowers and quite pretty.

Kcprogrammer confessed to being outdone on this one, but he reasoned that was OK considering his past record and the flowerless record of my roomie's boy. (My roses, by the way are lovely. I didn't have the right vase to properly show them off at the time, but have since done a change out and the roses are sitting pretty.)

Second, kcprogrammer noted that AT had made a post about the 14th on her blog, and my blog was postless on the topic. For those who don't want to know Valentine's details (i.e., Big-Bold-D), stop reading here. For the rest of you, I had a nice, quiet evening with my sick boyfriend. Yes, he's sick in the head — well in the ears-nose-throat part of the head. But he came over anyway (he's so sweet) laden with gifts (he's too good to me) and did a fair job of pretending to be impressed by my ability to bake from a Dunkin Hines box (he's such a liar).

We ordered Wheat State and ate our favorite pizza, Pa's Barnyard, while watching my favorite movie, Amélie (he's such a sport). Then he went home to rest and recuperate, and I went to sleep hugging the cutest little furry stuffed animal. I'm pretty sure he's a dog, though there's a slight chance he's a bear. ;)