Tonight I drove back from York via Pennsylvania Rte 74 N.
York is a gorgeous town. It's huge, urban, fabulous. There is a vacuum hospital. Can you imagine? I don't need to imagine anymore!
But about 20 miles later, 74 cuts through Dillsburg, and as I drove through I was swept back in time a dozen years. I was in high school and not long for my profession as a Christian. I'd switched churches and started hanging out with this girl Lorraine. She and I met from Bible Quizzing. Bible Quizzing is the only thing from church I still miss. Competitive memorization and smartness. Boss.
Anyway, Lorraine's family (which was just her and her mom) had more money than any family I'd met to date. We ate a lot of Crab Rangoon and Ben&Jerry's from the Giant grocery about 1/2 mile from the house L and her mom shared. The money thing is only relevant inasmuch as the exoticness of people-with-money I perceived and the awe I felt. They weren't people who acted like they had money, and now I'm not even sure they had soooo much money, it's just that they had more money than anybody I'd ever met.
I've lost track of a lot of friends, but Lorraine is one of the only friends I've consistently regretted losing track of.
And recently, I've been selling cars to some of her High School cohorts.
I think this is what the Cosmos does when it wants me to relocate old friends.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Sympathetic Roast
I dreamed last night--the image has been with me all day--that I baked a live pig. Actually a Piglet because it fit nicely in my little 2 gallon dutch oven. It was contained similarly to a lobster (with pretty colored gum bands) when I purchased it from the store.
The piglet baked for hours, plain, smelling fabulous, but emerged from the oven still alive. It wasn't squealing (I read someplace that you don't hear in dreams. I don't think that's true because I heard all kinds of horrifying things in one of my pre-Pearl's-birth nightmares), but it was wincing as we cut into it, its flesh did not bleed but did not juice; and there was a pulse. The most distressing things were the Piglet's eyes: expressive and alert and begging, "No! Don't cut me! Don't eat me!"
Is this some kind of plea from my psyche to become a vegetarian?
Since the recurring nightmare of my childhood that ended in my being chased through a giant labryinthine rubber mask shop by a rotten man, there hasn't been such a vivid and plaguing image from my dreams.
The piglet baked for hours, plain, smelling fabulous, but emerged from the oven still alive. It wasn't squealing (I read someplace that you don't hear in dreams. I don't think that's true because I heard all kinds of horrifying things in one of my pre-Pearl's-birth nightmares), but it was wincing as we cut into it, its flesh did not bleed but did not juice; and there was a pulse. The most distressing things were the Piglet's eyes: expressive and alert and begging, "No! Don't cut me! Don't eat me!"
Is this some kind of plea from my psyche to become a vegetarian?
Since the recurring nightmare of my childhood that ended in my being chased through a giant labryinthine rubber mask shop by a rotten man, there hasn't been such a vivid and plaguing image from my dreams.
Friday, February 22, 2008
SNOW DAYS
Today's a snow day. Today is now several days ago, the day on which it snowed.
I had nostalgia on my way to work this morning about the glory that was. Snow days used to be marvelous, peaceful days ensconced in family, leisure and reflection. Sometimes also baking. Some of my favorite memories of my late grandma took place on snow days and involved much yeast, flour & kneading. I know now what an act of generosity it was for my mom to allow her kitchen to be hijacked by a woman who never really accepted her. I am glad she did. This is the sort of thing I should tell her. It will make her feel vindicated. "You know, like in the theory of retribution," said my 21-year-old co-worker.
As I inched along the highway behind silly snow drivers bracing myself for the angst there'd be at my job where we are required to show up especially on snow days, I wondered why snow days, like so many other things, are soiled by the process of becoming a grown up.
I was thinking today (actually today, no snow) about what age I'd go back to if I could, and you know--know all the stuff I know now.
I think I would be 18 again. The world was fresh. I was unjaded and out of high school. I had enough money for everything I needed. I had an apartment, a car and good friends. Life couldn't have been better.
Not that life now is bad, it's just that I'm kind of annoyed by this whole grown-up thing. I totally dig being a mommy, but I could live without so many bills, or with two incomes. But I don't really want any of the other liabilities of partnership. So basically what I'm saying is that I'm an un-satisfiable whiner. Yup. That's me.
Oh yeah--and the walking definition of the self-indulgent.
