It's so nice to be home for a bit. I like NYC don't get me wrong but it's not home. It's also the land of the yuppie and the terminally uninteresting in a lot of ways. It's one of those really main-stream places and the East Coast attitude to a lot of things is completely different from my own. I'm not saying it's bad, it's just different and something that I don't fully understand and I'm not sure I really care to. It is also very very nice to see some folks. Chattin' online and letters and stuff is nice but it's not the same as good old-fashioned, face-to-face hot air and bullshit. Of which there was plenty flying around last night at the Eagles.
I also was very surprised to receive almost the best birthday present I've ever gotten. My sister arranged and pestered a bunch of special friends,(ya'll know who you are.) to give up prints of some of the good pictures of us hanging out and having laughs. She also arranged to have a group photo taken of everyone and made a very nice framed 8 by 10 for me. Let me tell you that sucker is going on the mantle piece just as soon as I get back to NYC. Thank you so much to everyone who helped out with that. I feel very lucky to have such great friends and it is very much appreciated. Thank you, everyone.
Also a big thank you to everyone who's wished me a happy birthday tomorrow. It's been a great one so far, thank you.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
Mirror, Mirror?
Recent conversations have been giving me a bit of food for thought. Perhaps I am in a bit of a personal growth rut. My life has pretty much stabilized in the last month or so, job's going good, don't have to move for a couple months, everything's mellow. It has also been drawn to my attention that perhaps I could do with a bit of a fashion upgrade or something of the like. Perhaps personal appearance will be my next area to work on. I don't really have much cash to waste on vanities at the moment, so I may end up just getting creative with what I do have.
I'm trying to find a good place to start on this idea. Maybe trying to figure out what I'd like to look like and what I have to work with? A friend recently asked me to say something positive about my appearance and wouldn't you know I couldn't think of anything. Nothing at all. Positive or negative. The best I could come up with was, I have good legs that rarely give me any trouble no the tendinitis is healing up. I suppose the no negatives are a positive but it's still a pretty lame thing to admit. I don't think of myself in a gender specific way so that could be part of my problem. It's hard to look like or be something you don't think of yourself as being capable of looking or being.
On the actual clothing front, I don't tend to enter looks into my criteria on purchasing garments. I will say there have been exceptions to that statement but they are few and far between. Does it fit, and does it wear like iron, are more along the lines of where my mind is at. Once in a blue moon I'll buy something purely for the heck of it or I'll get something as a gift that I really like, these are rarities indeed.
Every so often I'll get it into my head to try to do the girl thing, it's pretty much always a bust. I can never carry it off and I feel such a fool when I try that I pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I don't have that 'gene' in me. I can do professional, that's no problem. I can do costume styled stuff for fun, work stuff, also not a problem but anything that more traditional feminine feels weird. Yes, I know I wear skirts and dresses sometimes but I don't think of those as my clothes, they're just costumes, not actual clothes I would wear all the time. They aren't really me. Maybe they could be, but it's too much like work to try to force that particular square peg into the round hole.
I will also admit to having never really felt feminine in my life. I've occasionally tried to hang that sign around my neck but it felt more like a millstone than a banner and I pretty much threw it in the first crick I came across.
It seems like the word "feminine" tends to come with a lot of connotations that I'd rather not be associated with, like weakness frailty and silliness. I'm sure these mental notions I've gotten stuck into my head seem quite ridiculous to other people but it is what it is. People actually familiar with my personality probably don't think stuff like that but to people that don't know me it seems like a bad idea to compound the strikes of my age and gender with the addition of any stupid stereotypes of the aforementioned 'virtues'.
I have no idea what I'm going to end up getting when I do get around to buying anything new but I'm going to shoot for some classic looking stuff, a dark suit or two and some fun stuff for dancing. What more does a girl need? I am open to suggestions if anyone had ideas. I'll have to see if this is another of my passing fancies that I will discard almost as quickly as I stumbled upon it. I just get to the point sometimes where I really feel frumpy and shopworn and want to change. Then I realize that it isn't really that practical and give up. I also really have no reason to want to show anything off so I can't use that as a motivation. I suppose I could use this as a motivation to actually get a social life but I have enough crap going on with everything else. When I get home at the end of the day the last thing I really want to do is polish myself up and go out and deal with more people.
Man, I'm whiny and insecure lately. Need to get a grip, I'm going to heck in a handbasket sure as shootin'.
I'm trying to find a good place to start on this idea. Maybe trying to figure out what I'd like to look like and what I have to work with? A friend recently asked me to say something positive about my appearance and wouldn't you know I couldn't think of anything. Nothing at all. Positive or negative. The best I could come up with was, I have good legs that rarely give me any trouble no the tendinitis is healing up. I suppose the no negatives are a positive but it's still a pretty lame thing to admit. I don't think of myself in a gender specific way so that could be part of my problem. It's hard to look like or be something you don't think of yourself as being capable of looking or being.
