Collective ennui

Something is in the air. Not only felt, but experienced.

Numerous friends are on the move job hunting. They have been in contact, because somehow, I am now a broker. Actually not really. Just have decent contacts and a database to mine for them.

Numerous other friends are very quiet. Very quiet. Not writing, but living. Which I can't deplore, just wait until they come back from summer vacation, or whatever is pulling them away from the computer. ("Stop Playing The Piano!" says baby Kbot to his mommy)

And me? Just a voice in the wilderness. Like the numbers cascading down the screen in the Geek King's wallpaper- imagine myself as Neo, only female, and without the glasses. Or the coat. Or really the attitude. Probably crack a smile more often, too. I would prefer to be Mr. Smith, anyway. Much more meat to the role.

Ah wilderness. Just keeping the writing going. Just because I am nothing if not stubborn. Don't really care in a sense if anyone is out there. I am. And that just has to be enough some times.

And maybe this is a craven attempt for attention. But then again, maybe not.

I've decided that there is plenty best left unsaid.

Despite the overwhelming urge to unburden myself.

It's just not fair. To force revelations upon strangers.

They don't know what to do with the information, and might not appreciate the enforced intimacy.

Overall, bad plan. Common enough. But bad plan.

Just learning how to live with it all under my own skin. Itching like the movie that came out when I was little- about the ants under people's skin. I saw the poster at the drive in, when I went into the concessions stand to use the bathroom. The place was painted the red of an aorta. And smelled like popcorn. I suppose that is what it smells like in the operating theater when they perform an open heart surgery. A mixture of popcorn, dust and that pink, grainy bathroom soap.

And furthermore

Because if there is a dead horse in the proximity, you can find me flogging it...

More on intent. Nothing really original, really. Just wondering if its possible to plumb the psyche creatively and NOT expose all of the latent bullshit that resides in there. If it's possible to remain creatively objective and not create total shit.

I just don't know. The fine art stuff didn't hold up to this. It was chock full o nuts. Mine own, of course. Only the subtext wasn't necessarily shared. But this is another thing entirely. I just lack the answers.

I wish I had them. I wish that I had something with clarity. I sometimes wish for total anonymity online- because I want to rave at the world and not face the immediate consequences. I want to post the unapproachable and the unacceptable. And the misinterpretable. Instead I walk the middle path, probably pleasing no one, including myself.

And then I start to scan the blogs out there, and realize that most of the raving is crap. And predictable. And just plain silly. Painfully embarrassing, even. But that's the nature of this thing, no?

But god forbid I lose my dignity in the bargain. Sweet jesu, it's bloody ridiculous. I thought once upon a time that I wasn't at all concerned about appearances. Guess that was crap too. Because it seems that I am. I can couch it in terms of compassion and caring, but it all boils down to being concerned enough to cover my own ass.

And just not wanting to have some types of conversations. Period. They wear me out. And we'll leave it at that.

Intent vs. follow through

Funny thing, I guess you would call it funny- I do, which is really all that matters here, I suppose- this wasn't originally intended to be a personal forum. This wasn't supposed to be me just spouting off endlessly about whatever came to mind. This wasn't supposed to be a substitute for therapy. This wasn't supposed to be a diary. This wasn't supposed to be much besides a writing experiment.

And now here I am. Years later. Having written more than I have ever written in my life. And probably exposed more than I would ever really do in person. It's very odd. Feels so strange- this intimacy and distance.

It's a game, really. A partial strip tease. Very few know me for real. And to those who don't, I play this cheeky game of letting you partially in. Then closing the door. For real. Because I am afeared of what might happen if this slipped into my reality. Don't go there. Instant delete button. Because it just can't happen that way.

But there I go again- spinning into some other place, when the intent was something different. I suppose I should embrace that creative dimension- if it can be called thus. Mainly because it beats the hell out of staring fixedly at the screen willing the unwilling words to come out come out where ever they are.

Heard via grapevine

Short news updates today.

Seems that the nasty ex-boss who slammed me recently has a reputation as a snake. Found out while eating with an old acquaintance of hers.

Interesting.

And not surprising.

Hope it bites her in the ass- HARD.

On a different subject

Kboy was able to attend a company yardsale last week. Old equipment, returns, broken shit, unknown items all at bargain basement prices.

He brought home his spoils yesterday. We are rock stars. I'll post pics when I get the inclination (think over the weekend). Seriously. I now have 2 brand spanking new and functional bass amps. Including one that is a monster- has to be moved by 2 people, with a 15" woofer. The other is smaller, but combined, quite an impressive stack.

He has 2 lovely guitar amps- both are tube amps.

All for under $200.

I love him. I may not say it in print very often, but times like this, my heart swells with pride.

This will not continue

What I'm about to do, that is. The actual actions causing it will continue. But this won't.

I lost 4 pounds in a week.

There.

Now I will keep those updates to myself. But suffice it to say, this happened despite my Mother's visit, and creme brulee. Despite several great dinners out. Despite beer.

The trainer told me it's all in the budgeting. Now I may actually believe him.

I'll admit to slacking yesterday

But I gotta say, that old girl has too much damned energy!!!

She kept us running. And it was all good. I am not seriously complaining. Just glad that we had a really good time.

Some observations:

There are entirely too many fat people at the zoo. Really fat people. Not borderline fat.

People who run strollers into unsuspecting pedestrians and then act all offended because you had the audacity to occupy space should be punched in the throat.

Glass blowing is cool.

Cat boxes need to be cleaned daily.

Crying children are not enjoying the zoo. Don't fool yourself. They will probably become the owners of fighting dog rings.

The Nordstrom Rack on Saturday afternoon is a really, really scary place.

The Tacoma History museum is kind of boring- all those stupid dioramas with white plaster midgets who spout off unaccented English...ack.

When the forbidding docent lady asks, "have you been to the 5th floor?" the answer had better be, "Yes!"

And now I go to work.

Getting ready for my mother to visit. She comes this afternoon via air.

So not much to say- just feeling an overwhelming urge to clean grout, dust, look for cobwebs, and all other assorted attempts to look spotless. Which I'm pretty sure doesn't fool her for a minute. Because she knows I'm not spotless. Not even all that tidy. Clean, yes- where it matters. But not tidy.

Gotta go. There is laundry to start. And dust to find. And other assorted crap like that.

What's to blame?

I'm casting about for a reason- why the hell I can't get out of bed in the morning?

Not depression. Not sad. Not tired, but so tired. Just want to keep dozing deeper and deeper and finally keep in bed. Long past the alarm. Just listening and drifting and having them tell me all of the good and bad news, all of the traffic and weather. All of everything, really. I catch myself drifting through things that interest me, pulling up short and realizing that I missed the middle part of the story.

Then getting out of bed. And trying to get started. Something is not quite right. Nothing deliberate enough to pin down exactly. And don't tell me I need a vacation. I just had a 3 week vacation. And it was sufficient.

On the weekend, it's drifting from sleep to nap to nap to sleep. Cyclical sleeping. And it's not the weather. Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy, but only for under 15 minutes. Otherwise it's a nasty burn followed by freckles and the melanoma fairy.

On the weekday, it's coffee, followed by going to work and more coffee. And then being just fine.

But once home, it's exhaustion again. I don't really want to live my life like this.

Am hoping that the personal trainer guy- who btw, was far too damned cute to know my actual weight (sigh), holds the key to the castle of health and welfare. The online prognosis is pretty good. No gloom and doom there, just hard work, and correction of excess. Budget what you love. And hope for energy in a bottle. Or a pill. Or just in the blood cells. Replacing ennui. I love throwing those words into everyday conversation- it makes them wonder. The chick who seems so very, very simple knows a few big words. And uses them. Gets them every time.

Fall back position- there is a plan in place if this doesn't work. But it's hard. And it's time consuming. And it costs lots of money that I don't pay, but I sign a contract with the devil, so to speak and commit to it. Better to find the strength hidden somewhere within- gotta be in there somewhere- there's plenty of room.

And enough speaking in riddles. The moral of the story- not going to work out in the morning. It'll have to be after work, then.

And because I cannot leave well enough alone

This is another one I ran across. And again, can't keep it to myself. Never was a girl for restraint. Thus my visit to the gym last night for an evaluation- more on that particular hell later. Suffice it to say, gotta pay that fucking piper. Dammit.

So here. Never say I don't give you kids anything:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PTU2He2BIc0

You are very welcome

I am having trouble stringing words together- more of that later. But in the meantime, for your watching entertainment, here:

http://www.milkandcookies.com/link/65872/detail/


Just wait for the money shot, people. It's worth it.

Mwah!

Must be something in the air

Another weird one today:

Cinerama employee accused of filming women in bathroom

By LEVI PULKKINEN
P-I REPORTER

A 20-year-old Cinerama employee was booked into jail after a moviegoer at the downtown Seattle theater discovered a video camera in the women's restroom.

According to police, investigators were able to catch the video voyeur because the man accidentally filmed himself setting up the camera.

Police were called to the Cinerama at 6:20 p.m. Saturday following a report that a woman had discovered the camera. According to police reports, the 24-year-old woman -- who was at the theater to watch "The Simpsons Movie" -- was moved to tears when she found out she was being filmed.

