all of your older girlfriends, or perhaps more experienced girlfriends, tell you that there's always one person that likes to rain on your parade during a happy event. let's say a recent engagement of marriage. there's always one comment that girds the goat, and even though it usually comes from a person who has less than you in some way, that comment festers.
i can't say that i'm easily bothered by bitchy comments. i like to think it's because i don't hang out with bitches, which helps reduce the likelihood of biting remarks, and so therefore i have a lot less occasion to be confronted with shitty comments. once in a while, though, one sneaks through, and even though you know all about it, this canon of the bitchy engagement news comment, and fully anticipate who the comment-giver might be, it still sucks when that person delivers it.
why? why doesn't anticipating the shittiness and who the shit-delivery person will be negate the crappiness of the message?
all around, you can kind of sense people's emotions when you tell them your news. let's continue with this example of an engagement. there are the friends that flat-out ignore you, there are those who are overjoyed, as you are, there are the really awesome friends and relatives that do fun things with you like ring shopping and dress trying-on and only match your excitement with theirs. and then there are those whose carefully measured responses make you wonder why they're disappointed, and those who just fling evil offhand. it's crazy, how people react, the range of reactions you might get. if a person can say with certainty that no evil has ever been flinged towards this grinchy friend, doesn't it make you wonder how she hasn't once thought about how such statements would be interpreted? and isn't that just a fucking shame?
Showing posts with label all serious. Show all posts
Showing posts with label all serious. Show all posts
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
catching up
what have you been up to?
my life of late has been a study in elder care. i am becoming intimately knowledgeable about the differences between a board-and-care, an assisted living home, and a skilled nursing home. i know what a dementia ward is, and what services it offers as opposed to a board-and-care. i know what different forms of bed and wheelchair alarms there are in existence, and why severely demented grandmas will never be able to sleep in a bed without fall pads and full bed rails. i've resorted to bribery with cheese puffs. it's a whole other world out there.
my grandma is very very lucky that she has one unemployed grandchild and a retired daughter-in-law. she doesn't remember it, but she gets daily visits, lots of snacks, tucked into bed and chatted with, cajoled to eat her meals, hot tea, and strolls around the premises. it's heartbreaking to only provide those creature comforts for the two or three hours you are there, but truthfully it's much more family contact than the average dementia ward resident receives.
you learn things. the staff at both of the two facilities she has occupied in the past month have been surprisingly attentive and observant, and i have learned to be more than grateful for the down 'n dirty CNAs that check on her every 30 minutes, sing songs with her, clean up after her, bathe and feed her. it's like caring for a very stubborn, dexterous, capable, oversized 2-year old.
you also learn that with senility comes suspicion. as a frequent visitor, some residents have routinely found me untrustworthy, others have only shooed me away or flapped at me with sheets on occasion. my old person is the same - anyone she doesn't recognize is instantly suspicious and receives a scowl. we thought it was just her and felt embarrassed about her anti-social ways, but after her roommate, mary, looked me very calmly in the eyes and told me she was waiting for me to leave, i decided this is normal. this is par for the course. don't worry about what it should be and get with what it is.
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
carolyn's ark
hello from rainy-ass oakland. i've been here since saturday and it's been raining since sunday. as much shit as i talk about denver, it doesn't rain there much. snow doesn't bother me as much as rain, especially that dry, champagne powder they get in that area.
last i heard, water reservoirs were at less than 30% of capacity, so this week of rain is much-needed. but the sogginess! try explaining to your very senile grandma why we can't go out for "coffee and a nibble" every five minutes. rain + old lady = bad. my grandmother has some pavlovian response to her grandchildren that includes coffee outings or lunch. she never suggests going out for a movie or some shopping. these days she's all about the food.
so i've been working on a new website, one for the more professional side of me. i've been quietly obsessing over it for a few weeks now, and even though i'll never be able to shut the demons in my head off completely, i guess i'll roll it out officially: www.addandsubtract.net. it's basically a vehicle for my writing portfolio as well as a blog that i try to update daily. i am working on freelancing more and stressing over full-time work less, but the funny thing about freelancing is that you have to market yourself. a lot. and for people who tend to be on the quieter side when it comes to their work... well, it's an awkward thing for me. i decided that a blog was something that would keep the website fresh, and do a fair amount of speaking for me and my work.
blogs are funny things. i never reference this blog on any websites or self-promotional tools like linkedin or facebook because it covers such intensely personal subjects and discloses personal photos. it's also a free space for me to not think about seeming professional or cool or having to consider whether my subject matter is good or appropriate. i prefer to let the few people who find it or know it read it, but i do not proactively put all my shit out there to air. as soon as i decided to start blogging on addandsubtract, it became a very anxious thing. i put a lot of work / research / consideration into each post, and i even interviewed an artist and will try and continue to mine cool, under-the-radar things. it's weird, it's working... but it's unpaid. you can't curse. the subject matter should be interesting, but focused. i can't talk about food one minute, then my cat, then trev, then me, then my grandma. food blogs are food blogs, design blogs are about design, news blogs about news. trying to be a general-interest blog with a bit of everything actually means you have to carefully curate the content. it's not really a little of everything, it's little bits of very pre-meditated subjects.