On the actual clothing front, I don't tend to enter looks into my criteria on purchasing garments. I will say there have been exceptions to that statement but they are few and far between. Does it fit, and does it wear like iron, are more along the lines of where my mind is at. Once in a blue moon I'll buy something purely for the heck of it or I'll get something as a gift that I really like, these are rarities indeed.
Every so often I'll get it into my head to try to do the girl thing, it's pretty much always a bust. I can never carry it off and I feel such a fool when I try that I pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I don't have that 'gene' in me. I can do professional, that's no problem. I can do costume styled stuff for fun, work stuff, also not a problem but anything that more traditional feminine feels weird. Yes, I know I wear skirts and dresses sometimes but I don't think of those as my clothes, they're just costumes, not actual clothes I would wear all the time. They aren't really me. Maybe they could be, but it's too much like work to try to force that particular square peg into the round hole.
I will also admit to having never really felt feminine in my life. I've occasionally tried to hang that sign around my neck but it felt more like a millstone than a banner and I pretty much threw it in the first crick I came across.
It seems like the word "feminine" tends to come with a lot of connotations that I'd rather not be associated with, like weakness frailty and silliness. I'm sure these mental notions I've gotten stuck into my head seem quite ridiculous to other people but it is what it is. People actually familiar with my personality probably don't think stuff like that but to people that don't know me it seems like a bad idea to compound the strikes of my age and gender with the addition of any stupid stereotypes of the aforementioned 'virtues'.
I have no idea what I'm going to end up getting when I do get around to buying anything new but I'm going to shoot for some classic looking stuff, a dark suit or two and some fun stuff for dancing. What more does a girl need? I am open to suggestions if anyone had ideas. I'll have to see if this is another of my passing fancies that I will discard almost as quickly as I stumbled upon it. I just get to the point sometimes where I really feel frumpy and shopworn and want to change. Then I realize that it isn't really that practical and give up. I also really have no reason to want to show anything off so I can't use that as a motivation. I suppose I could use this as a motivation to actually get a social life but I have enough crap going on with everything else. When I get home at the end of the day the last thing I really want to do is polish myself up and go out and deal with more people.
Man, I'm whiny and insecure lately. Need to get a grip, I'm going to heck in a handbasket sure as shootin'.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Blue Funk
Although it is rather unlike me I've been feeling quite out of sorts the last couple days. I suppose a blue funk or a black mood would be a good way to describe it. I really couldn't say exactly why I've been feeling this way. I do have an idea for a partial culprit but I think that is more of an irritant than an actual cause. The thing that really annoys me about this is I can't figure out what is really making me feel this way. Things are good at the moment. Work is fine, it has it's little annoying moments but really nothing that can't be dropped off on the way out the door. There's nothing wrong with my apartment. There's nothing to be fussing about with any of my immediate family. I'm just in a blue funk and I don't know why.
I suppose it all started on Saturday, I got home from work, I was tired and cranky, my back and foot were acting up which did nothing to improve my mood. I was talking to my mother and she mentioned that my paternal grandparents are doing far from well. My grandmother has been having issues with her mental faculties for some months now and has worsened to quite a severe degree. To the point, where she doesn't recognize her own children part of the time even. I have known about this for a while, I hadn't realized that it had gotten quite that bad but knew it was heading in that direction.
My grandfather has had multiple mild strokes over the past year and he is also experiencing more than slight mental complications. This is probably the part that really breaks my heart. My grandfather is one of the kindest, most intelligent men I've ever had the pleasure of knowing and it tears me up to think of the indignity he must be dealing with. I kind of always thought that my grandmother might go that way, just because she seemed determined to. I had hoped however that such a fate might pass my grandfather by. I know that everyone has to go sometime and in some fashion but I'd hoped that he would be blessed to go with his boots on, mentally at least. I started crying that night around nine o'clock and I didn't really get myself calmed down until eleven.
It's hard to hear news like that by yourself. Part of being an adult is dealing with bad news but that knowledge is cold comfort when someone you love is falling apart at the seams and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. I do know that they wouldn't want me to be upset. I know that everyone says that but I really don't think they would want me to be upset or depressed. Last time I talked to them and they were both pretty with it they told me they were proud me and they loved me. I love them too, more than I can say and it's very hard for me to think of them like this. I don't want to think of them like this at all, I want to think of them always as Grandpa with his white hair walking around with his brisk, ground-eating stride, cracking jokes and ruffling my hair. Giving me an atta' girl when I played guitar for him and telling me I did real good on something I'd made. I want to think of cooking with Grandma and us taking long walks and her calling me 'dolly'. She always said, "Good night Dolly, pleasant dreams." whenever we went to visit with them. So, I'm pretty sure that's part of why I've been kind of depressed the last couple days. Ending of an era kind of thing. It's sad. On the other hand, I think when something like this happens, someone should notice, someone should be upset.