According to reports, the camera had recorded four women using the toilet.

A police officer showed the beginning of the tape to a theater manager, who identified the employee caught on film setting up the camera, according to reports. After being read his rights, police say, the man admitted to taping women at the restroom on one other occasion earlier this month.

Police spokeswoman Renee Witt said detectives plan to search the man's Seattle home for other videos.

"Once the detectives review this information, they're going to try to see if they can identify people who were on the tape," Witt said. "If anyone feels they may have been a victim of this, they can definitely call 911."

Cinerama spokesman Michael Nank said the theater is concerned about the allegations.

"We do take the safety and privacy of our clients seriously," Nank said.

Nank declined to discuss details of the case, saying it isn't appropriate to comment on the matter until all the facts are known.

The man was booked into King County Jail on suspicion of voyeurism. Bail had not been set Monday afternoon.

So in the place of an existential crisis, I just have bad dreams.
Unable to determine if it's something I ate or just bad hoodoo.
But getting up in the middle of the night and turning on the light
to see if there really is a woman in the room standing at the foot
of the bed is bad.
Worse is a few hours later going to the window to see if someone
really is climbing out of it.
Confuses the hell out of The Boy.
Makes me crabby as hell the next day.
Am hoping that it was just dietary, and not some kind of mid-night
hallucination.

Strangest sentence that I've heard all week:

Setting: Yesterday in Kirkland by the waterfront
Cast: youngish woman walking with her boyfriend

She: "I need a new nose ring."

More WA state hijinks

Man charged in Tacoma with having sex with goat

THE ASSOCIATED PRESS

TACOMA, Wash. -- A man accused of having sex with a goat is scheduled to be arraigned today in Tacoma on a charge of animal cruelty.

Charging papers say a witness saw 63-year-old Arthur Lawton having sex with a goat May eighth in a barn at Eatonville's Pioneer Farm Museum where he worked. He said he was trying to milk the goat.

Lawton missed a scheduled arraignment on August third but turned himself in last night to Pierce County sheriff's deputies.

He's the second person charged in the county since the Legislature made bestiality a crime in response to the fatal injury to a man having sex with a horse in Enumclaw.

A man accused of having sex with the family pit bull dog was acquitted in May.

Happy Friday!

http://www.kanyewest.com/?content=video_cant_tell_alt

We live in new tv land.

I didn't stay up to play last night- just helped set it up, and went to bed- too damned tired from spa day the day before- seriously. Spa day. With a group from work. Spa day, people. We're calling it a morale function.

Have I said yet that to date I love my job? Well. Spa day, people. My toes have never been this pretty. Ditto my fingers. And despite the lack of a "happy ending", the massage I received was all exfoliaty, and nice. No dead skin cells (or dead sea cells) on my body. Spa day.

Tonight I play with the tv. It is ..larger than it looked in the store...and larger than I expected.

I'm thinking an episode of 2 of Twin Peaks followed by Lawrence of Arabia. Because that demands a big screen.

Spa day. I'm in bliss still. Despite being grumpy as hell last night- just too tired.

And today, no spa day.

Is there a support group for spa day addicts? Because I would say that it is a distinct possibility that at this late date, I could go for the girly, well-polished lifestyle that heretofore I have avoided. I was told that I glow. By a friend at lunch yesterday. Well then. The Boy asked if I was going to start budgeting a spa day in. When I saw what the whole event cost (hope they got a bulk discount, I'm saying), I realized that it was almost what I pay for rent. And more than I pay for student loans. So I don't think so. Even incrementally, it wouldn't be as satisfying. Whole shebang or nuttin.

So maybe I start collecting a special fund....and ebay a bunch of crap to fill the coffers. And take donations from well-meaning strangers...

But first, back to the tv. Did I tell you it's bloody huge? (37" to be exact...only weighs 50 lbs...damn)

Nothing to worry about today that I am aware of yet. And that's a nice feeling.

So pretty sure it will change.

Yesterday was interesting. One of the sessions at the convention ended up like a group therapy session. Which was funny in a way, very sad in another. One of the attendees was bitter as hell about her job. Reminded me of the toxic situation I left a month ago. She was on her way to another job, which was a relief- but it was a good reminder of how easy it is to get that way. All bitter. And messy. The angrier- the harder to contain it all in a tidy package, and it starts to slip out in places that are questionably appropriate. I guess the answer is to continually attempt to evaluate. And keep that inner dialogue functioning. And internal when necessary. I suspect that she has lost this ability. And that's sad.

I think that the whole episode mystified the guy in our group from Hyderabad. He no doubt didn't know what the hell hit him.

Other than that, nothing exciting happened. Nothing. And that's just fine.

I gotta like days where there aren't crises to intervene, and angry people to calm. And all that crap.

Been at a convention. Going back today. And tomorrow.

Funny thing. The kind of job I'm doing. And the resultant attempts by the company at large to do some serious patting on the back. Motivation building or some such.

It's hard not to be cynical about it all- since it's the first time in 30+ years of being a company that they're trying so hard to formulate a distinct career trajectory in my field. Not just saying- get it done, kids. Not just saying- we aren't sure what you're supposed to be doing, but do it.

Not that I'm complaining. I like that kind of thing- stability, security, and knowing what the boundaries are. Because then they can either be accepted or nudged. But it's better to know then to be in the kind of free-for-all thingy that I was in last year this time. You know, unreasonable demands being made, no room or power to deny said unreasonable demands. Just getting it done. And then to discover that there was no recognition of the attempt, or of the effort it took. Just condemnation of some perceived (and totally mysterious) inadequacy. Ah. No bitterness there at all....

Beitch better not fuck with me any more, I'm just sayin. That's all.

Now for more coffee and a slight attitude adjustment before I plunge back into convention world.

Not much time to play today- have things at work that call me in early.

Just wanted to say hi.

Be back for more later.

Last night we had a company picnic for The Boy. It was nice. Very eclectic assortment of people- with a vast array of music industry backgrounds- (more info than that, and I would have to kill you- this is anon, right?)- and an array of origins.

Coolest thing- I finally got my hands on a Pims cup. Felt veddy, veddy Bri'ish. And ever so Ascot. Only not dressed for the occasion- in my F1 gear (tis a race weekend, and my boys won't win if I'm not in my F1 gear. Humor me.). No silly big floppy hats. No hose. No skirt. No heels. No blasted way. And the cup was plastic rather than Sterling. So more of a downscale Ascot kind of experience.

Too much Pims, actually. Which should come as a surprise to no one. The only offputting thing is the slight aftertaste of cough syrup.

Now back to the race day adventure, and away from this. Priorities, right?

It all turns on a dime. And the odd gust of wind.

News from home- not particularly good. Seems that the fires are uncontrolled, and there are a few new ones.

What does this mean? It means that my mother has gone ahead and packed some boxes. Of things that she can't bear to lose.

It means that I am waiting for the call- when and if it comes, we haul ass for home. To do what we can to help. If it means driving tractors and combines down the road to save them from the flames, then so be it. If it means taking the good advise of a friend who was with the forest service and equipping hefty sticks with mud flaps and beating the fucking flames, then so be it. Whatever it takes- because I will not sit here in the safety of damp coolness and hear about my mother and step-father losing their home without being there to fight.

But that presupposed that there will be an opportunity to fight. And that is another concern entirely. There might not be a chance.

And I will cry soon if I keep this thought pattern going.

Must end it now.

Been dreaming non stop about wild animals. Like cougars in the yard chasing the kitties. And the Boy letting skunks in the house. Not good dreams, but not horrible either. Just odd.

And the tone is more that of a National Geographic documentary than of a horror movie. This I prefer. Not Shark Week NG either. (or is that Discovery channel? Same difference.)

But overall I am just bone tired. Too much information in too short of a time span. But that's to be expected. And it is what I wanted. Open eyes and all. So no whining. Just keeping on with it.

Last night

we discovered that we have raccoons. There are 3 of them, they are unbearably cute, and they are used to human folks, and probably get hand fed by retarded neighbors, like the squirrels.

They menaced the kitties, who were very upset.

They will not get fed here. I will look but not touch. And the Boy will do likewise. As raccoons are naughty, and have a habit of getting rabid. Bad influence all around.

News of the day

Now here is the juicy bit. I had lunch with friends. I caught up on my old job- all the news that's fit to print, so to speak. Only I don't plan on printing it- not interesting to outsiders.

But then came the killer. Seems that my ex-boss torpedoed me to a potential boss. Seems that she said that my performance wasn't stellar. Luckily I have friends who were trying their best to mitigate her damage, and providing gentle coaching. Luckily he told them his doubts. But it would've been one hell of a sales job.

Best luck- I never told her diddly about the job that I did get. I had a feeling. And I listened to it.

Why did she pull this brand of nastiness out of her pocket? Not sure exactly. But I suspect part of it is that she holds me responsible for the ineptitude of my replacement. That somehow I am to blame for the woman being a poor choice in the first place. I think that she's also pissed that I asked questions about inappropriate comments made to a co-worker- the kind of things that result in very bad karma for the company (i.e. inappropriate promises of jobs to come, etc.), and she didn't like that. We had a few words about that- she made a veiled threat about keeping my mouth shut. But I thought that we had resolved that. I thought that we had resolved the other issue when I gave her a full debrief.