I had nostalgia on my way to work this morning about the glory that was. Snow days used to be marvelous, peaceful days ensconced in family, leisure and reflection. Sometimes also baking. Some of my favorite memories of my late grandma took place on snow days and involved much yeast, flour & kneading. I know now what an act of generosity it was for my mom to allow her kitchen to be hijacked by a woman who never really accepted her. I am glad she did. This is the sort of thing I should tell her. It will make her feel vindicated. "You know, like in the theory of retribution," said my 21-year-old co-worker.
As I inched along the highway behind silly snow drivers bracing myself for the angst there'd be at my job where we are required to show up especially on snow days, I wondered why snow days, like so many other things, are soiled by the process of becoming a grown up.
I was thinking today (actually today, no snow) about what age I'd go back to if I could, and you know--know all the stuff I know now.
I think I would be 18 again. The world was fresh. I was unjaded and out of high school. I had enough money for everything I needed. I had an apartment, a car and good friends. Life couldn't have been better.
Not that life now is bad, it's just that I'm kind of annoyed by this whole grown-up thing. I totally dig being a mommy, but I could live without so many bills, or with two incomes. But I don't really want any of the other liabilities of partnership. So basically what I'm saying is that I'm an un-satisfiable whiner. Yup. That's me.
Oh yeah--and the walking definition of the self-indulgent.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
I'm so...
busy. Blindingly so. Weeks and weeks have escaped without my notice.
My mind is mush. It's barely after 9pm and it feels to me like 2am after some late nights.
There is still so much more to do!
Today I bought file boxes for establishing my files. I've been seriously remiss in my use and maintenance of invoices, organization & adult responsibility.
I also cleaned up my house. It was filthy. It was distracting to live here. I'm about half way through the laundry with 2 12-hour work days coming up. I've started replacing my light bulbs with the high-efficiency ones. They're a little more expensive, but I remember a time when they were $14/bulb. I bought 2 for $6 at Target recently. And they have like an 8 year life running 4 hours a day!
Ms. Pearl is so cool. I took her with me tonight to work--it's my day off, but we were having a 2009 Forester preview night and some of my customers were showing up--and she played so well with this fantastic family to whom I sold a car a few months back. She's such a polite, delightful child. Surely she's intensely busy, and has the normal 2-year-old stuff, tantrums, lack of fear, etc. But she's such a little individual.
She makes me proud to be her mommy. She makes me want to be a mommy again. I don't really think that's in the cards for us, but it's true. I could dig a more-traditional family experience, and I bet Pearl would get a big kick out of having a sibling. But totally unlikely.
This is what happens when April doesn't sleep much, when April is working too too hard, when she doesn't keep up with her friends--she writes boring, boring, boring blogs.
She also has intense, intense dreams & anxiety. She is considering psychotherapy, and considering a full-time switch to discussing herself in the third person...
My mind is mush. It's barely after 9pm and it feels to me like 2am after some late nights.
There is still so much more to do!
Today I bought file boxes for establishing my files. I've been seriously remiss in my use and maintenance of invoices, organization & adult responsibility.
I also cleaned up my house. It was filthy. It was distracting to live here. I'm about half way through the laundry with 2 12-hour work days coming up. I've started replacing my light bulbs with the high-efficiency ones. They're a little more expensive, but I remember a time when they were $14/bulb. I bought 2 for $6 at Target recently. And they have like an 8 year life running 4 hours a day!
Ms. Pearl is so cool. I took her with me tonight to work--it's my day off, but we were having a 2009 Forester preview night and some of my customers were showing up--and she played so well with this fantastic family to whom I sold a car a few months back. She's such a polite, delightful child. Surely she's intensely busy, and has the normal 2-year-old stuff, tantrums, lack of fear, etc. But she's such a little individual.
She makes me proud to be her mommy. She makes me want to be a mommy again. I don't really think that's in the cards for us, but it's true. I could dig a more-traditional family experience, and I bet Pearl would get a big kick out of having a sibling. But totally unlikely.
This is what happens when April doesn't sleep much, when April is working too too hard, when she doesn't keep up with her friends--she writes boring, boring, boring blogs.
She also has intense, intense dreams & anxiety. She is considering psychotherapy, and considering a full-time switch to discussing herself in the third person...
Saturday, February 9, 2008
I am a greedy capitalist
It's painful and rhetorically complicated to admit that. But it's true. In a perfect world, I would be a raging liberal and be comfortable with that. "liberal," as a rhetorical tool is a heavy, effective, efficient one. It increases my credibility with people I love, admire & respect.