The other thing that could be bothering me is I since my conversation that I wrote about last week I've been more acutely aware that out of the how-many-ever-million people in this city I have developed friendships with exactly three of them. One of them is leaving shortly and I am more casual acquaintances than good friends with one of the others, so that leaves me fairly hard up for company if I want some. On the other side of the equation, I really feel no great drive for company, nor when I do have it do I greatly relish it. It's pleasant enough in it's way but not something I'd care to have to deal with all the time. Perhaps what I'm looking for is more familiar company. I really don't know and I didn't mean to get all maudlin but I was hoping to maybe jostle myself out of this funk by writing it all out.
On the bright side, I had an excellent dinner last night, the brownies came out well today also. My project for National Novel Writing Month is coming along word-count-wise better than anticipated and ahead of schedule, over achiever that I am. I know there's tons of info-dump and the story is kind of meandering all over the place but there's plenty of time to tighten all that up on the edits and re-writes. Who knows, maybe by next November I might even have something half-way decent out of the amorphous blob of verbiage that I've managed to spew onto paper.
Maybe I'm just wound up and taking life too seriously again. I wish my knees and ankles weren't so crappy, I used to go out and run when I felt like this, but I can't do that anymore so I'm just going to have to find a good substitute. Oh well, enough self-pitying rubbish. Time to pull myself up by my bootstraps and deal.
I suppose it all started on Saturday, I got home from work, I was tired and cranky, my back and foot were acting up which did nothing to improve my mood. I was talking to my mother and she mentioned that my paternal grandparents are doing far from well. My grandmother has been having issues with her mental faculties for some months now and has worsened to quite a severe degree. To the point, where she doesn't recognize her own children part of the time even. I have known about this for a while, I hadn't realized that it had gotten quite that bad but knew it was heading in that direction.
My grandfather has had multiple mild strokes over the past year and he is also experiencing more than slight mental complications. This is probably the part that really breaks my heart. My grandfather is one of the kindest, most intelligent men I've ever had the pleasure of knowing and it tears me up to think of the indignity he must be dealing with. I kind of always thought that my grandmother might go that way, just because she seemed determined to. I had hoped however that such a fate might pass my grandfather by. I know that everyone has to go sometime and in some fashion but I'd hoped that he would be blessed to go with his boots on, mentally at least. I started crying that night around nine o'clock and I didn't really get myself calmed down until eleven.
It's hard to hear news like that by yourself. Part of being an adult is dealing with bad news but that knowledge is cold comfort when someone you love is falling apart at the seams and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. I do know that they wouldn't want me to be upset. I know that everyone says that but I really don't think they would want me to be upset or depressed. Last time I talked to them and they were both pretty with it they told me they were proud me and they loved me. I love them too, more than I can say and it's very hard for me to think of them like this. I don't want to think of them like this at all, I want to think of them always as Grandpa with his white hair walking around with his brisk, ground-eating stride, cracking jokes and ruffling my hair. Giving me an atta' girl when I played guitar for him and telling me I did real good on something I'd made. I want to think of cooking with Grandma and us taking long walks and her calling me 'dolly'. She always said, "Good night Dolly, pleasant dreams." whenever we went to visit with them. So, I'm pretty sure that's part of why I've been kind of depressed the last couple days. Ending of an era kind of thing. It's sad. On the other hand, I think when something like this happens, someone should notice, someone should be upset.
The other thing that could be bothering me is I since my conversation that I wrote about last week I've been more acutely aware that out of the how-many-ever-million people in this city I have developed friendships with exactly three of them. One of them is leaving shortly and I am more casual acquaintances than good friends with one of the others, so that leaves me fairly hard up for company if I want some. On the other side of the equation, I really feel no great drive for company, nor when I do have it do I greatly relish it. It's pleasant enough in it's way but not something I'd care to have to deal with all the time. Perhaps what I'm looking for is more familiar company. I really don't know and I didn't mean to get all maudlin but I was hoping to maybe jostle myself out of this funk by writing it all out.
On the bright side, I had an excellent dinner last night, the brownies came out well today also. My project for National Novel Writing Month is coming along word-count-wise better than anticipated and ahead of schedule, over achiever that I am. I know there's tons of info-dump and the story is kind of meandering all over the place but there's plenty of time to tighten all that up on the edits and re-writes. Who knows, maybe by next November I might even have something half-way decent out of the amorphous blob of verbiage that I've managed to spew onto paper.