Evidently not. Glad that I trusted my instincts and kept things to myself. Glad that I have very good friends who were looking out for me. Glad that I got a job untainted by that woman. Glad that she can't do anything to me ever again.

The nasty little thing.

Ah the humanity

Last night the Boy gave me a treat of sorts. And not that kind of treat, either- I don't share those details online! Different blog for that I'm guessing.

Anyway- seems that there are pictures of his 20th reunion floating out there. We have an agreement. Neither will drag an unwilling party to a High School or College reunion. Period. Full stop. And we've lived with it. Not a huge stretch for me- I hated High School and everything that it represented. The Breakfast Club be damned. I HATED it. And still contain a little core of bitterness towards some of those people that is admittedly diminishing with age, but will no doubt remain with me always. Like grit in an oyster if you will. I refuse to give them any avenue to hurt me again. Period. So avoidance.

The Boy's reasons weren't so angstian. Just didn't care.

So we sat and reviewed the photos. Of what appeared to be the same 15-20 drunken individuals over and over and over. Typical, no? Clicques at this age. And they all looked like old white people to me. With the sole exception of one guy's Asian wife. Most were very....well-fed. Some looked like they had lived a hard life. That was sad. But overall- just a group of older people who looked like they were enjoying themselves in a benign fashion. Though I must say, there was one shot of a few of the guys where I swear they were discussing which chicks in the class they would still bang. Just had that locker room feel to it, and there were indications that they were well into their cups. So- glad we passed on it.

Rule remains intact. I think I would've died of boredom. And not gone to heaven- just stayed there in hell. Listening to 80's hair bands, longing for the mullets in their high school pictures to return for sheer humor, and watching them wear leis (it was a luau, doncha know?), and get fabulously drunk. Gak.

So the sun is shining here for about the 3rd day in a row. It's hard to know how to process all of this vitamin D. It's hard to take for granted that it'll be sufficiently light outside tomorrow. And maybe even the next day.

So this place might possibly be getting to me.

Back home there are fires. I watch from afar, with concern, online. The ranch is close to one. They are too old to make a last stand in the yard with mudflaps attached to a stick. They are too old to really deal with packing the truck and the Forester with their favorite things and running. They are too old for this shit, period.

The fires are supposed to burn until September. Then it will snow.

That's where I am supposed to be. The place where I suffer from a sinus infection from the smoke all summer. The place where my lips crack within 24 hours of re-entry from the lack of humidity. The place where they are. The place where my worry lives.

Adventure

Yesterday we went to the newly re-opened Seattle Art Musee. It wasn't quite what I expected. And we agreed- it still isn't as good as the Phoenix Art Musee. And no where near LACMA. But there you have it.

I saw some good things. A bust by Houdoin was particularly great- of his 4 year old daughter. Truly wonderful. Even captured the shadow of her dimple. There was a model of his Voltaire in the Phoenix museum. Loved it too.

And the Boy finally got to see in person my abject and total fear of African art. Masks in particular. Ditto Polynesian masks. And most Native American masks. Total gut churning fear. Cannot stand to be in the room. Must escape from the eyes.

Why, you ask? Well, mainly because they are so damned chock full o hoodoo. And I don't think they belong in museums being stared at by me. They had a different purpose, and really are too chock full of hoodoo to piss off. Bad, bad karma to touch them. Even worse to own them.

And there you have it. One of my very few, but sometimes awkward little superstitions. I felt like apologizing to the masks when I entered the room. But there were people around, and I didn't want security to escort the crazy chick out of the building. I think that The Boy thought it was funny.

But I'm sayin- bad, bad hoodoo. Gak.

Then I came home and took a nap. As advertised previously.

Not up for anything too tricksy today- need more coffee and perhaps an early afternoon nap first. But since it is SUNDAY, SUNDAY, SUNDAY, that might happen.

All right then. After last night's adventurous runoff of the mouth and mind, I am a bit at a loss. How to follow up a feat like that?

Well, with the fall back and punt option of a list, of course!

Sunday morning list:

Things I want to learn (or re-learn) how to do before I grow up and die:

1. blow glass.

2. ride a motorcycle (since there are 3 in the garage, this really should happen)

3. find my foreign language synapses, dust off the Russian part, and re-learn the language

4. I want to make a good- or even great- Creme Brulee

5. I want to learn how to get fancy with Powerpoint- not because it's cool, but because I see others around me doing it, and think I can do better (spirit of competition, and all that)

6. I would love to learn how to cut and polish gems. Don't know how to start finding classes for that kind of thing, though.

7. I would like to learn more about birds. I bought a book recently.


And there you have it. Unfinished business. Plenty of it achievable. Plenty of it not.

Time for coffee.

Now I seem to remember a self-imposed rule back a while ago- no blogging whilst under the influence.

Well, I am ignoring that rule. Just because I feel the need to type. And take my time reading through the typos- fixing as I go along, because I am not Courtney Love, and do not need to look like a total idiot on my own blog (check it out- was in MSNBC's Scoop last week- sad state of affairs, as per usual when discussing old Court.)

And while I am feeling all fancy and high-handed, I'm here to tell you something. But I'm just not totally clear on what it is. Which bloody well figures. Typical. Now there's a story.

I got shitcanned from a job. And replaced by the fucking Canadian. Who was a total bait and switch- appeared to be perfect for the job, but in reality was a total basket case- and I saw through it immediately. Because mine eyes have seen the glory, etc. Seriously, though- she was a wreck.

So she took my job and ran it into the ground (by that time I was onto bigger and somewhat better things- with a full assortment of bitter little feelings- which I still carry around and treasure- to be trotted out when I have a belly full of microbrew- hey! Like now!!!)

She was writing copy for a company brochure- because for some absolutely inexplicable reason, the boss wanted to re-brand the company every three fucking months- new logo, new tag line, new everything- fuck the cost- it was ridiculous. And so blasted wasteful.

So there was a brochure. And it was a mess. Graphically and otherwise. If you know the designer, please don't pass this along- I do like him, it just wasn't his finest hour. And I have no doubt it was because he got no help from above- as per usual at that place.

I digress. Of course. Blame the beer and the fucking Canadian. (to quote South Park, "Deer daking der derbs" watch the episode re. aliens taking jobs, to get the insight there if you give a shit.) OK. So she was writing copy.

Primest and most quotable to this day quote-

"Typically, redacted company name is anything but typical."

I shit you not. Goork. And not in a good way.

So The Boy and I tend to quote that pithy little abortifant phrase whenever we use the word typical.

Did I say before that he went to Atlanta with the fucking Canadian? Well he did. Lucky him. He did bring me back a tshirt from Coca Cola. Because he loves me and not the fucking Canadian. She took my job, but not my man. Or my dignity. Goork.

Whatever. I am sure that when I review this whilst sober, I will cringe. Indeed.

Now we're cooking with gas

What's funny- despite not having endless free time in my immediate future, I am getting so much more done. It's like that holding pattern was the abberation, and now that I'm back at work, doing something that I enjoy, I can remain charged up and moving when I am at home too. Being home alone just sucked the life and energy out of me. Things have changed in a year.

I don't know whether to be alarmed, saddened, or just accepting. I choose none of the above for right now.

And yes, it is calm before storm time at work, and the gentle ramp up is a true gift from my co-workers. Appreciated, believe me- since it wasn't that way last trip around. But still- it's all familiar, and good.

More than that, I just don't have right now. Gotta put the laundry in the dryer.

Preliminary stages

Yesterday was fine. Actually better than fine. As I propigate into the system and am enabled and enamored of doing more every day.

But today, well today, is something all together better, indeed. Because it is sunny. And because it is Thursday. And because so far things are going well, indeed. The dreams are at a minimum- I am sleeping well again, and the feared hummingbird period only lasted 2 days. It just isn't that unfamiliar after 3 weeks away. So life is moving on.

Interesting fact- my actual boss isn't even in the country until the end of August. So I really don't have a good idea of who I will be working for. That's still kind of a grey area. So ought to be interesting to find out what I will be doing for the next month. I have some ideas, and we'll see if they fly. And no, they do not involve sitting at home in my jammies huffing cookies while "working". Those days about drove me out of my skull. Though I have to admit the spot cleaning of the carpet was a good thing to have done. But no one can convince me that it was fun.

Current MySpace mood: Not enough coffee

So it has begun. My big career. They do roll it out though. 2 days of introductions to everything. Not like being a temp there at all- where they dump you behind a desk with a sketchy laptop and say, "figure it out chump." And I did. Which is probably why I am there today. And tomorrow. And the following day. Something to exhibit on my I love me wall- with the meaningless diplomas, and the picture of Oprah. Because when I start to rest on the laurels, they don't matter any more.

And hey, everyone, guess what! The dreams are starting up again. Last night's was particularly great- it included two glow in the dark floating heads, and my husband telling me that he doesn't particularly like me anymore. It was great. So that oughta be a pip.