i head back to the D tomorrow and i'm pretty excited to see the sun again. living in denver has at least taught me one thing (no, not that i'm exotic, i already knew that): sunshine really makes me twinkle. i wake up and the sun is shining and that is such a great mood lifter. i sound like a sesame street skit, but it's so true. it's been raining here and writing has been like drawing blood, no. that's too easy. like harvesting eggs or pulling fingernails.
last i heard, water reservoirs were at less than 30% of capacity, so this week of rain is much-needed. but the sogginess! try explaining to your very senile grandma why we can't go out for "coffee and a nibble" every five minutes. rain + old lady = bad. my grandmother has some pavlovian response to her grandchildren that includes coffee outings or lunch. she never suggests going out for a movie or some shopping. these days she's all about the food.
so i've been working on a new website, one for the more professional side of me. i've been quietly obsessing over it for a few weeks now, and even though i'll never be able to shut the demons in my head off completely, i guess i'll roll it out officially: www.addandsubtract.net. it's basically a vehicle for my writing portfolio as well as a blog that i try to update daily. i am working on freelancing more and stressing over full-time work less, but the funny thing about freelancing is that you have to market yourself. a lot. and for people who tend to be on the quieter side when it comes to their work... well, it's an awkward thing for me. i decided that a blog was something that would keep the website fresh, and do a fair amount of speaking for me and my work.
blogs are funny things. i never reference this blog on any websites or self-promotional tools like linkedin or facebook because it covers such intensely personal subjects and discloses personal photos. it's also a free space for me to not think about seeming professional or cool or having to consider whether my subject matter is good or appropriate. i prefer to let the few people who find it or know it read it, but i do not proactively put all my shit out there to air. as soon as i decided to start blogging on addandsubtract, it became a very anxious thing. i put a lot of work / research / consideration into each post, and i even interviewed an artist and will try and continue to mine cool, under-the-radar things. it's weird, it's working... but it's unpaid. you can't curse. the subject matter should be interesting, but focused. i can't talk about food one minute, then my cat, then trev, then me, then my grandma. food blogs are food blogs, design blogs are about design, news blogs about news. trying to be a general-interest blog with a bit of everything actually means you have to carefully curate the content. it's not really a little of everything, it's little bits of very pre-meditated subjects.
i head back to the D tomorrow and i'm pretty excited to see the sun again. living in denver has at least taught me one thing (no, not that i'm exotic, i already knew that): sunshine really makes me twinkle. i wake up and the sun is shining and that is such a great mood lifter. i sound like a sesame street skit, but it's so true. it's been raining here and writing has been like drawing blood, no. that's too easy. like harvesting eggs or pulling fingernails.
Friday, January 23, 2009
morning news
one of the things that never fails to make me laugh hysterically (and irreverantly) is kim jong-il's fucking HAIR. he made news today for finally showing his frail, thinning-hair head along with the rest of him to some chinese officials. i decided to use this photo of a younger despot, when his perm was full and vivacious and no doubt had rainbows and unicorns running through it. oh, but they were emaciated and starving rainbows and unicorns, let us not be distracted by the fabulousness of his big perm to remember that he is one evil crazy fuck.
it struck me this morning, looking at the little 'ol frail thing he has become (and after watching christopher walken in a view to a kill last night) how it is fairly amazing that a single (and small in stature, too) individual can grow to assume so much power and breed so much fear so as to command death and destruction over entire countries. regions, even. fear is a powerful tool and kind of does a lot of your tyrannic footwork for you.
anyways, i won't start. in reading the paper this morning and seeing how old this fucker is getting (plus that rumored stroke), i'm hoping for the north koreans that the power handoff to his son will eventually wane and they'll be free to do as they will, soon. like, eat a whole bowl of rice each. is obama rubbing off on me? feeling optimistic for our oppressed north korean friends. oh, and the congo, too. i hope this morning's news bodes well for them.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
diary of the unemployed
one of my daily decisions includes, "the gray sweats or the blue sweats?" this decision has been happily supplemented by the ross dress-for-less sweat pants my sister loaned me over xmas break, which i stealthily premeditated bringing home with me the minute i put them on. i doubt she noticed or cared, but i coveted them upon tearing off the "WAS $24.99, NOW $7.99" tag and jamming my two legs into them as fast as i could. yes, i am one of those.