Maybe I'm just wound up and taking life too seriously again. I wish my knees and ankles weren't so crappy, I used to go out and run when I felt like this, but I can't do that anymore so I'm just going to have to find a good substitute. Oh well, enough self-pitying rubbish. Time to pull myself up by my bootstraps and deal.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
An Interesting Conversation
I have a good friend who I always end up talking about all kinds of odd things. Usually they are just some random clap-trap that's happened recently or thoughts that are going through our respective heads at that time. However, once in a while we get into something where his insight is very apparent and he brings out a point of something that I either had never considered, considered and discarded, or not thought about in the angle he presents it. I am far from condemning this, in fact I enjoy it and I kind of like having someone know me well enough to know how to push my thoughts in directions that make me articulate something that I may register as a concept but never bring up to anyone in conversation or even think that I could tell someone in terms clear enough understand. It's an interesting challenge to be sure, to see if I can be articulate enough to make someone understand a mental process that I have and use but never really analyze. I think this is a good thing in other ways too because it forces me to look and see if I'm stuck in a rut, if there might be something that I need that I'm missing because the outward appearance did not scan.
Tonight we kind of wandered into why I never say 'yes' to guys when they ask me out or really agree to much of anything with anyone without some think-it-over lag-time. I tried to explain it but I don't know if it makes sense. It's not that I have any real objection to the idea, it's more that I'm lazy and I don't want the hassle. Spending a few hours in the company of someone I don't know very well has never really held much appeal. When it's only the two if you it's bound to be awkward even if you do hit it off eventually. I haven't really the patience or inclination to gentle someone down unless I'm really in the mood for it and I most never am.
As he pointed out I am also a person who likes to feel comfortable in whatever situation I'm in, though I suspect that I am far from being alone in that idea. When I'm made uncomfortable, I say 'no' right away, which means I don't get any experience and therefore I never feel any more comfortable. I will say in my own defense, I think I'm miles more comfortable around people than I used to be. I used to hate being around people. I always felt out of place, awkward and gawky. I was the square peg in the round hole. Not an overly comfortable place to be. I've kind of touched on how I got my edges planed down before, so I won't go into that again but I never really went into why I think I was/am like this. Here's a little example.
When I was a kid, I was home-schooled. I lived seven miles from town. Our nearest neighbor about about three quarters of a mile away and I don't know how far the nearest neighbor with kids was. I had very little to do with, relatively speaking, any kids my own age or really any people I wasn't related to until I was about eight years old. I got it into my head that I wanted to be in Girl Scouts. My parents had no objection and they signed me up. I was signed up to be an actual scout even though I wasn't technically old enough. I was supposed to be in Brownies but I was placed with the older girls because my mom thought that the other kids would bore or annoy me to death and she was more than probably right. The problems that manifested from being placed into the older age group were, I was the youngest, (story of my life) I was home schooled, so that automatically made me weird, I was a huge reader, I was pretty much in every way completely different from these girls. I was never bullied really, I kept relatively silent so I don't think they even knew I was there most of the time. Also, I was verbally quick enough that they couldn't beat me in a argument, but they could hurt my feelings and I did go home crying a few times. I was too stubborn to show how much it annoyed me and hurt my feelings to keep getting kicked in the teeth the way that I was at the time those thing would happen but the cons soon outweighed the pros soon enough and I stopped going. By the time I was about ten, I pretty much shut down around other kids and didn't even bother to try to make friends anymore. By the time I was thirteen I had got over a lot of my more extreme shyness but it was pretty much cemented into my psyche that I didn't like other people that much.
I'm not using this really as an excuse or a justification though it does have the ring psychobabble, but I think it serves to illustrate a point. I don't think that this one period in time completely colored how I view the entire human population, human minds and interactions are far too complex to be so simplified to one series of events.
This is also not a "Poor little me". I don't want anyone's pity or sympathy for being 'under-socialized' or some crap like that. I know that everyone gets kicked in the teeth but my point is, if you get kicked in the teeth enough or aren't tough enough to take it when you get it, you're not going to keep coming back to get kicked in the teeth again. I got to the point where I stopped trying to even talk to people and then when I did finally want to again, I couldn't. So, I did what I always do when I decide to do something and fail, I re-group and plan. I did that a few times with this problem of making friends several times over the last seven years or so, I pretty much come up empty every time. I haven't the easy way or manner to make friends easily and I'm too much of a, for lack of a better term, coward to really like to give up any portion of myself or any thoughts I might deem important to anyone very easily. I still view it as an incredible anomaly and stroke of luck that I did end up with any friends at all, particularly as good as the ones I've got. For my part, I try to take care of the friends I do have. They are hard for me to come by and therefore all the more to be treasured.