Ah, but it's time to soldier on. Because the above is no doubt temporary, and if not, there are drugs that can help. Or at the very least some kind of substance.

And the sun is shining. It might break 75 today. Which is overall very springlike, no?

Spent the weekend reading Potter. Was up late last night finishing it.


Now for first day of work. Too sleepy for jitters.

Go see the rat movie. It is good.

More to follow...

Current weather outside.

And woke up in the middle of the night hearing coyotes howling in the neighborhood. I shit you not. The Boy heard them too. Thus proving that I wasn't dreaming. And that outdoor kitties have something to worry about hereabouts.

What we have here is a failure to communicate.

Pretty typical, no? How many songs, how many singers, how many roads does the man go down...all because of that communication dislocation. Or dislocution to be more accurate and to make up a new word.

So what's the bloody point? Shit, man, I don't know. Just saying stuff. Playing with words. Playing with works. Too much coffee, too little sleep, too much fucking time on my hands. (that wouldn't get FM radio play, now would it?)

And part of the daily whine- just don't leave me alone. But then when I'm not alone, I feel alone. Just part of the daily equipage. Like the wedding ring- that indicates that these boots aren't made for walking- they are made for making my legs look longer. And indicates that loyalties are not to be divided or conquered.

My current MySpace mood- wondering if it's too early to start drinking Hutterite wine. As it's only 9:00 am, probably. But cannot deny the mood. Never was a sucker for Irish coffee- too much family history there. And gets me all stubborn to prove the naysayers wrong- all that sitting duck prophecizing and all- not interested in following anyone down any bloody primrose path. Just want to blaze my own. And hope that it's a happy one. But not guaranteeing anything.

Major events today: 14th Anniversary. Of the blessed event. Me, with the worst haircut of my life. Made my head look like an egg. The Boy, ditto the worst haircut ever. Made him look 12 and mentally challenged. Me, a total wreck, expecting the family to implode, my head to explode, and feeling ugly with the worst haircut ever. But with comfortable footwear, because that is important.

Other event today: going to the bank to deposit second to last Unemployment check. Because lately, any reason to leave the house and actually speak to people face-to-face, not cheek-to-cheek is an event. Gotta get cat food, and drop by the dry cleaners, as well- if you must know.

But in the meantime, there's the whole communication thingy that distracts me. Because no matter how many words I write, it appears that somewhere a few go awry, and don't connect to the proper circuitry of others. And this worries me. Unduly, no doubt. But I always want to be understood. And accepted. And liked. And part of me hates that kind of thing. The vulnerability thing. Makes my teeth go all on edge and grate together- and my jaw ache. Because it's being clenched so hard...

and now enough of this. Time for distraction.

And finally

This is what I live with daily. This little beast and his brothers. Only in this picture he's not following me from room to room screaming. Oh no. That's not in this picture.

What IS in this picture is the hideous red that is our kitchen. Yes. It IS that red. All over. And it looks not exactly fabulous. It's a rental.

Just for larfs

Here's a treat. Seattle man who should really re-think the whole low-rise pants on bike thingy. Mainly because now we ALL know what kind of knickers he wears. And in the rain, those knickers will be inevitably covered in muddy skid marks.

Ah so the decision has been made then. So there. No input from me necessary. As per usual. It always seems like that- there is a ride, and I'm along for it. No need to concern myself. Just jam.

Or gel. Or something like that.

But the insides get in such a bunch that way- I want to be deciding. I want to be involved. I want to be a girl of action. Or an action figure. Or something like that. But don't have the necessary password to get into the tree house.

And the phone still doesn't ring. And the answers still don't come. So I am left to assume that the decision has been made. Start the Revolution Without Me. (movie made me bust a gut when I was little- very disappointing when I was big)

So now the challenge- accept, move on, and don't let it drive my ass crazy. Because it is like this some times. Inaction being the challenge. Inability to do diddly squat to change things being the challenge. Waiting it out being the challenge. When all I want to do is something. Anything but sit here and wait and type and think and ponder and look at stuff on the web. It's a half-life I don't want. Anyways. I think it's time to go to look busy.

The dash is in pretty cherry shape for a girl of a certain age.

Now if we can fix the leak in the sun roof, it'll be a true accomplishment. That will be the first cosmetic thing to tackle. Timing and carbs are tonight's project.

Car Story

For some reason, I feel compelled to provide back story for the car.

She belonged to my Step-father- a retired cattle rancher. Odd choice for a ranch, yes. But perfect for him. He purchased it in the early 80's from the original owner- a rich Californian lady. Then he drove it with love. He tells a story about rodding the piss out of it to prove a point- there were 2 Cadillacs racing down the highway- dragging. And he threaded the needle with the old girl- pegging out over 120 mph. Saw them hit the brakes as he rushed by betwixt and between.

All I can say about that is I am glad my mother wasn't in the car. He would've been grounded, car keys removed from his possession, and tv dinners for a week, at least.

The car became the Boy's about 6 years ago, as a surprise Christmas/Birthday gift. It was decided when they sold the ranch in Helena and moved north. No place for a car like that in the new digs. The Boy has spent some time getting her up to snuff, but there is more to do. Because she is a legacy car. A Car Baby. Every home should have one. Mine is in a warehouse moldering. Because I can't convince the powers that be to turn her over to me. Probably never will. Sad. But such is the way of the world. Not everything is happy.

But this story is. And the best part- the wonderful Step-Father loves black licorice too.

Just cuz I feel like adding another picture. This is where I go when I'm off the grid.

Do you get it now?

I thought so.

Now just hear the breath in your lungs, the wind in the grass, the powerline's hum, and nothing much else.

What I'm not going to write about-

The thing on my mind the most. Not going to do it. Because I just won't. What I am going to do is try and change the channel. It's the hardest game in town. Because it always has been.

Totally conditioned to watch the program through to the end. Always have been. I think it's genetic. Used to cause marital woes. When it wasn't understood that just because I can't change the channel mid stream, and can't look away until it's over, doesn't mean I don't love you. Means. that I am messed up in the wiring diagram. Check it out sometime. There are a few fuses blown, and then there were some winky re-wiring efforts to compensate. Then there were a few wires that got snapped that one time. Then there were some more amateur electronic play by plays. And then.

So. That thing- the one I won't write about... it's still there. Front and center. But not gonna do it. Gonna keep playing the skirt the issue and avoid the flack jacket. Not in the mood to watch the bomb's early glare. Not enough coffee in the blood. Never enough coffee in the blood. And then.

So. Did you hear the one about... And another wiring problem- can't remember jokes. Not to save my life. Or harden my arteries. Can't do it. Not the good ones. Not the bad ones. Not any ones. Just unable. Can still remember all the words to Journey's ouvre, but not any jokes in there rattling around. Can still remember Juliet's soliloquy from Drama Club Freshman year in High School. But no jokes need apply. They get sent straight to the recycle bin. The words will be re-used somewhere else. Just nowhere funny. And then.

And here is the ass end of my car in Choteau, MT- where there are cement dinosaurs. And an Ice Cream Parlor. This is about 10 miles from the ROCK SHOP.

The Rock Shop, by the way, is owned by the woman who first discovered a clutch of dinosaur eggs back in the 30's. She took Harvard to court to get her fossils returned when they misinterpreted the meaning of the word "loan". She's 94 and still runs the shop.

Here she is, the old girl who still has some life left in her. The Boy has a bunch of plans for her. Starting with her carbs and timing.

I can look out the window from right here, where I type, and see her in the driveway. She's wonderful.

Bavarian Death Drive

The trip back was an ordeal I don't care to replicate soon. We drove the entire 11 hours in separate cars- the Boy in the BMW Bavaria, me in the Outback. I had the stereo and air conditioning, he had neither. It was 104 in Spokane. It was 96 in Ellensburg. It was scary as shit on the numerous passes, as I kept expecting the old girl to overheat. Seems that the Boy had the heater on full blast on the passes to keep her on the road. She does still have long legs and runs well at highway speed. And he took very good care of her when we lived in MT several years ago. So all went reasonably well.

But it sucked- as I stayed behind, watching anxiously, wondering if his turn signal was on, and if she finally gave up. Waiting to see something happen. Waiting for that puff of smoke. Waiting....

The worst section was around where George, Washington is- the highway crosses the Columbia- and goes up a very long desert pass. It was the part I had dreaded the most all day. It was actually cooler than I had expected, but still nerve-wracking. But she did, indeed, make it. And the Boy recovered from the heat and sun. And we unpacked the overburdened cars (an attempt is being made to get all of our shit in one state- stay tuned). And then we slept in our own bed, with the kitties smothering us with their furry brand of love.

Next step- up to Augusta

So then we traveled through Helena (stopping to see parents and have a quick bite and view newly constructed pond in yard) and on up to Augusta where other parents and classic car live.

Up there not much to report, except that we did have a Gentleman Caller for me- he didn't know I came with the Boy. So they met. The Boy and the Rancher- old before his time. And I had sparkly toes and no shoes. Again. I always keep to the policy of leaving the dance with the date you came with, and wasn't overly tempted to run off and herd cattle for a living. So all was well.