one of the funny feelings i experienced while walking around the mall on sunday buying these was how distant i am now from the desperately-seeking-work-clothes person i become when i have a paycheck. i walked through my usual haunts of banana republic, nordstrom, gap, and anthropologie, admiring those dolman sleeves or that surplice top, pulling out snappy cotton button-downs and sailor pant-inspired jeans. plackets, tweeds, bracelet sleeves, kick pleats. words that i could throw out there with the best of the apparel merchants, not because i was one, but because i lovingly studied clothes, magazines, catalogs, and the accompanying vocabulary more devotedly than i should be admitting.
while i am not, like my father, the type of person who wakes up on weekends and puts on proper clothes (granted, his proper clothes are 501s and a flannel shirt, but he wears a belt and actual shoes and socks to putter around the house), i was - and likely still am, once the paycheck monster returns - a big fan of clothes and appearance. it was just strange to be walking around in familiar territory that i never realized i was missing. the boredom i feel here and now is linked not only to the absence of hours eaten up by a job i don't have, but also to the things that i do and buy when i am working: clothes, salon grooming, drinks out, vacations to warm places. my cousin emailed me this morning about her upcoming trip to hawaii and it, too, made me realize that i had long been out of my normal, american, working version of me for quite a long time. sure, i worked in china, quite a lot, actually, but your american life is upended for the international version of your life. vacations to waikiki and weekends in vegas give way to exploring the yunnan province or spending chinese new year in vietnam.
i realize i am not unique in my daily sweat pants decision, that there are likely hundreds of thousands to millions out there - especially after the 2 million U.S. jobs that were reported lost in 2008 - who sit at home all day, looking for work in sweats and a t-shirt sporting last night's chili recipe. (i credit trev for coming home after class and not having a semi-disgusted look on his face, as i likely would.) i don't really miss thinking about what to wear in the morning, debating the 3" heeled boots or the less-cool looking black flats with the laser cutout pattern, or observing whom in the office has fallen victim to VPL and who remains scrupulously thonged. it was more of an abrupt reminder of my past self i hadn't realized leaving behind: hello merino wool sweaters, greetings croc-embossed belts! i'd nearly forgotten about you. i used to care a lot about owning you at the lowest price possible, and here i am, appropriating my sister's $8 sweats.
one of the funny feelings i experienced while walking around the mall on sunday buying these was how distant i am now from the desperately-seeking-work-clothes person i become when i have a paycheck. i walked through my usual haunts of banana republic, nordstrom, gap, and anthropologie, admiring those dolman sleeves or that surplice top, pulling out snappy cotton button-downs and sailor pant-inspired jeans. plackets, tweeds, bracelet sleeves, kick pleats. words that i could throw out there with the best of the apparel merchants, not because i was one, but because i lovingly studied clothes, magazines, catalogs, and the accompanying vocabulary more devotedly than i should be admitting.
while i am not, like my father, the type of person who wakes up on weekends and puts on proper clothes (granted, his proper clothes are 501s and a flannel shirt, but he wears a belt and actual shoes and socks to putter around the house), i was - and likely still am, once the paycheck monster returns - a big fan of clothes and appearance. it was just strange to be walking around in familiar territory that i never realized i was missing. the boredom i feel here and now is linked not only to the absence of hours eaten up by a job i don't have, but also to the things that i do and buy when i am working: clothes, salon grooming, drinks out, vacations to warm places. my cousin emailed me this morning about her upcoming trip to hawaii and it, too, made me realize that i had long been out of my normal, american, working version of me for quite a long time. sure, i worked in china, quite a lot, actually, but your american life is upended for the international version of your life. vacations to waikiki and weekends in vegas give way to exploring the yunnan province or spending chinese new year in vietnam.
i realize i am not unique in my daily sweat pants decision, that there are likely hundreds of thousands to millions out there - especially after the 2 million U.S. jobs that were reported lost in 2008 - who sit at home all day, looking for work in sweats and a t-shirt sporting last night's chili recipe. (i credit trev for coming home after class and not having a semi-disgusted look on his face, as i likely would.) i don't really miss thinking about what to wear in the morning, debating the 3" heeled boots or the less-cool looking black flats with the laser cutout pattern, or observing whom in the office has fallen victim to VPL and who remains scrupulously thonged. it was more of an abrupt reminder of my past self i hadn't realized leaving behind: hello merino wool sweaters, greetings croc-embossed belts! i'd nearly forgotten about you. i used to care a lot about owning you at the lowest price possible, and here i am, appropriating my sister's $8 sweats.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
mixed pancakes, mixed news
sunday mornings are good when you have pancakes and coffee. trevor this morning asked how i felt about making pancakes or omelettes, which i indulge because i love the hell out of some breakfast and getting him to skip his uber-healthy kitchen sink breakfasts (yogurt, banana, grape nuts, whatever nuts he finds in the cupboards, possibly more fruit, chocolate chips on occasion) for a leisurely sunday eye-opener is just fine with me. i found the image online because we killed the entire batch, leaving not a one to photograph. yes, the recipe was supposed to yield about 12 pancakes, and we ate all of them. don't say i didn't warn you. i dug some random recipe for lemon pancakes out of the Joy of Cooking. I love my dad's half-wheat buttermilk blueberry pancakes, but i don't have blueberries or buttermilk or a hand mixer to beat the shit out of egg whites. once in china out of desperation i beat egg whites into soft peaks by hand with a whisk, and that was not fun. shall not repeat. i'm old school about things, but not commuting by horse-drawn wagon old-school.