Politics is not a defining factor for people I enjoy, admire, respect or love. The world is too gray for me to believe that a label, "liberal" or "conservative" actually means anything terribly important. But I might be alone in that assessment.
I do not define myself as "conservative." But I think the reason for my avoidance of that particular label is the rhetorical weight it has. "Conservative" means everything associated with evil: anti-humanist, hateful, narrow. But I am a registered libertarian which means that I am so completely involved with peoples' right to choose their thoughts, persuasions, loves, medical care, use of money, use of firearms--really, everything involved with living--unconditionally.
The underlying principle, besides freedom (which ain't a state like Maine or Virginia, instead a state of mind) is trust in humankind: the notion that people are inherently good, or if they aren't, they'll behave themselves because of their inherent notions of right and wrong.
Unfortunately, following unconditional freedom to its logical end means making few laws. Means allowing all free speech, gun rights, homosexual marriage, prostitution, drug and abortion rights and other things that "liberals" and "conservatives" view as offensive or wrong.
My girl knows right from wrong. She hides things behind her back. She apologizes and gives sweet hugs when I express anger, disappointment or sadness. And she does not even know how to go pee in the potty on a regular basis yet. She has a vocabulary of 20 words. She does not pronounce all the names of the grownups who're involved daily in her life. To me, that is powerful evidence of an inherent moral compass.
Aside from sociopathy, how can we fear absolute freedom? And even in our present state of governance, sociopaths are to be feared. But they are the exception not the rule.
I am afraid of laws. Laws could limit my ability to work myself into a work-from-home life. Laws could limit my free access to the internet. Laws could insist that I make reproductive choices I might not otherwise make. What good are these things?
Politics is not a defining factor for people I enjoy, admire, respect or love. The world is too gray for me to believe that a label, "liberal" or "conservative" actually means anything terribly important. But I might be alone in that assessment.
I do not define myself as "conservative." But I think the reason for my avoidance of that particular label is the rhetorical weight it has. "Conservative" means everything associated with evil: anti-humanist, hateful, narrow. But I am a registered libertarian which means that I am so completely involved with peoples' right to choose their thoughts, persuasions, loves, medical care, use of money, use of firearms--really, everything involved with living--unconditionally.
The underlying principle, besides freedom (which ain't a state like Maine or Virginia, instead a state of mind) is trust in humankind: the notion that people are inherently good, or if they aren't, they'll behave themselves because of their inherent notions of right and wrong.
Unfortunately, following unconditional freedom to its logical end means making few laws. Means allowing all free speech, gun rights, homosexual marriage, prostitution, drug and abortion rights and other things that "liberals" and "conservatives" view as offensive or wrong.
My girl knows right from wrong. She hides things behind her back. She apologizes and gives sweet hugs when I express anger, disappointment or sadness. And she does not even know how to go pee in the potty on a regular basis yet. She has a vocabulary of 20 words. She does not pronounce all the names of the grownups who're involved daily in her life. To me, that is powerful evidence of an inherent moral compass.
Aside from sociopathy, how can we fear absolute freedom? And even in our present state of governance, sociopaths are to be feared. But they are the exception not the rule.
I am afraid of laws. Laws could limit my ability to work myself into a work-from-home life. Laws could limit my free access to the internet. Laws could insist that I make reproductive choices I might not otherwise make. What good are these things?
It's not really possible
That almost 10,000 people have visited this blog, is it? I have that counter thing set to "unique hits," too.
I got it here.
Any savvier-than-I folks care to weigh in on this matter? Jim already told me where to get a good web counter, but I forgot, so I just did a google search. You know, when i was a girl, google was not a verb.
By the way, folks. It's snowing. Don't that just beat the band?! It's a good thing my dad lent me the giant car that sucks in the snow & has transmission issues, since the fan in my car's broken.
Maybe I should be like that woman who was in serious credit card debt and started a website/blog soliciting donations to help her out of it, making absurd (but funny) promises about how she would not spend her credit once she got it paid down. I mean, if she can get out of like 100K of credit card debt, surely I could raise 20K to buy a car as a single mom, right?
What's more--that woman got a job working as a fashion writer from her desperation and financial irresponsibility! WTF?! I can't find this woman online, but I read about her in some print medium. Maybe one of you 10,000 readers saw the same piece and will better remember where to find it. Post a comment link, fools.