I also think that it's difficult for some of my more people oriented friends to understand that while I can enjoy the mental stimulus of other people's company I can manage just fine on my own. I don't really need to escape from the noise in my head, I'm familiar with it, I know it's range and pitch and tone. I like to sing harmony to it most of the time. It's not a punishment for me to be removed from the company of other people. I was alone for so long that I still remember what it's like and have no fear of it. It's not half bad actually, it can be a bit boring sometimes but since I prefer a quiet life anyway this is a small price to pay for not minding being alone. If I really needed the stimulus of other people while being saddled with my disposition, I'd probably be in a pretty sorry state.
The main thing that I really do like about having contact with other people is crawling around in other people's heads. I try to follow the cardinal rule of, Do No Harm, when I'm there but I do like to know what other people think, feel and dream. It's all part of the goofy little puzzle that make up people and I like the puzzle. I also like knowing things. I will confess to enjoying having what has been called 'mojo' by a certain someone. She knows who she is. People like to tell me stuff for some reason, and usually I'll say just enough to get them rolling and then sit back and listen. It seems like most people find it beneficial to have someone with no stake in the situation listen to their problems and offer such encouragement as is possible and I don't blab so I have found it a harmless enough source of mental stimulation.
Tonight we kind of wandered into why I never say 'yes' to guys when they ask me out or really agree to much of anything with anyone without some think-it-over lag-time. I tried to explain it but I don't know if it makes sense. It's not that I have any real objection to the idea, it's more that I'm lazy and I don't want the hassle. Spending a few hours in the company of someone I don't know very well has never really held much appeal. When it's only the two if you it's bound to be awkward even if you do hit it off eventually. I haven't really the patience or inclination to gentle someone down unless I'm really in the mood for it and I most never am.
As he pointed out I am also a person who likes to feel comfortable in whatever situation I'm in, though I suspect that I am far from being alone in that idea. When I'm made uncomfortable, I say 'no' right away, which means I don't get any experience and therefore I never feel any more comfortable. I will say in my own defense, I think I'm miles more comfortable around people than I used to be. I used to hate being around people. I always felt out of place, awkward and gawky. I was the square peg in the round hole. Not an overly comfortable place to be. I've kind of touched on how I got my edges planed down before, so I won't go into that again but I never really went into why I think I was/am like this. Here's a little example.
When I was a kid, I was home-schooled. I lived seven miles from town. Our nearest neighbor about about three quarters of a mile away and I don't know how far the nearest neighbor with kids was. I had very little to do with, relatively speaking, any kids my own age or really any people I wasn't related to until I was about eight years old. I got it into my head that I wanted to be in Girl Scouts. My parents had no objection and they signed me up. I was signed up to be an actual scout even though I wasn't technically old enough. I was supposed to be in Brownies but I was placed with the older girls because my mom thought that the other kids would bore or annoy me to death and she was more than probably right. The problems that manifested from being placed into the older age group were, I was the youngest, (story of my life) I was home schooled, so that automatically made me weird, I was a huge reader, I was pretty much in every way completely different from these girls. I was never bullied really, I kept relatively silent so I don't think they even knew I was there most of the time. Also, I was verbally quick enough that they couldn't beat me in a argument, but they could hurt my feelings and I did go home crying a few times. I was too stubborn to show how much it annoyed me and hurt my feelings to keep getting kicked in the teeth the way that I was at the time those thing would happen but the cons soon outweighed the pros soon enough and I stopped going. By the time I was about ten, I pretty much shut down around other kids and didn't even bother to try to make friends anymore. By the time I was thirteen I had got over a lot of my more extreme shyness but it was pretty much cemented into my psyche that I didn't like other people that much.
I'm not using this really as an excuse or a justification though it does have the ring psychobabble, but I think it serves to illustrate a point. I don't think that this one period in time completely colored how I view the entire human population, human minds and interactions are far too complex to be so simplified to one series of events.
This is also not a "Poor little me". I don't want anyone's pity or sympathy for being 'under-socialized' or some crap like that. I know that everyone gets kicked in the teeth but my point is, if you get kicked in the teeth enough or aren't tough enough to take it when you get it, you're not going to keep coming back to get kicked in the teeth again. I got to the point where I stopped trying to even talk to people and then when I did finally want to again, I couldn't. So, I did what I always do when I decide to do something and fail, I re-group and plan. I did that a few times with this problem of making friends several times over the last seven years or so, I pretty much come up empty every time. I haven't the easy way or manner to make friends easily and I'm too much of a, for lack of a better term, coward to really like to give up any portion of myself or any thoughts I might deem important to anyone very easily. I still view it as an incredible anomaly and stroke of luck that I did end up with any friends at all, particularly as good as the ones I've got. For my part, I try to take care of the friends I do have. They are hard for me to come by and therefore all the more to be treasured.