so i'm heading back to see the fams next week, with trevor in tow. we have happy plans to see the redwoods, see the wineries, and gulp some oysters at one of the farms. i can't wait. i called and talked to my grandma yesterday, who, not surprisingly, didn't realize i was gone and where i was calling from. her senility is charming in small doses, and i'm anticipating in a somewhat evil manner how she'll take to trevor. i'm assuming she'll keep mini-forgetting who he is, and hoping that she'll be rude enough to ask, "who YOU?" preferably while we're eating. grandmas are fun that way.
in other non-pancake news, i received from cyn the very sad news that our favorite girl has cancer.
she is our love, and shy of her ninth birthday. her funny knee knob turned out to be a sort of fast moving cancer - we're guessing bone cancer, but mining info from vets in podunk, china is retarded. one of our friends from college lost his rottie to a rare cancer when she was quite young, so neither of us is surprised, but it's so sad. she's the best girl ever, and the smartest dog i've ever known. cyn's going to spend xmas hanging in podunk with kodi odi odi and her dad. i'm trying to dig out the corn cob-eating vid, but no luck as of yet.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
dark room
never mind the beetlejuice reference, but my whole life is a dark room. ok not really, but i do spend an awful lot of time butt-down on our ugly red hand-me-down futon in the living room, which is damned dark as rooms go. it's a rainy saturday afternoon and i'm taking stock of my sitch. not nearly as melodramatic as it sounds, fortunately. trevor just left for the bars to meet with one of his friends who has called at least 5 times since i arrived to hang out, and whom he has turned down each time. we agreed that it was time to show his face. ideally i would have been sunshine cheerleader and cried out, 'YES! that's exactly what i want to do, babe! let me go put on my face and grease up my hair so i can sit on my can in some rank-smelling dive spending $4 per beer to pour into my inert listless body!'
predictably, i instead opted to give him the silent treatment until he tried that tres annoying tactic of cheerfully suggesting wholesome activities i could engage in while he was racking up a bar tab. oh no. i told him not to bring up yoga in all of its sacredness just to assuage his guilt. if i felt like sulking, bored out of my mind, in a dark room, listening to gen y suicide-inducing grunge tracks while cruising dog-rescue sites, i will do just that. if i want to drive myself to cherry creek mall to inhale the smell of commerce (no, not in the morning, but you already knew i was heading towards that mallrats reference), then i will do that. if i felt like going and twisting myself into a pretzel, i would do that, as well, but i sure as hell don't need captain america to suggest that shit to me. i'm alone in a strange city where i know no one but the eternally reliant person i am directing my insults towards. i will be sulky if i fucking feel like it.
thankfully, trevor is acres more cool than i am - i just make up for it by being articulate and clever, and he overlooks the bitchy part, what a good deal - and feels guilty and bad for ditching me for a bar, which fulfills my goal of making him feel shitty for abandoning my ass on a rainy saturday, while i secretly distract him from my outrageous childishness by stating all of the above out loud. cleverly, of course. (it's really funny and somewhat sad and terrible how well this tactic works to detract from your less-than-perfect personality.) anyway, i send him on his way amidst promises of text messages from bar stools while hanging out with people who wear patagonia fleece and crocs. ok, ok, the patagonia fleece is just a guess, i've never met these people, but i know about the crocs for sure, and that's worse than the fleece. they sound very nice, but i'm just not in the mood to hide the horror in my eyes when i see their outfits.
i need some friends. i need them so badly that i am too emotionally immobilized to contact the friends that i do have. what a conundrum. anyway, all my lazy bitches over there spread across a couple of continents do is read my blog for updates, anyway. it's a one-way valve, this blogisphere. alright, i guess that's not fair. i do get comments now and then. those are nice. i'll stop feeling cynical and somewhat sorry for myself. i knew what i was getting myself into.
on another note, isn't it a BITCH that knowing what kind of shit you're headed towards does absolutely nothing to temper the shittiness level? shouldn't recognition count for something? all it really does is make me look out at the pine tree next to my window and think, 'for fuck's sake! this really does suck as much as i thought it would!' i wish i could be a habitual drinker or dope smoker to sort of complete the pathetic-ness of the picture, but i never really took to either very well. free-flow at launch parties is another thing altogether. drinks go down so much more nicely when you're in heels.
trevor and i mention every once in a while (translation: daily) what we miss about china. trevor, being the fob that he is, misses not only his friends, but china itself, its language and surroundings. (i know what you're thinking - what surroundings are those?) i don't miss stupid china at all, but i miss my friends. i miss having a group of people around me full of ideas and energy who always have something interesting up their sleeves. maybe new york is different, but where i'm from and where i currently am don't have that same dynamic. there is something about being a transplant and needing to get something out of being in a foreign place. the fuel of temporariness, i suppose.
