Monthly Archives: November 2013

That Time of Year

Last night I pulled out all of my Christmas movies…and then I watched Dead Man Walking. It wasn’t intended as a comment on the holiday season, but feel free to interpret it that way.

It’s 71 and cloudy here in sunshiny Florida. I’ve already eaten all of my Thanksgiving leftovers—turkey, gravy, stuffing, sweet potato casserole, roasted Brussels sprouts, cranberry “salad” (the Southern use of the word, i.e. jello and whipped cream) and cranberry sauce. I expected all that to last longer than 24 hours.

Yesterday I spent a blissful few hours on the beach, barefoot in a hoodie and shorts, reading a prison memoir.

Today I watch variations on a theme: people hitting each other. Which is a good complement to trying to do a Jackson Pollock puzzle.

Tomorrow is NPR and football, PJs all day. My favorite.

Feels like the roller coaster is cresting the hill.

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The Week of Living Productively

Clear tape organization method for my hockey bag. Looks silly, but will save much digging and frustrating on Saturday.

Clear tape organization method for my hockey bag. Looks silly, but will save much digging and frustration on Saturday. (President Bartlet approves.)

There is a vast gulf between identifying what I need to do and actually doing it. It’s a frustrating, painful, almost debilitating hangup—it  bothers me to think about the things I need to do, whether it’s the dirty dishes in the sink or the interview that’s past deadline or the haircut I so, so desperately need to schedule. And yet? This bother does not spur me to action. I build my life around tolerating the consequences of not doing.

Like if you were actually spurring a horse forward, and the horse is just standing there all, “Ow ow ow ow ow ow stop it why are you doing that?”

That being said, in the last week or so I’ve managed to traverse that gulf, move my horsey self forward, and employ whatever other metaphors necessary to accomplish some long-fallowing tasks, leading to much satisfaction and rejoicing:

  • Went to the doctor last Thursday for a checkup—something I certainly could’ve put off until…who knows, my eyes popped out or something. It’d been so long since I’d been that I showed up only to discover that the office had moved—one building over, thank goodness—and that my old records hadn’t been transferred over to their new system. It was a productivity miracle just to set an appointment and get my ass to the doctor in the first place, but the blood work they ordered required a whole separate appointment with the lab. Which I set yesterday and accomplished this morning.
  • I can’t take a lot of credit for getting my transmission fixed, since it was an immediate necessity further assisted by Ma getting me the loan through her credit union. But I still consider it productive that today I applied the non-transmission part of that loan to pay off my car in its entirety. (And thus are my car payments terminated…and replaced with transmission payments. Whatever, it’s cheaper.)
  • Over the last few weeks, my phone has refused, more and more, to recognize the charger—to the point that it required delicate cord-yoga positions to get the little red “charging” light to come on. (And even then, it had to be closely monitored.) Rather than let it deteriorate to the point of my walking around with no phone for weeks and weeks until I got used to not having a phone and lost all motivation to fix it, I took it to the Sprint store (not a short drive, let me say), and, miracle of miracles, they ordered a replacement at no charge–so to speak. I’m now enjoying personalizing my new, fully charged phone.
  • I got surprise-assigned a short but involved department for the January issue, which required coordinating between me, our art director, a photographer, and a local organization that needed to give us all a tour and then set up a photo shoot. Made that happen on Tuesday. (And then my boss said nice things about my writing in an all-staff meeting.)
  • In anticipation of this weekend’s hockey tournament, I packed the two required bags a couple days early (thus saving myself from last-minute laziness, oversight, panic and general disorganization): the overnight bag, with comfy street clothes for three days/two nights of rinktime and partytime (with contingencies for slightly fancier party time—which almost never happens); and the hockey bag, for which I emptied, sorted through and organized both pouches with jerseys and hockey socks, under-gear clothes, shower stuff, clear tape, stick tape, bandanas and whatnot. And taped my stick. And put everything in the car.And I wrote a blog. It’s good to get things done.

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Finding the Goalposts

“They keep moving the goalposts on you, don’t they? Get A’s, good college, Latin honors. Get into the London School of Economics. Get a good teaching job. Ivy League school, tenure. Now you gotta publish, now you gotta go to Stockholm.” –Stanley, to the President, The West Wing: “Night Five”

McD and I were talking today about…well, adulthood, basically. How we seem to be high-functioning adults—we’ve checked things off the list for adulthood: job, transportation, shelter, food preparation, social interaction, literacy, bill-paying, savings account, doctors appointments, etc. etc. etc.—and then boom, something comes up, and it turns out we don’t know how to use the post office.

Just makes you feel like you’re always trying to catch up instead of actually achieving anything.

I’m pretty intensely competitive (despite my best efforts), and grownup life is cruelly ambivalent about rules. I always played sports where, the moment I signed up, the rules were already well established. School, too. There are things you need to do to “win,” some of which might come easy and some you might need to work on, but you play the game, and then you win the game, and then another game comes along and you win that, too.  (I was pretty good at school and sports, heh.)

This is just the stuff of your standard existential crises, I know, and a continuation of my previous post. (How many careers/entrepreneurial projects/identities will make me a real grownup?) But as McD and I were running errands, feeding ourselves, caffeinating ourselves and pondering the ins and outs of preprinted labels on Priority Mail envelopes (not to mention being excellent employees pushing a two-hour lunch break), I expressed my frustration at those things that make me question my adequacy as an adult.

“I dunno,” said McD. “I think you and I…I think we’re doing OK.”

Here’s hoping. I guess I could use a good victory. I guess everybody could. Maybe I need to keep score better.

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