I also think that it's difficult for some of my more people oriented friends to understand that while I can enjoy the mental stimulus of other people's company I can manage just fine on my own. I don't really need to escape from the noise in my head, I'm familiar with it, I know it's range and pitch and tone. I like to sing harmony to it most of the time. It's not a punishment for me to be removed from the company of other people. I was alone for so long that I still remember what it's like and have no fear of it. It's not half bad actually, it can be a bit boring sometimes but since I prefer a quiet life anyway this is a small price to pay for not minding being alone. If I really needed the stimulus of other people while being saddled with my disposition, I'd probably be in a pretty sorry state.
The main thing that I really do like about having contact with other people is crawling around in other people's heads. I try to follow the cardinal rule of, Do No Harm, when I'm there but I do like to know what other people think, feel and dream. It's all part of the goofy little puzzle that make up people and I like the puzzle. I also like knowing things. I will confess to enjoying having what has been called 'mojo' by a certain someone. She knows who she is. People like to tell me stuff for some reason, and usually I'll say just enough to get them rolling and then sit back and listen. It seems like most people find it beneficial to have someone with no stake in the situation listen to their problems and offer such encouragement as is possible and I don't blab so I have found it a harmless enough source of mental stimulation.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
A Change of Venue
About a week and a half ago, after a rather large and incredibly annoying amount of fiddle-farting around I said 'good-bye' to my first paying job out of culinary school, to which they replied 'don't let the door hit you in @$$ on the way out.'
The only thing really annoying about this was I was determined to be civil throughout the last of the highly annoying and unpleasant job but they decided to screw with me so that was the end of that. My patience only stretches so far, unfortunately.
I decided to give the new job a week before I wrote about it to gather my thoughts an opinions. I also wanted to see if I thought I was going to stick with this one for a while. I think the answer to that question is, yes, I am going to stick with this one a while. Happily, the chef portrayed himself and his staff accurately and truthfully. This is a change from most if not all of my prior positions. I was also happy to find out that the job description and title I was given match the tasks that I've actually been assigned. Also an anomaly of mythic proportions. My co-workers are pleasant enough with nothing that seems like it will to amount to any huge disagreements later down the line. There's always something annoying but nothing that I can't put up with for awhile. If the money turns out to be better than I think it will that will be a decent incentive to stick for a bit.
So for the moment, I enjoy my job. My mental health has improved dramatically, I no longer live for my day off or count the hours to the end of my shift. I wouldn't say that I'm completely in love with my work now but I feel much better about it, don't dread going to work in the morning and don't have to force myself to go. I also feel less tired and stressed out physically, mentally and emotionally. I also LOVE working day shift again. I got used to working nights but I never really enjoyed being up until the ungodly hours of the night or coming home on the train at 2:30 in the morning. There is always some weird person on the train at 2 in the morning for some reason. I always tried to be thought of as that person, just to avoid unpleasantness, sort of a preemptive measure, if you will.
I think that I will find myself a decent room to rent, hopefully in Manhattan, come February and stay until the wind changes. Probably give notice around September next year, come home for a visit and then hit the cruise ships long enough to get out of debt and into the black for once. Something may change but I that's the plan for now I think. I'm just thankful I could find a replacement and that it turned out to be an enormous improvement on the prior place of employment.
I also learned some valuable lessons from that job though and I really not sorry that I took it. No harm, no foul, at least not on my part.
The only thing really annoying about this was I was determined to be civil throughout the last of the highly annoying and unpleasant job but they decided to screw with me so that was the end of that. My patience only stretches so far, unfortunately.
I decided to give the new job a week before I wrote about it to gather my thoughts an opinions. I also wanted to see if I thought I was going to stick with this one for a while. I think the answer to that question is, yes, I am going to stick with this one a while. Happily, the chef portrayed himself and his staff accurately and truthfully. This is a change from most if not all of my prior positions. I was also happy to find out that the job description and title I was given match the tasks that I've actually been assigned. Also an anomaly of mythic proportions. My co-workers are pleasant enough with nothing that seems like it will to amount to any huge disagreements later down the line. There's always something annoying but nothing that I can't put up with for awhile. If the money turns out to be better than I think it will that will be a decent incentive to stick for a bit.
So for the moment, I enjoy my job. My mental health has improved dramatically, I no longer live for my day off or count the hours to the end of my shift. I wouldn't say that I'm completely in love with my work now but I feel much better about it, don't dread going to work in the morning and don't have to force myself to go. I also feel less tired and stressed out physically, mentally and emotionally. I also LOVE working day shift again. I got used to working nights but I never really enjoyed being up until the ungodly hours of the night or coming home on the train at 2:30 in the morning. There is always some weird person on the train at 2 in the morning for some reason. I always tried to be thought of as that person, just to avoid unpleasantness, sort of a preemptive measure, if you will.