otherwise, things are going well as expected. i actually am not being as much of a brat as i was today. i've been making some damn saucy dinners, too. and yet, i don't feel like the brat description is accurate, really. it's not horrible to me that i don't feel obligated to go out and be in some stank bar in the middle of the day for the sake of getting out of the house. i really don't begrudge trevor ditching my ass (i just like the ring of the phrase) to sit in a bar with croc-wearing friends. it's just that the reality of it is that i am essentially in a city with no friends and no family. the one person i do know is great and supportive and fair and sunshiney to the point of needing a xanax, but i require more than one person on earth to keep me stimulated and happy, and more than one location, and more than one task. it's just how shit be.
predictably, i instead opted to give him the silent treatment until he tried that tres annoying tactic of cheerfully suggesting wholesome activities i could engage in while he was racking up a bar tab. oh no. i told him not to bring up yoga in all of its sacredness just to assuage his guilt. if i felt like sulking, bored out of my mind, in a dark room, listening to gen y suicide-inducing grunge tracks while cruising dog-rescue sites, i will do just that. if i want to drive myself to cherry creek mall to inhale the smell of commerce (no, not in the morning, but you already knew i was heading towards that mallrats reference), then i will do that. if i felt like going and twisting myself into a pretzel, i would do that, as well, but i sure as hell don't need captain america to suggest that shit to me. i'm alone in a strange city where i know no one but the eternally reliant person i am directing my insults towards. i will be sulky if i fucking feel like it.
thankfully, trevor is acres more cool than i am - i just make up for it by being articulate and clever, and he overlooks the bitchy part, what a good deal - and feels guilty and bad for ditching me for a bar, which fulfills my goal of making him feel shitty for abandoning my ass on a rainy saturday, while i secretly distract him from my outrageous childishness by stating all of the above out loud. cleverly, of course. (it's really funny and somewhat sad and terrible how well this tactic works to detract from your less-than-perfect personality.) anyway, i send him on his way amidst promises of text messages from bar stools while hanging out with people who wear patagonia fleece and crocs. ok, ok, the patagonia fleece is just a guess, i've never met these people, but i know about the crocs for sure, and that's worse than the fleece. they sound very nice, but i'm just not in the mood to hide the horror in my eyes when i see their outfits.
i need some friends. i need them so badly that i am too emotionally immobilized to contact the friends that i do have. what a conundrum. anyway, all my lazy bitches over there spread across a couple of continents do is read my blog for updates, anyway. it's a one-way valve, this blogisphere. alright, i guess that's not fair. i do get comments now and then. those are nice. i'll stop feeling cynical and somewhat sorry for myself. i knew what i was getting myself into.
on another note, isn't it a BITCH that knowing what kind of shit you're headed towards does absolutely nothing to temper the shittiness level? shouldn't recognition count for something? all it really does is make me look out at the pine tree next to my window and think, 'for fuck's sake! this really does suck as much as i thought it would!' i wish i could be a habitual drinker or dope smoker to sort of complete the pathetic-ness of the picture, but i never really took to either very well. free-flow at launch parties is another thing altogether. drinks go down so much more nicely when you're in heels.
trevor and i mention every once in a while (translation: daily) what we miss about china. trevor, being the fob that he is, misses not only his friends, but china itself, its language and surroundings. (i know what you're thinking - what surroundings are those?) i don't miss stupid china at all, but i miss my friends. i miss having a group of people around me full of ideas and energy who always have something interesting up their sleeves. maybe new york is different, but where i'm from and where i currently am don't have that same dynamic. there is something about being a transplant and needing to get something out of being in a foreign place. the fuel of temporariness, i suppose.
otherwise, things are going well as expected. i actually am not being as much of a brat as i was today. i've been making some damn saucy dinners, too. and yet, i don't feel like the brat description is accurate, really. it's not horrible to me that i don't feel obligated to go out and be in some stank bar in the middle of the day for the sake of getting out of the house. i really don't begrudge trevor ditching my ass (i just like the ring of the phrase) to sit in a bar with croc-wearing friends. it's just that the reality of it is that i am essentially in a city with no friends and no family. the one person i do know is great and supportive and fair and sunshiney to the point of needing a xanax, but i require more than one person on earth to keep me stimulated and happy, and more than one location, and more than one task. it's just how shit be.