We did go to the rock shop- because my mother and I are the world's biggest rock shop geeks alive. She used to be in the jewelry biz, and I grew up a rock geek. So it was good to see pretty sparkly things and bring a few home.

Then we came back here. The road trip deserves some more reflection- how to capture in writing that particular brand of hell on wheels.

Day 2- crossing the state- Day 3 in one place

Went to Billings. For those unfamiliar- South/Central MT, largest city in the state, dry as hell, kind of pretty, kind of not. The Boy is from there.

Highlight of the trip- visiting the local WalMart. Saw the scariest cross section of humanity that I've seen in a while. Including a guy with no shirt, who really looked like ambulatory near death. He had that alcoholic belly- swollen and obvious, with ribs showing. Probably all liver crammed in there. Sad, sad, overworked liver.

Not much else to add to the Billings leg of the journey, really.

Day 1 of the trip

So we went to Missoula Sunday evening. Stayed with friends.

The strange thing about Missoula- well, that's actually quite a list. Seems I still have my freak magnet on when I go there.

Always have.

The place envelopes me from the start- familiar light in the sky, smell in the air, feeling in the bones. Like coming home. Only slower than I remember. And softer. And smaller.

We went out for ice cream after drinks and snacks. We were eating fabulous ice cream (mine was cardamom, Scott had yellow cake dipped in chocolate- sinfully delish). A woman was walking down Higgins Ave (the main N/S street) screaming at her boyfriend, "I love you and I hate you! Right now I hate you!!!"

He hugged her and walked away. She saw a group of people and decided to put on a meth-fueled show. She came over to the ice cream place and started to scream at everyone, "Motherfucking Missoula- thinks it's sooooo cool. We waited for 40 cars, and no one would take my brother to the fucking ER." This was repeated several times as she prowled around the crowd- filled with angry energy, just ripe to lash out. Some of the children probably learned some new terms from her.

Finally, a really stupid girl took the bait, and shouted,"Get your whacked out ass out of here!" She probably thought that since she was with friends, she was safe. She was mistaken, as her friends aren't like my friends. They most certainly did not have her back. Methgirl started chasing her in circles shouting at her- you can imagine. Stupidgirl was on the phone with the police. Finally she slowed down, and Methgirl flattened her. Hit her to the pavement. Then the onlookers intervened. A large man, who looked like a High School principal grabbed Methgirl and shouted, "NO, Stop this!" And wouldn't let her go. She struggled and tried to kick at Stupidgirl- who was still on the ground. I seriously don't think she thought that Methgirl would actually hit her. That's why I am calling her stupid. Not because she deserved to get hit, but that she was seriously delusional to think that Methgirl had any kinds of restraint.

So, the cops finally show up, after Methgirl's friend arrived and put her in a smelly lock on the ground. The cops took her away in cuffs, all the while she tried to escape. She wasn't wearing shoes.

Show was over. We walked to the car. I found $10 on the pavement. But the Boy said that he saw it first. I don't believe him. I took it. I spent it on bottled water and power bars on the trip home.

Where do I start?

We got back. It was heaven. It was hell. There is much to tell. Very tired though.

But the good news-

I GOT THE JOB!!!

Will be starting in a week. So Jobby McJobbersons here will be a member of the club. Of employed people, that is.

Will relate more later- now must rest. And check my watched items on eBay.

And now my friends- a few days away. Gonna road trip and bring the old girl home- she's a 72 BMW Bavaria- white with a touch of age showing. But she's beautiful, and we are almost on the edge of praying that she'll make it. Thankfully the Boy is a car guy, so the chances are good. It's the passes and the heat that are the iffy parts. But otherwise it oughta be a pip.

Most of the trip, however, will be spent in places with no access to the eworld that I love. But that's ok, because I see it as an essential part of unhooking from the machine. I'll wear sunblock, drink tepid and weak beer (because micro brew isn't really the rage out theres yet), and enjoy the famdamily.

Tune in next week for another installment of - my silly assed life.

Minty aftertaste- that's what the interviews left behind. Which was surprising. It looks, my friends, like there is a chance in hell that I will get the job. And that the person who spooked me in the first interview might be of tertiary importance in the scheme of things. I dunno.

Now to prepare for ROAD TRIP SUMMER 2007. We are going eastward into the vastness and heat to deliver a vintage BMW to ourselves. She needs to come home- especially since the Boy sold the Miata to a friend. He has his 3 motorcycles (yes, I am the BEST wife ever!), but a car would be nice. So it should be very interesting. Seeing if the old girl can make it back to Seattle. Hmmmm.

Otherwise, all is getting better on the home front- not spewing mucus everywhere, which is a relief. And likewise the Boy has recovered. Even treated myself to a pint last night- as after 4 bloody interviews, I had earned it.

Confession- the last interview was a conference call- and I did it from my house, whilst wearing pajama bottoms. Heh heh heh. I am a rebel. heh heh heh...

(No, actually I am a big, silly geek, and I know it. But that's all part of the charm, no? And yes, that's overt fishing for compliments.)

Once more into the void- but this time with a cacophonous soundtrack.

Because yes, LX, that will be in my head probably all day.

So today's round starts in a few hours- time to get all primped and prepared. But really this time my heart isn't in it. This one doesn't feel right from the outset- has everything to do with the 1st interview in the cycle last Friday. She was nice. I liked her. But she was overwhelmingly interested in establishing alpha dog status. And I found this disconcerting in an interview environment.

So today should be interesting. I liken it to a hazing ritual- something akin to getting into a secret society. Once in, you're really in. With the secret handshake, the key to the fortress, and all the dirt on your soul. But that's getting ahead of myself. First I have to get through today.

Feeling better though. Not as stuffy and coughy. Two dwarfs down. Now just a tad grumpy. But coffee should cure that. If not coffee, then pastries. They cure everything.

All right. Enough malingering- time to get on with it.

One of those mornings- woke up on the wrong side, so to speak. Not feeling particularly charitable about anyone- much less myself. And there you have it. Probably just too damned much seclusion and being sick. But I am on the mend, and will prevail.

And also there is a touch of nerves- tomorrow is 4 long hours of interviews for the job that I'm all apprehensive about. They put you through your paces. And I just don't know if I'm up for the challenge. But never say die. Onward and upward. Jiggedy jig.

I will now go to the library.

Tag, I'm it.

So it's a game, right. I get to disclose 8 things about myself, and pass along the idea. I got it from my friend Sean. So. All right already, get on with it.

1. The movies that I can quote most accurately are - Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Gone in 60 Seconds, and Office Space. (So much for highbrow)

2. I was born on Father's Day. A month early. And coincidentally share my name with a dead person.

3. I adore black licorice.

4. When I was in high school, I fantasized about stealing cool cars (see the fixation with Gone in 60 Seconds above). I did learn how to hot wire. Not sure if I still remember. Let's hope not.

5. Despite all of my efforts, I am still bitter about a couple of past relationships that ended badly. Just. Can't. Let. Go.

6. My favorite author is Proust. Followed very closely by about two dozen others. I've been slogging through the newest translation of his work- working full time really interrupted that adventure. I'll pick up again now. I can highly recommend this batch, though- amazing.

7. I am a total sap- I can cry at basically any movie- even the silent ones- if they hit me the right way. On occasion, commercials have gotten to me. It is a sickness.

8. I have learned to be a pretty good cook over the years- and enjoy making up my own recipes.

There. That was actually harder than I had expected. What to say? What not to say? How to switch gears when going down one path, and keep it simple? My.

This should be called "Ode to learning how to relax again", but I don't know the proper literary form for an ode. I'm not the one who went to poetry school. My poetry sucks. I think it's reminiscent of all of those stupid pop songs I learned in Jr high- the ones I impress the boy with when I know all the words on Flashback Thursday (via Pandora, thank you). I used to have a memory for those kinds of things. They mattered to me.

Somewhere in college my memory for songs gets spotty. REM kills me. But then, if you can understand Michael Stipe, you are a stronger man than me, Gunga Din. It just didn't matter so much any more.

So I have to relax. It's enforced not only by being in the house with the cats, the tv, the books, and no people, but also by being on the backwards side of sick. Getting better with those deceptive bursts of energy, but knowing better than to fully trust them. Weaning myself off of the cough medicine. But not the decongestant.

I have to quit reflexively checking my email. There are no flagged messages there. None. There are no urgent fires to put out. No one needs me like that right now. And that has to be ok. Because it just is. And I should like it. But I have a sneaking suspicion that I have become an adrenaline junky, and the withdrawal is going to be a tad sticky. Again, need a support group.

And right now, more than anything I need to get dressed. Because even though I am still sickish, I don't know if I should slip into day long pajama wearing quite yet.

Huzzah for the drug companies who make cough suppressant. And decongestant.

But feh to the companies that make zinc lozenges. They upset my tummy.

And now I take my cranky-ass self to the couch for some serious lounging and blowing of nose.

Still feel like crap, thank you Boy Wonder (for the summer cold- I'm feeling the love right now).

But in the meantime, I'll think about something besides the state of the skin on my nose- as it slowly gets eaten away by the kleenix.