I think that I will find myself a decent room to rent, hopefully in Manhattan, come February and stay until the wind changes. Probably give notice around September next year, come home for a visit and then hit the cruise ships long enough to get out of debt and into the black for once. Something may change but I that's the plan for now I think. I'm just thankful I could find a replacement and that it turned out to be an enormous improvement on the prior place of employment.
I also learned some valuable lessons from that job though and I really not sorry that I took it. No harm, no foul, at least not on my part.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Fourth Year Anniversery
Today is a day that I'll never forget. It probably doesn't mean much to many people, just another day in October. However, something important in my life happened around 2:00 PM today four years ago.
My grandmother was a great lady, she was unfortunate enough to have major health problems starting when she was in her mid-sixties. By the time of her passing, she was a double amputee, a diabetic and a severe asthmatic. I know everyone says that whoever it was that had all these problems never complained about it or whined or was a pain in the neck, but truthfully I can't say I ever heard her complain about her situation. Sure, she had her bad days and her good days but I never heard her actually complain about her situation.
I loved my grandmother very much and I still do. I hope she's proud of me where ever she may be now. I believe that she's in heaven and she's with God. She never denied Him even though people wouldn't have blamed her if she had. I know that with the health problems she had the only thing that brought her back to us the four or so times she came back was God and her having decided that she hadn't used it all up yet.
She had a heart attack about five days before she died, she was rushed to Omaha Bergan Mercy Hospital where she drifted in and out of consciousness. She was placed on a ventilator because the heart attack also triggered her asthma and her lungs started to fail. I went to see her a few days before she died. She was laying on a bed in ICU, she looked very much unlike the vibrant woman who had laughed, scolded, fussed and taught her way through my childhood. Her fingertips were blue, her circulation was so bad she was completely hypoxic. In fact, I wouldn't have probably known it was her if my mom hadn't been in the room. I think I had known that she wasn't going to make it back from this one right when I heard she'd had a heart attack but it didn't really hit me until I saw her. I knew that was the end. That is probably the worst feeling in the world, permanent goodbye. Knowing you're not going to see one of the people who you love best in the whole, wide world for a very, very, very long time if ever again. I'd like to think she knew who I was and though she couldn't speak she acted like she knew it was me. I also know she was on so much dope that she might not have known up from down. I told her I loved her and said goodbye for what we all knew was probably the last time even though we pretended it wasn't. A few days later the world became a little dimmer for the people that were fortunate enough to call Dorothy Matthews family.
I don't remember a whole lot of those few days, I remember crying for about 3 days straight. I tried to hide some of it but I'm pretty sure everyone could tell even if they didn't say anything. I never have been that good at hiding emotion and this one was too strong to really even try.
The funeral, while it was beautifully done was still a funeral. I don't think there was a dry eye there. I guess that's a testament to how well you lived your life, how many decent folks cry at your funeral. I've been out to the cemetery a few times since then, I can never go without crying. If I'd been alone I would have really cried but since I've always been with other people I'm too proud to let myself really break down.
I haven't really talked to anyone in depth about this since it happened. Even as I type I'm watering my keyboard. I get a little depressed this time of year ever since it happened. I suppose that's probably normal. I'm actually a little bit glad that I do, it means that I remember and that I still have a connection to her. It's certainly not the one I would wish for but it's better than nothing.
I'll probably wind up this little trip down memory lane with a few lyrics from a song that was really popular about ten years ago. Steve Wariner was the guy who performed it. Not sure who wrote it, I think he did.
It's called, Holes in the Floor of Heaven.
" Cause there's holes in the floor of heaven,
and her tears are pourin' down.
That's how you know she's watchin'
Wishin' she could be here now,
sometimes if you're lonely, just remember she can see.
There's holes in the floor of heaven and she's
watchin' over you and me."
I love you, Grandma.
My grandmother was a great lady, she was unfortunate enough to have major health problems starting when she was in her mid-sixties. By the time of her passing, she was a double amputee, a diabetic and a severe asthmatic. I know everyone says that whoever it was that had all these problems never complained about it or whined or was a pain in the neck, but truthfully I can't say I ever heard her complain about her situation. Sure, she had her bad days and her good days but I never heard her actually complain about her situation.
I loved my grandmother very much and I still do. I hope she's proud of me where ever she may be now. I believe that she's in heaven and she's with God. She never denied Him even though people wouldn't have blamed her if she had. I know that with the health problems she had the only thing that brought her back to us the four or so times she came back was God and her having decided that she hadn't used it all up yet.