Monday, June 16, 2008
afternoon headaches
up late-night. stressing over some triflin bullshit that won't matter to me in about three years. stress headaches are back but the only thing that gives me some peace is typing, and typing must be done on a computer.
the general mandate of humanity deems compassion to be a good thing, a worthy thing, something to be valued. damned if it doesn't just make your ass the weakest link in the world of business. in this whole mess of resigning and leaving the country and following the hearts-and-flowers path instead of the stress-and-paycheck option, i vacillate between wanting to hide from the real world of dog-eat-dog and pretend all i see are rainbows and angels... and wanting to crush those angels and then sell them some expensive furniture. free delivery.
right now the latter is not appealing to me. i went this weekend and did what i used to do when struck with a dilemma: jumped into a pool and tried to swim myself into submission and my mind into focus, but i forget how much leaner i used to be when the physical aspect of the repentance would last as long as needed in order to bring around the mental . i barely cleared 1000 meters before the physical part of me went kaput and the mind was still in turmoil. and the physical wanted thai delivery.
plus there were no pull buoys or a time clock or flags at the pool and it was really throwing me off. you can only placidly breaststroke for so long in 1.2 meters depth without thinking about pad see ew.
called trevor, who was oh so unfortunately stranded at a bar, but receiving half-sober bar analysis failed to lull me to sleep. you're on your own, sister.
to continue with my griping, sometimes i feel that i was granted half-talents. there is no one thing so keenly developed in my brain, nor so deeply entertaining that i'll throw all of my energy into honing the skill, and so i feel that i fall between kinda wanting to do this but knowing it'll eventually be annoying, to maybe falling back on that bullshit i used to do way back when. what was it again? oh yeah, buying sheets for people or something.
clearly, having a path of some sort matters to me - why else write about it to a cheering crowd of about 4.3 people - but i'm not convinced that the junctions i've visited have involved an interstate of deeply compelling potential goals. i'm in a minivan and it corners like a horse cart.
anyways... enough complaining. there's enough of the middle-class or middle-management or gen X malaise to thickly spread every bagel in the factory, and the truth of the matter is i need to be somewhat alert tomorrow so i can negotiate my way into what will likely be a big fat shaft in the quadriceps. mine, of course. the good thing is that my quads are so under-utilized lately that the shaft will just slide in, easy as butter.
the general mandate of humanity deems compassion to be a good thing, a worthy thing, something to be valued. damned if it doesn't just make your ass the weakest link in the world of business. in this whole mess of resigning and leaving the country and following the hearts-and-flowers path instead of the stress-and-paycheck option, i vacillate between wanting to hide from the real world of dog-eat-dog and pretend all i see are rainbows and angels... and wanting to crush those angels and then sell them some expensive furniture. free delivery.
right now the latter is not appealing to me. i went this weekend and did what i used to do when struck with a dilemma: jumped into a pool and tried to swim myself into submission and my mind into focus, but i forget how much leaner i used to be when the physical aspect of the repentance would last as long as needed in order to bring around the mental . i barely cleared 1000 meters before the physical part of me went kaput and the mind was still in turmoil. and the physical wanted thai delivery.
plus there were no pull buoys or a time clock or flags at the pool and it was really throwing me off. you can only placidly breaststroke for so long in 1.2 meters depth without thinking about pad see ew.
called trevor, who was oh so unfortunately stranded at a bar, but receiving half-sober bar analysis failed to lull me to sleep. you're on your own, sister.
to continue with my griping, sometimes i feel that i was granted half-talents. there is no one thing so keenly developed in my brain, nor so deeply entertaining that i'll throw all of my energy into honing the skill, and so i feel that i fall between kinda wanting to do this but knowing it'll eventually be annoying, to maybe falling back on that bullshit i used to do way back when. what was it again? oh yeah, buying sheets for people or something.
clearly, having a path of some sort matters to me - why else write about it to a cheering crowd of about 4.3 people - but i'm not convinced that the junctions i've visited have involved an interstate of deeply compelling potential goals. i'm in a minivan and it corners like a horse cart.
anyways... enough complaining. there's enough of the middle-class or middle-management or gen X malaise to thickly spread every bagel in the factory, and the truth of the matter is i need to be somewhat alert tomorrow so i can negotiate my way into what will likely be a big fat shaft in the quadriceps. mine, of course. the good thing is that my quads are so under-utilized lately that the shaft will just slide in, easy as butter.
Friday, May 09, 2008
i won't say amen
"Whenever I conduct workshops with any group, I ask people how free they feel and to rate themselves on a scale of 0 to 100. The responses are usually about the same whether I am talking to people in a correctional facility or at a workplace."
- alison link
"why leisure matters in a busy world;" marci alboher; May 5, 2008; the new york times
...but i think the point miz link is making in this article is essentially what i learned on my own since i quit my job in 2006 and came to asia to 'unwind.' as most people observed, asia is hardly relaxing, but it was just what i needed for a switch in gears. and sometimes asia is very relaxing. i learned to be human again.
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/05/business/smallbusiness/05shift.html?em&ex=1210478400&en=113569eae516e8a2&ei=5087%0A
this zen minute was brought to you by FRIDAY after a 6-day week, a pending weekend trip to visit cyn and puppies in zhuhai, and the hope of wakeboarding or other relaxing 'leisure activity' that is open, as has just been reinforced, to each person's interpretation. i find getting my ass beat in the water to be relaxing.