So I've started the next round of interviews. Been here before. But this time with a year in-company under my belt and some really glowing recommendations from friends. Love the lot of them. The challenge will be finding the best fit, and basically taking it from there. But the year has bought very good options, and I am pleased.

The first interview in a series for one job was yesterday. Difficult since I felt like ass, but otherwise it went...well, I guess. At issue- the person who held the position before me was nasty (by all reports), and they are gun-shy as hell. I got that from my informational interview with the manager and his lieutenant several weeks ago. The person yesterday spent the lion's share of the interview trying to ascertain who I am not, versus trying to see who I am. That puts me in a difficult position- as I was being asked how I would respond under certain theoretical circumstances. Without knowing the individuals or ground rules. Which is really impossible. And kind of a dumb way to interview. Because basically, I DO NOT KNOW. And I think that it is a silly line of questioning- showing a lapse of imagination. I doubt that I would get nasty with people in any event. Not my style- and especially not with the kinds of people who would be interacting with me there. So it felt....kind of fruitless. But the woman was very nice, otherwise and I liked her a lot. So we'll see. I have a battery of 4 interviews over the course of the day late next week to round out this job's interview cycle. And I do know that there are others in the running- but I come highly recommended, and have actually gotten buy off from the main boss (which the others haven't). We'll see where that gets me.

There are a couple of other jobs I'm in serious contention for within the company too. Because the busy little bees inside want me. And I want to stay. Is it so much to ask to be able to continue doing a job that I've grown to love? Well, we'll see the answer to that question played out later. Tune in to future installments of Job Hunt 2007.

And now I must sign off and go and watch the Tivoed Qualifying for the French Grand Prix. And cough up phlegm.

And on a side note, for those of you who pay attention to this kind of thing- the sun is shining. For now.

School's out for the summer

And the boy gave me one of those summer headcolds. You know the kind. But we shall overcome.

Because I don't have to call in sick. I can just be.

I was thinking some more about a conversation from yesterday- about greatness of before, and the pallid light of the current batch of talent- be it literary, musical, etc.

I was thinking that part of the equation is a sense of time. That there has been time to filter out the drek, and what we get is the best of the best. That the rest of what was no doubt popular at the time can be found in thrift stores and shelves in restaurants- as atmosphere- but isn't read anymore. Especially the case with first editions- I remember the brisk trade we did in those at the bookstore in Tempe where I worked. Not all first editions are valued, doncha know.

I was also thinking about the past via my own personal filter. The 60s have a golden glow about them. Because that was the earliest part- all was new, and all was pretty much perfect. The only real problem I faced at the time was when I got spanked for running around naked in the cold. I think I was 2. I vaguely remember. I have seen pictures. Not really a big thing- those all came later.

But the music and the movies and the television from that time really moves me. Still. Something about the golden glow and the resultant nostalgia. I will actually use that label- just because I hold the whole bloody thing so close to my heart. It's where I dream when I am lucky. It's where I would live again if I had the chance. It's the core. The boy understands- he has heard plenty in 15 years, and understands. That all that came before was almost perfection. And after was just...not...

This state of affairs doesn't really please me. It's hard to be split between real and unreal like that (yes Sean, I am aware that real and unreal are difficult terms- we should talk!). And sometimes I long for the discipline to jettison the whole mess. But that would be giving up on something that I treasure so profoundly. I wonder if this is how an alcoholic feels about demon rum- love and distaste at the very same time...

Hello. I am a nostalgiaholic. Where's my bloody support group?

What bloody day is it? Well, not what I thought apparently. But it was only a momentary lapse.

Now that we're back on track, I am mentally preparing for the 4th interview of the week. Most have been informal. But two have not. And there is major prep work to accomplish if all is to go well.

One I hope I don't get. I just don't think it'll be a good fit. I liked the guy fine, but think I would get bored.

One would work well. It's just a question of timing.

One will take a long, long time to come. We'll put that in the reserved section.

So. Getting up and getting out. All the while wondering how the hell I got choices in the bargain. That's something new.

Three days left. And then I am my own again. But there is sadness- but less than there was a few days ago.

The drama- pretty much done. And resolved. But not how I would do it, but that doesn't matter.

My role- pretty much offstage now. And being phased out. Probably killed off at the end of the season, so the character won't return. The producers have it out for me. But not really. There's always a way back, if I so chose. But I don't. Been here. Done that. Only a fan of re-runs when it involves 70's sitcoms and Night Gallery.

Interviews- 2 today. At different places. No real need for building them up. Neither excites me yet. Ask me at the end of the day. May be a different story. But I'm not desperate. Yet. That comes whist stewing in my own mind in solitude for too long.

The boss- is fucked. And you heard it here first, folks. But she's in the place of her own devising, and after a very unsettling conversation yesterday, I am content to leave her there. She saves face that way, and that seems to be the primary concern. People. sigh.

The sun is shining. Which might seem like a normal thing to most. But for those in the know, it has been infrequent hereabouts. So I will go now, and take a walk prior to going to the work. And finishing what I started. Out with a sigh, not a bang, or a whimper. Just a sigh.

Once upon a time, I thought that carpe diem was profound. I thought that the idea of being in charge of destiny was possible. I just had no bloody clue.

Then I learned about things. That the body can betray, and make all the planning in the world obsolete. That events occur that are unplanned, and that change decisions in an instant. That people can bollux up the best laid agendas with their competing agendas. That control is an illusion that causes more grief than good.

Then I started taking Latin and fell in love. All in an instant. And life was changed for me forever. Because of that Latin/love combination. Not what I planned at all. It changed the plans that were in progress. It was a ride that had no precedent. But I do remember plenty of Latin catch phrases. I just wouldn't live my live via their wisdom. There are also plenty of feeble attempts to wrest control that still occur. But they are becoming more infrequent.

I should consider myself lucky to have basic bowel control, control over my desire to shout obscenities at inappropriate times, and contrived control over what I write on the page. All else has devolved into an elaborate crapshoot with ever-changing rules and characters.

But isn't it fun???

Happy weekend everybody:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0rZdAB4V_j8

And now I totally cannot stand to be in my own skin

Yes, it's one of THOSE kinds of days.

Where it would be better to simply go back to bed and start over. But it would be impossible, you see. Because shutting off the brain just isn't going to happen.

I am opting out of being around people, though. Just because I don't think I can be convincingly cheerful and fun. Just too blasted out of sorts.

Will go downstairs and quit playing on the computer and drink tea with the cats. Then perhaps think of something creative to do. Or not.

But the itchy feeling of needing to get the fuck out of my own skin remains. Little jabs of nervous energy, accompanied by the kind of ache that happens when sickness sets in. But there's no actual sickness present. Just the kind that goes with being sad. But not lonely. Just sad.

And the desire to just get over it. And move the hell on. Jiggedy jig.

list of things

First task of the day (after the coffee) will be to rattle off a finely-crafted email to the boss.
Telling her that the new person is a moron/Luddite, who has no aptitude for working at
this particular company. And that there have been more than a few opportunities to
prove her mettle. She just.doesn't.have.it. Full stop.

Now, I had to get plenty lit last night to get over the horror of 8 hours in this woman's presence.
And another deep dive into that chamber of nastiness will be necessary. Because I fully
expect to deliver details a plenty. And it will be an unpleasant conversation. Happy fucking Saturday.

And then. 4 days to go. New leads on jobs are coming in. Another interview on Tuesday. Looking like there is hope. But first will be at least one week, hopefully two off and decompressing. As is necessary. Especially after the last two weeks of unpleasantness.

Over and out.

Yesterday was toxic.

The end.

Today is Friday. My last one at the job. That fact makes me happy.

Boy bought a new motorcycle.

Girl is finishing her job up- very busy, and kind of cranky about it.

Late night at work yesterday.

New bed stopped making the back hurt.

Bad kitties kept jumping on bed all night.

New White Stripes album is good.

Birthday was fine- didn't take a Birthday Princess day for the first time.

End of update- have to go deal with more of the same (except for the birthday part).

Only one more

I only have one more Monday at this job. And considering the nasty end of the day flame that came across my desk, that's quite all right by me.

Also was the last one of those for me to deal with- because from here on out, my mindreading skills are going to be put to rest. Because as of tomorrow, I start dropping things on my successor. Because it is time. Whether or not she can cope- who the hell knows. Not my problem. No time like the present to find out.

I have my safety nets in place for myself. No way I am going down with a sinking ship. And basically the plan is to leave on good footing, and try to stay teflon clean.

Addendum

And another thing....

She keeps trying to make me her friend. Which totally sucks ass. Because despite the fact that I do like her, it is totally unnecessary, irrelevant, and makes no sense for me to sit there and chitty chat when I'm supposed to be focusing her on the job at hand. And I know that it's all because I'm pushing her beyond her comfort zone. But it is not doing her any favors to divert the attention from the work. It makes me more worried though- because it means she is just not focusing. And that is a very bad sign, indeed.

Sigh. Not to worry- just gotta remember- it's NOT my fault.

Ah, it's always creaky after a weekend of not writing. Nothing particular comes to mind. Probably because there are no real crises. And the tension has pretty much dissipated.