She had a heart attack about five days before she died, she was rushed to Omaha Bergan Mercy Hospital where she drifted in and out of consciousness. She was placed on a ventilator because the heart attack also triggered her asthma and her lungs started to fail. I went to see her a few days before she died. She was laying on a bed in ICU, she looked very much unlike the vibrant woman who had laughed, scolded, fussed and taught her way through my childhood. Her fingertips were blue, her circulation was so bad she was completely hypoxic. In fact, I wouldn't have probably known it was her if my mom hadn't been in the room. I think I had known that she wasn't going to make it back from this one right when I heard she'd had a heart attack but it didn't really hit me until I saw her. I knew that was the end. That is probably the worst feeling in the world, permanent goodbye. Knowing you're not going to see one of the people who you love best in the whole, wide world for a very, very, very long time if ever again. I'd like to think she knew who I was and though she couldn't speak she acted like she knew it was me. I also know she was on so much dope that she might not have known up from down. I told her I loved her and said goodbye for what we all knew was probably the last time even though we pretended it wasn't. A few days later the world became a little dimmer for the people that were fortunate enough to call Dorothy Matthews family.
I don't remember a whole lot of those few days, I remember crying for about 3 days straight. I tried to hide some of it but I'm pretty sure everyone could tell even if they didn't say anything. I never have been that good at hiding emotion and this one was too strong to really even try.
The funeral, while it was beautifully done was still a funeral. I don't think there was a dry eye there. I guess that's a testament to how well you lived your life, how many decent folks cry at your funeral. I've been out to the cemetery a few times since then, I can never go without crying. If I'd been alone I would have really cried but since I've always been with other people I'm too proud to let myself really break down.
I haven't really talked to anyone in depth about this since it happened. Even as I type I'm watering my keyboard. I get a little depressed this time of year ever since it happened. I suppose that's probably normal. I'm actually a little bit glad that I do, it means that I remember and that I still have a connection to her. It's certainly not the one I would wish for but it's better than nothing.
I'll probably wind up this little trip down memory lane with a few lyrics from a song that was really popular about ten years ago. Steve Wariner was the guy who performed it. Not sure who wrote it, I think he did.
It's called, Holes in the Floor of Heaven.
" Cause there's holes in the floor of heaven,
and her tears are pourin' down.
That's how you know she's watchin'
Wishin' she could be here now,
sometimes if you're lonely, just remember she can see.
There's holes in the floor of heaven and she's
watchin' over you and me."
I love you, Grandma.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
What Makes a Good Follow?
I am running into that question that comes up for probably just about every follower in partner dancing, what is it that makes a plain old follow in to a *good* follow? I'm sure good is probably distinctive to different people's tastes and styles. For example a lead who is a die-hard Lindy-Hopper isn't going to want to do a whole lot of pure Balboa. (Unless to follow is really hot, or something.) This topic has kind of come up in conversation with various other swing dancing friends and the closest we've come to an answer is, 'do it like so-and-so does it' not overly helpful however it's examined.
I know what I enjoy in a lead but that doesn't really help me to know what they like. I suppose from what I've seen the best dancers seem to be the ones that are having the most fun by getting into the music and just goofing around with it to the best of their ability. Sometimes that means having good moves, but most of the time it seems like it means having good rhythm and good timing. I guess I like dancing with the guys who have moves because it's interesting and instructional but I usually have more fun with the guys who are creative and use what they've got.
I suppose flexibility is the greatest asset for the follower. Probably what separates the okay/decent from the good/awesome. The really good follows can follow anything from just about anybody, even if it's someone they don't know and have never danced with. They seem to be more adaptable to variations in style, rhythm, footwork and physical size/weight/carriage variations between leads.
I'm probably over-thinking it like I always do and I should just go out dance and have fun. Any ideas or suggestions of what makes a good follow welcome.
I know what I enjoy in a lead but that doesn't really help me to know what they like. I suppose from what I've seen the best dancers seem to be the ones that are having the most fun by getting into the music and just goofing around with it to the best of their ability. Sometimes that means having good moves, but most of the time it seems like it means having good rhythm and good timing. I guess I like dancing with the guys who have moves because it's interesting and instructional but I usually have more fun with the guys who are creative and use what they've got.
I suppose flexibility is the greatest asset for the follower. Probably what separates the okay/decent from the good/awesome. The really good follows can follow anything from just about anybody, even if it's someone they don't know and have never danced with. They seem to be more adaptable to variations in style, rhythm, footwork and physical size/weight/carriage variations between leads.
I'm probably over-thinking it like I always do and I should just go out dance and have fun. Any ideas or suggestions of what makes a good follow welcome.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