- alison link
"why leisure matters in a busy world;" marci alboher; May 5, 2008; the new york times
...but i think the point miz link is making in this article is essentially what i learned on my own since i quit my job in 2006 and came to asia to 'unwind.' as most people observed, asia is hardly relaxing, but it was just what i needed for a switch in gears. and sometimes asia is very relaxing. i learned to be human again.
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/05/business/smallbusiness/05shift.html?em&ex=1210478400&en=113569eae516e8a2&ei=5087%0A
this zen minute was brought to you by FRIDAY after a 6-day week, a pending weekend trip to visit cyn and puppies in zhuhai, and the hope of wakeboarding or other relaxing 'leisure activity' that is open, as has just been reinforced, to each person's interpretation. i find getting my ass beat in the water to be relaxing.
Monday, December 24, 2007
passing the days
relax time for me is a mix of actual relaxation, plus an undercurrent of high-strung guiltiness about work. not working makes it hard for me to relax, but working is working. and aren't holidays all about not working? whatever. i never did deal well with stress and i think i'm just getting worse at it as i get older. terrible at drawing boundaries.
yesterday was the outlets and today was 4th street in berkeley. neither are major shopping destinations for the holidays, but tell that to the crowds we beat off. all i do is walk around and mentally compare the US with china. i marvel every five minutes as how lucky americans are. still, i think more and more that i'll be glad to leave china. i know living in the states is insular and we're ungrateful and wasteful and wealthy and use too many plastic water bottles, but being in china is wearing thin. it's been less than 18 months, too. sure didn't last very long, eh? here at home i've gone running in the woods and walking around the neighborhood with my sister, there's clear sunlight and industry, it's all building up to the consensus that china is dirty and i don't want to go back. there's opportunity there, and i'm grateful for the experience, but right now i think about china and the only thing i do is feel irritated.
being an expat is a weird place to occupy. you have your criticisms about the society in which you were raised, and the one that you have temporarily adopted. you watch the american SUVs zoom by, see the kids drinking starbucks and carrying cell phones, buying piles of crap at target and claire's and using words like 'need' when discussing a seventh gray sweatshirt or new nikes. you sit in heated leather car seats and drive your dad's german-engineered car, revel in your boxes and boxes of 800-gram weight towels and frette bedding and the stacks of sweaters and belts and handbags and candles you blew your paychecks on. you think about these things and wonder where you fit in now with these luxury items and a newly minted conscience. where would you be if you hadn't spent so much money on things that just take up space now, that didn't enrich your life or those around you but sure made you happy when you wore new outfits to work for 4 days in a row. you spend 45 minutes in calvin klein, trying everything you can but walking out with nothing thanks to your new china size and your new china frugality. am i really going to be one of those women that drive around in a minivan with an armchair-sized ass encased in terrycloth sweatpants? and when i am, will i look at myself and care? will i just write all this shit down on some free blog service and forget about it once i'm back in a place where i can drink tap water and buy designer bath products for my dog?
i really don't know. all of these thoughts - i'm not exactly fraught with them but i am aware - dance around and i wonder where it'll all settle out. what will be the end-product of it all. i'm ok with it going absolutely nowhere, i understand that stepping outside of consumerism - even just mentally - makes me a weirdo here. mostly i think i'll just have flashes of conscience like i do now, will likely write them down, then turn back to my peets cup with my organically-shampooed dog snoring beside me, wonder what to eat for dinner, and move on.
i read in the chronicle today that front-page article about yusef bey and his followers. i think about chauncey bailey and the obvious implication that the death of the journalist and the bey party are linked. i think about what it would be like to be walking around downtown oakland in broad daylight, maybe thinking about lunch or that stupid email you got from a colleague or your kid's shoes for god's sake, and getting killed with that unimportant thought still in your head. maybe food still in your teeth or that stain on your tie. it makes me feel so aware of how important life is, but unable to act out how to demonstrate that. appreciate every moment? hug your mom? recycle and reuse? spend holidays in soup kitchens or donate more money? go to museums? become vegan? demonstrate at rallies? lose that weight?
yesterday was the outlets and today was 4th street in berkeley. neither are major shopping destinations for the holidays, but tell that to the crowds we beat off. all i do is walk around and mentally compare the US with china. i marvel every five minutes as how lucky americans are. still, i think more and more that i'll be glad to leave china. i know living in the states is insular and we're ungrateful and wasteful and wealthy and use too many plastic water bottles, but being in china is wearing thin. it's been less than 18 months, too. sure didn't last very long, eh? here at home i've gone running in the woods and walking around the neighborhood with my sister, there's clear sunlight and industry, it's all building up to the consensus that china is dirty and i don't want to go back. there's opportunity there, and i'm grateful for the experience, but right now i think about china and the only thing i do is feel irritated.