So, one more Monday after today. Then it is done. For now. And the hunt begins again. But all of my friends are telling me to relax. Not to panic. They don't necessarily understand though- not many of them were around during the lean years. Yes, years, for those with short memories. And I really don't care to fill them in- it's kind of a downer. So the fight is to keep from sounding desperate. And there you have it.

And the training? Well, it's as bad as I expected. What with the coaching required on the fundamental software tools that were supposed to be a given, and the repeated questions, I just cannot see how this person will be ready to take over by the end of the week. And I am expecting to hand all over by then to give her a dry run while I'm still in the house. I am looping in a friend in the department to evaluate, and to assist- so no one can accuse me of torpedoing this poor sap. But I was telling my mother about it, and basically training this one is like trying to teach my Mom how to do my job. Only my Mom would never want to do my job. And this other one was supposed to come with the parts all included to simply drop into the position and leave. Now I'm getting all pissy about it. But my biggest fear isn't that she'll fail. It's that I will get blamed when she does. So it's the game of CYA. And I think I can handle that. But hate to play.

Judgmental comment of the day

So, David Hasselhoff got custody of his kids. The mother must be a total wreck, by comparison. Because I've seen the video. And good God, yo.

The litany of today is, "it's not my fault."

I'm watching someone go down in flames. And it's not my fault.
I didn't make the decision to put them in their position. That's not my fault.
I haven't been consistently not asking the right questions. Not my fault.

I hate it beyond belief. Because I just can't stomach blood sports. And I
want it to be my fault, so I can fix it.

My days are currently spent detaching. Because I must.

Was hoping to approach today refreshed, but instead spent the night in the rapture of the kind
of anxiety-inspired dreams I had when I first took this job. No doubt a bit of transference. But it still sucks. Because now I am tired, and will be more inclined to be impatient and cranky with stupid repetitive questions. There was no one to answer mine back in the day. So they went unasked, and I found the answers. I hate being a crutch. But it also matters to me for some inexplicable reason, that this person be enabled to succeed. Sense of fairness and all that. Besides, I have nothing to win scoring points off of her. Or anyone really.

I just want to go back to bed. And dream of the Led lights again.

Spent the day data-dumping to my replacement. God help them...

I'll give her today, and try to withhold judgment. But tomorrow is
another thing entirely...

Truth be told (and I'm sure I've started plenty of things with those exact works...) I am just not in the mood today to start up my pitch of whine. Or shine. Because it is like those hummingbird wings- beating at a remarkable velocity. And just hovering there. Then zipping to the other place. And hovering.

So, what shall we chat about? Well, ideally, I would brew a nice big pot of tea (after the morning coffee- gotta keep the dose up, or gets the headache), grab the package of Madelines from Trader Joe's, and head for the deck. Because it would be nice to sit and chat outside in the sun, while it's available. And I have those perfect pink teacups that were a gift, and need to be used. NEED.

Then after a while of swilling tea and gossiping, it'll be time to think about lunch. No hassle, though. Because it's all in the life of ease offered in my head. When I'm not plugged into the machine. Like right now.

I'm driving across the bridge, and in the horizon I can see the wave coming towards me

There was an article yesterday on the internet about how after a certain age, women are
pretty much metaphorically shooting blanks. This should inspire anxiety, but only provides
relief.

I know that if I don't drive faster, the wave will sweep me off of the bridge and I will die

They have finalized a date to demolish Grandpa's house. This should inspire relief, as it is final.
Instead it makes me anxious. I want one more chance to reconstruct it as it was. But that is impossible. She is not coming back. Neither is he. I will never be 5 again. The world is no longer what it was. This is inevitable.

I see the advancing water, and know with certainty that I will lose this race- it's too fast

I hear weariness in my Mother's voice as she relates the events in my Grandmother's life. It's one litany of decline after another. Almost a ritualized "Hail Mary" of despair. One day soon she won't recognize any of us. Then it will be over, with the body following after. This should inspire grief, but right now I don't have time for that. I'll keep telling myself that, because I just don't want to go there. I see no reason to bludgeon myself unnecessarily.

I don't know what to expect when the water comes, and the adrenaline that got me this far wears off- only that it will be over. At last.

Every so often I get too wrapped up in my own little drama, and lose perspective.

So it happened again. And then I started an IM conversation with a friend. (You know who you are, my dear) And perspective hit me up side the head.

So, luck of the draw plays heavily in this thing. So does the weight of personal history. And basically I come up pretty fucking lucky. So shut the hell up, and keep on. The sunny side of the street and all that. Because what I gots to complain about really isn't shit by comparison. And really, no one wants to hear about it. Seriously. Not even me.

Maybe the Brits are right- that stiff upper lip crap and all. But then, having watched The Queen, that appears to be undergoing a sea change too. So I just need to hunker down, watch a few more episodes of World's Deadliest Catch, and feel lucky that I've never been called to sea. Because there is a Bitch Goddess if I've ever seen one. And crab fishermen are cool as hell.

And now the secret is out- there is ONE reality tv program that I am hugely addicted to. (see above). It is something of a guilty pleasure- but when we go to the locks, I look for the boats featured in the show.

Rough night-

Can't sleep, clown's gonna get me...

Laughing into the wind, knowing that a good percentage of it is
pure bravado.

Knowing that I know absolutely nothing about what I am really doing.
Knowing that somewhere the stakes went up.
Because with age allegedly comes wisdom.
But with that wisdom comes a few other creeping things.
Like fear. And consequences. And just less time.

Crikey. Now that's the attitude to take today.

For me, because we about hurt ourselves laughing when we first saw this sign.

Seriously- almost went off the road.

WHO thought this was ok?

(Actually this was in the same folder as the previous one, and from the same trip.)

For Lx- because it appears to fit his mood today.

Practically unfillable

Someplace inside, there's a chasm
or maybe that's inaccurate.
More like a field- fallow.
But not really. Because fallow fields exist
for a reason. They're deliberate.
What's inside wasn't intended. Not what
they planned. Not part of the standard
operating procedure (SOP, for the insiders).

Flashback- knowing that everything was fine.
That everyone loved. That everyone was just...there.

Flashforward- knowing that growing up is inevitable.
Hardening of the hearts and arteries. Hardening of the mind
and purpose. Hardening of the will and ways.

Then knowing that there is just no answer, no time like then
and no filling the holes left behind. But also realizing that those
holes, while serving no purpose and unintentional are inevitable.

Deciding to just persevere and deal with it. But walking
with a limp.

Gathering momentum

There is another interview with a different group of people scheduled for Monday, and 9:00.

And another phone interview- time tbd.

Dizzy-making.

Wrap up

The interviews appeared to go well. There were two back to back ones. The first seemed kind of slam dunkable. The second was harder to read. And given that it's one of those jobs that requires a high level of trust and personality meld, it'll really depend on their feelings. And they're boys, so who the hell knows. Because boys are a mystery sometimes. God knows what they are really looking for. I didn't get the impression, however, that they are after a pretty young thing- which is good, since I haven't been one of those (and then only marginally) for about 15 years or so. So the waiting game begins.

Good news though- options exist where there were none last year. And friends are coming out of the woodwork and offering assistance. So that makes everything different. Doesn't appear that I get to revisit the reclusive life for long- which is no doubt a very good thing.

Went to the ballet last night- saw the rehearsal last week, and the opening night was last night. Good seats. And it was certainly a different experience. I have to say that it ought to be obligatory that at least once in a lifetime if you like ballet you see the rehearsal. There's an intimacy to it that gets lost in the translation. As well as an intensity. The costumes added to the sense of anonymity of the members of the corps, and I didn't like that. I loved seeing them as individual pieces of the whole- rather than as cogs in a moving machine. But that's just Balanchine for you. He had this whole kind of shuffle run thing that he had his dancers do- that resembles nothing so much as a train engine. And there's a kind of prancy run that they did too- all of it is kind of dated in a way. Reminds me of Busby Berkley for some reason.

All in all, it was a wonderful night- with amazing company. (if you're reading, W, I really do mean that!) And I gotta say I am very worn out! So, adieu, and I'll be back later.

Biggish day- send happy thoughts

Especially around 3:30 PM Pacific.

I have 2 interviews with the potential boss and his boss this afternoon. Totally impromptu- as they wanted to meet me prior to going on a trip. Which means fast-track. Which means they might actually be going somewhere with this job. Which means that all of my friends who've been pulling for me, emailing hiring managers and making phone calls might actually pull me out of the unemployment pool in a month.

And that is good news, indeed. Because I have come to the realization that another stint of being alone at home with the cats all day after a job like this would probably drive me to a place I won't be able to come home from. Not really- pretty dramatic, don't you think? She still has that. All those years in the Theeater have left their very vivid mark.

But it would be sad. And lonely. And I would hate it this time around. Because it would be so very quiet.

Just lack the stomach for angst right now- even though it's batting at me from under the bed and around the edges. Just don't want to plunge in. Even though it's comfortable and familiar.

Am going to try and keep it together for a couple more days. Just another hour or two. Maybe just the next 10 minutes.

Then I can let myself feel sad a bit again. Not to worry, but it is a white knuckle thrill ride on occasion hereabouts.