being an expat is a weird place to occupy. you have your criticisms about the society in which you were raised, and the one that you have temporarily adopted. you watch the american SUVs zoom by, see the kids drinking starbucks and carrying cell phones, buying piles of crap at target and claire's and using words like 'need' when discussing a seventh gray sweatshirt or new nikes. you sit in heated leather car seats and drive your dad's german-engineered car, revel in your boxes and boxes of 800-gram weight towels and frette bedding and the stacks of sweaters and belts and handbags and candles you blew your paychecks on. you think about these things and wonder where you fit in now with these luxury items and a newly minted conscience. where would you be if you hadn't spent so much money on things that just take up space now, that didn't enrich your life or those around you but sure made you happy when you wore new outfits to work for 4 days in a row. you spend 45 minutes in calvin klein, trying everything you can but walking out with nothing thanks to your new china size and your new china frugality. am i really going to be one of those women that drive around in a minivan with an armchair-sized ass encased in terrycloth sweatpants? and when i am, will i look at myself and care? will i just write all this shit down on some free blog service and forget about it once i'm back in a place where i can drink tap water and buy designer bath products for my dog?
i really don't know. all of these thoughts - i'm not exactly fraught with them but i am aware - dance around and i wonder where it'll all settle out. what will be the end-product of it all. i'm ok with it going absolutely nowhere, i understand that stepping outside of consumerism - even just mentally - makes me a weirdo here. mostly i think i'll just have flashes of conscience like i do now, will likely write them down, then turn back to my peets cup with my organically-shampooed dog snoring beside me, wonder what to eat for dinner, and move on.
i read in the chronicle today that front-page article about yusef bey and his followers. i think about chauncey bailey and the obvious implication that the death of the journalist and the bey party are linked. i think about what it would be like to be walking around downtown oakland in broad daylight, maybe thinking about lunch or that stupid email you got from a colleague or your kid's shoes for god's sake, and getting killed with that unimportant thought still in your head. maybe food still in your teeth or that stain on your tie. it makes me feel so aware of how important life is, but unable to act out how to demonstrate that. appreciate every moment? hug your mom? recycle and reuse? spend holidays in soup kitchens or donate more money? go to museums? become vegan? demonstrate at rallies? lose that weight?
Thursday, November 29, 2007
cleanin up the mess you made
taco night again. overstimulation.
sometimes, despite how much you love someone, there can be too much of that one person. i don't know why i work the way i do, but i function so much better when i have space to breathe. i am a better person for it, avoiding people and noise and social interaction when i'm just too tired to function under the weight of it. it's not an issue of physical fatigue - it's the emotional burden of shouldering simple social dynamics, even with people i am friends with and enjoy being around. when i feel like i've reached the end of my rope - however that happens, in whatever capacity - i really just don't have a good time when i'm around people, no matter how beloved. there's just too much going on, too much noise, too many undercurrents, too many careless comments that sting just a little or are just a tad inappropriate. i feel tired from catching and reacting to all of these little things, feeling uncomfortable for that person or trying to rescue that conversation from heading down that path. it's just exacerbated when people are drunk and i'm not. it's not my responsibility to save anything, but i think when you're the type that's wired to notice everything, you can't help but feel like you should.
in moods like that i just need to be at home, alone or with someone who knows how to be silent, writing or reading perez or doing anything but having to think about my behavior within the confines of society and how to act and what's right and what's wrong. at the end of some weeks, it's just too much. it's too hard. i am listening to john mayer and pretending that i'm on an island with my laptop and a mysterious outlet that's popped out of the sand. because we all know vaios have shit for battery life.
sometimes, despite how much you love someone, there can be too much of that one person. i don't know why i work the way i do, but i function so much better when i have space to breathe. i am a better person for it, avoiding people and noise and social interaction when i'm just too tired to function under the weight of it. it's not an issue of physical fatigue - it's the emotional burden of shouldering simple social dynamics, even with people i am friends with and enjoy being around. when i feel like i've reached the end of my rope - however that happens, in whatever capacity - i really just don't have a good time when i'm around people, no matter how beloved. there's just too much going on, too much noise, too many undercurrents, too many careless comments that sting just a little or are just a tad inappropriate. i feel tired from catching and reacting to all of these little things, feeling uncomfortable for that person or trying to rescue that conversation from heading down that path. it's just exacerbated when people are drunk and i'm not. it's not my responsibility to save anything, but i think when you're the type that's wired to notice everything, you can't help but feel like you should.
in moods like that i just need to be at home, alone or with someone who knows how to be silent, writing or reading perez or doing anything but having to think about my behavior within the confines of society and how to act and what's right and what's wrong. at the end of some weeks, it's just too much. it's too hard. i am listening to john mayer and pretending that i'm on an island with my laptop and a mysterious outlet that's popped out of the sand. because we all know vaios have shit for battery life.
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