The difference- I do know that it's all temporary. That's what a couple grand and a decent therapist can buy you.

Goodnight, sweet prince

Charles Nelson Reilly died. He was one of my favorite figures on "Match Game 76 (77, 78, etc)".

I would fake sick (mainly because I hated school- loathed it- despised it) and would stay home and read comic books, and watch daytime tv. Match Game and Let's Make a Deal topped the preferences list. Especially Match Game, because the stars were naughty sometimes. And I totally got it. And it beat the hell out of going to school, and dealing with my nasty little peers.

I also loved the Carol Burnett Show, but that's another thing, entirely. But I must interject that the Gone With the Wind sketch that they did still cracks me up. Because I am a very square old white woman.

But Charles. The first (after Paul Lynde) openly gay man on the tv...loved him. Loved him. Loved him. He was funny and fabulous. And I'm sad that he died.

Note to self

Avoid the special burrito at McMinnamin's- it will make you sick.

Now if I could send this message back 30 hours, it would be worth something.

John Wayne story

It is his 100th birthday. But he is also dead. So not really. But there is hooplah.

I have always disliked John Wayne- mainly because I grew up hating cowboy movies. But to be fair, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence and The Three Godfathers are really good.

So. The story.

The lady we met a couple of weeks ago- I mentioned her before- last denizen of dead empire, etc. said that back in the day, when she was living in the colonies, they had John Wayne stay with them for a week. Seems he was lovely. And she liked his politics.

And there you go.

Not that you're following the action, but the interview went well. Another is to be scheduled for next week. And we're in the running now- it appears to be a fast-track process.

Time to polish the mirrors, and get the smoke machine up and running.

Today it's all about the ME. You've been warned.

Just gotta brag about my fabulous connections. Seems I have a few very well placed friends out there. And some not so well placed friends, who are equally fabulous, but unable to score me tickets to last evening. (don't feel bad if you're one of the well-loved latter- I am just as happy doing other things- this was just something kind of special, as I'm sure you would agree)

We went to the Pacific Northwest Ballet center at 4:00. First there was a tour of the facilities, including the wardrobe and costume departments. Our tour guide was the founding member of one of the major biotech firms in Seattle, and loaded to the gills. He is also in love with dance.

We then got to eat, drink, and watch the white haired folks filter in for the main event. We met the (ahem) Maestro- who bears a remarkable similarity to Peter O'Toole, including the possibility of being a little rummy on occasion (the eyes and skin on his face give it away).

Then came the event itself. We got to sit in the front row and watch a practice session for the performance being staged next week. Basically it was a lap dance, with about 40 people working their asses off being graceful and lovely. Actually, this really doesn't express it well. It was amazing, and overwhelming. One of the pieces was a 35 minute solo to Rite of Spring. Absolutely punishing for the woman performing it. I did find it hard to follow after a while- mainly because I am just not used to live dance performance any more. She was one of only 5 people to have learned this particular piece, and only the 3rd to perform it live. The choreographer/performer who developed it and the 2nd person to dance it were both in attendance (no pressure for her, oh no).

Also we saw one of the choreographers who specializes in Balanchine assisting in rehearsals for a future production- one of those almost scary ensemble pieces where it's a miracle that no one runs into each other or kicks each other in the face as bodies hurl through space in patterns.

Anyway, we have another date for opening night- where we get to go to the special money happy lounge and hang with the elderly again. Seems the majority of donors are over the age of 90, and just plain geezy (or just silly rich and geezy).

My date for the evening even got the eye from one of the young (and pretty) dancer boys. He didn't even notice. It was funny as hell. No way that look was intended for the likes of me.

Like I said, some of my circles are pretty connected...some of the time...and some of the time they actually pick me. I am feeling good about this today- which is optimal, since I have an interview for a job at 10:00. Yes, and it's an internal thing. I might have a chance...

Ah- good morning. It's sunny. And there is cotton floating through the air- which is kind of pretty, but makes me sneezy.

Yesterday I had my first official job interview- via phone. It went well, I think, and we'll see what comes of it. It would be rather nice to jump from one job to the next with a couple of weeks of rec time thrown in between. And it is for a good company. So we'll see. No panic yet.

Today I take off early and accompany my friend William to the ballet. We get to go see the practice, and behind the scenes. It's part of an auction item that he won. And upon winning it, he declared me the recipient of the second ticket (primarily since no one else wanted to go). So, men in tights, look out. I plan on ogling a bit. Why the hell not?

In other news, sleep finally came, and I don't feel that much better for it. Which is rich, considering that it was my fondest desire. But remember the sneezy thing? I think it came into play here.

And nothing else. For now. Just mundane and boring everyday reality. Oh- we did cancel the road trip. Too arduous for 2 days- and really, we can do it during my 2 weeks off in July. So it looks like we'll be here and ready for whatever happens society wise. Call early to book us, our calendar can fill up quickly.

So the temptation to rant about my current ebay purchase gone terribly wrong is there- but I think I'll spare everyone- because I realize with full clarity that it's boring to everyone but me and the idiot who sold me the broken thing and won't take care of the problem. I get to be nasty now, though. Which always brings out something kind of icky.

It's like this. I do my best on all occasions to be nice. Because I like myself better this way. I was starting to slip on the long commute to work- getting just a little evil around the edges, and not in a way that titillates and makes Kbot happy. More in a way that just pisses off other asshole drivers, and fills me with remorse later when I realize that it is unnecessary.

But this instance is deserved. And then I have a choice. I have taken it in the nicest way possible to the end of the line. Now I play the big guns and come out the asshole in the occasion. I could walk away. I can afford to do so. But the principle has me all riled up, and I just...can't...seem...to get past the gritted teeth effect. And it feels good to play bully and pull out the whole "policy smolishy" thing. And I hate that in myself. I really, really do. Probably good cause not to have gone to law school. (Like THAT was a choice, really- maybe it was the universe telling me something) I would love to be magnanimous and be able to simply say, "what a fucking prat" and take the hit, get some glue out, and walk away. Without thinking about sticking it to him. Without thinking about it rather than sleep. Without writing about it despite telling you that I was nicer than that. Fuck it. I will bore some of the people most of the time. That's something I think I can safely promise. New subheading, perhaps. "Now more boring than before! With an extra pinch of evilness thrown in for good measure!" Because my quote from Nabokov didn't appear to register with anyone, and taking a hit at him is not good sport- he's dead.

And with that note- no, I didn't sleep much last night. It appears that I would rather lay there and mull over whatever is currently in the brain for an absurd length of time, just picking the mental scabs, so to speak. Because it's crap to sleep with things unresolved. But then I guess that there really is only one sleep that does that. Resolves everything, I mean. And then only for the sleeper. The rest of us get to fix what they left behind.

There's something sad about having nothing to say- when a few hours ago, I was full of ideas. And I stayed in bed rather than get up an write. I was trying to court sleep. And eventually it worked, and the brain shut off. But prior to that small miracle, there were dozens of ideas percolating around in there. Not all of them were job-related. Some were interesting, I thought.

So now it's morning, the ritual coffee cup by my side, the cat shifting around the room behind me trying to get attention, and the hband in the kitchen making his lunch. It's all good. And as it should be, I suppose. Upon short reflection, I probably wouldn't have it any other way. Nope.

Freaking myself the hizell out

There was a Discovery unsolved murder show on today that I happened across- it followed a Jack the Ripper special- and I am such a sucker for a Jack the Ripper show, don't you know.

It was all about the little girl who was killed in an apartment down the way from one we lived in when we first moved to AZ. What was disturbing, along with the fact that the case is unsolved, was the shots of the actual crime scene and interviews with the doofy maintenance man. He was similar in type to the next door neighbor in Office Space- "Hey Peterman..." and lived next door to us. There were some odd implications of the show- like that he might have been involved, or at least that his eyewitness information was dubious at best. Odd duck, that man, so no telling. Only I never, ever had a creepy vibe off of him. Never. It would totally shock me if he had been even remotely involved. Now telling tales that were short on truth and long on imagination, yea I can see that. But not actual killing.

But what this does dredge up is the other unsolved murder that I know about. Seems that my step-father's cousin was the first (and unproven, so to speak) victim of one of my uncle's best friends. The guy was convicted of murdering and burning up his wife when I was in high school. I met him, and he, unlike the doofy maintenance man, gave off some seriously icky vibes. Hair on the back of the neck at full attention, and all that. He was also a town legend. My science teacher told stories about his involvement in the murder of Pam. It was pretty much common knowledge that he was prime suspect, but it was unprovable. So when he was convicted, it was also common knowledge that his sentence reflected the rumors. Fucker gets to rot.

Then there was the chick who got her head lopped off right after we moved to AZ. I don't believe that one was ever solved either. We had nothing even remotely connected to her, but it was a scary story, and not cool to be in the same area.

Overall just creepy. Kbot watched the Tivoed version of the crime thingy and wasn't as creeped out. But I attribute part of that to not being a girl.

Summer at home- after the hay has been baled (duh). This is Haystack Mountain, for those of you who care. Part of the Bob Marshall Wilderness.

Just thought I'd share.