Speaking of single-mom-dom, here's this very affirming link for folks who find this single mom thing amazing, or for those of you who are single moms (If there are really almost 10,000 hits, you can't all be my friends, can you?)---
In Praise of Single Moms
Thank You, Thank you very much.
I got it here.
Any savvier-than-I folks care to weigh in on this matter? Jim already told me where to get a good web counter, but I forgot, so I just did a google search. You know, when i was a girl, google was not a verb.
By the way, folks. It's snowing. Don't that just beat the band?! It's a good thing my dad lent me the giant car that sucks in the snow & has transmission issues, since the fan in my car's broken.
Maybe I should be like that woman who was in serious credit card debt and started a website/blog soliciting donations to help her out of it, making absurd (but funny) promises about how she would not spend her credit once she got it paid down. I mean, if she can get out of like 100K of credit card debt, surely I could raise 20K to buy a car as a single mom, right?
What's more--that woman got a job working as a fashion writer from her desperation and financial irresponsibility! WTF?! I can't find this woman online, but I read about her in some print medium. Maybe one of you 10,000 readers saw the same piece and will better remember where to find it. Post a comment link, fools.
Speaking of single-mom-dom, here's this very affirming link for folks who find this single mom thing amazing, or for those of you who are single moms (If there are really almost 10,000 hits, you can't all be my friends, can you?)---
In Praise of Single Moms
Thank You, Thank you very much.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
It has reached the point of
exhaustion, tiredness & pain wherein I am mindlessly surfing the web, entering contests to win cars. I could win a car, then sell it to my job. I am trying to win that 09 Nissan Murano off NBC.com. Then I could buy the car I want in cash and buy an insurance policy, too. Problem(s) Solved. My car is starting to act reeeel funny. Like my last car did just before it was retired. Awesome. Thank Christ for Tax Season. Also, I am really into poking at my sinuses to figure out where the hell the pain's coming from. I think it's nasal.
The nice things: it's raining outside. I love the sound of rain. And episodes I haven't seen of Law & Order: Criminal Intent with Vincent D'Onofrio & Kathryn Erbe are on. I don't like the ones with that guy from Sex and the City as much.
I've seen all the ads I've been missing--the ones that people talk about.
And I think I've discovered a new favorite musician. I love the song on the MacBook Air Ad. Yael Naim. I've heard her before, I think. Bitchin.
bye bye,
wish me better.
The nice things: it's raining outside. I love the sound of rain. And episodes I haven't seen of Law & Order: Criminal Intent with Vincent D'Onofrio & Kathryn Erbe are on. I don't like the ones with that guy from Sex and the City as much.
I've seen all the ads I've been missing--the ones that people talk about.
And I think I've discovered a new favorite musician. I love the song on the MacBook Air Ad. Yael Naim. I've heard her before, I think. Bitchin.
bye bye,
wish me better.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
We're Sick.
This is precisely why I think blogging is vain. One has the impulse to write all kinds of minutiae that does not matter to anybody but the writer.
But it's true. We're sick. Ms. Pearl and I have the flu. She's got a fever and is napping off and on all day. I am achy and stuffy and taking lots of fluids. It's impossible for me to stay up longer than 3 hours. Day Quil and Ny Quil. Ms. Pearl's on cocktails of tylenol for fever reduction and robitussin between Tylenol doses.
Here's the thing that kind of makes me grumpy.
All week last week, two of the fellas I work with came in sick. They were all snotting and hacking all over the place. Each two days at least. Nobody told them to go home. Nobody acted like they were some kind of icky disease transmitters.
Of course, the first day I go to work all sicky, I get sent home when I'm not there for a full hour. Does that seem fair to you? My right to spread illness is less than my colleagues'?
Of all of my colleagues, I suspect I am in the least good financial position to take days off, for any reason.
Maybe it's really true that they are trying to get the illness out of the building. Maybe it is really true that they are sick of the sickness. But why send me home and not them? Why wait until I come in sick to start to try to get rid of the sickness?
Am I annoyed by this because I am constantly on guard because I am a woman and as such the rules are different for me? Am I annoyed because of the implicit double standard? Am I annoyed because I am sick and feel like utter hell? Am I annoyed because I had no patience for Pearl today?
We're sick. And we wouldn't be if the show room hadn't been filled with icky sicky for four out of six days last week. I just hope my other two colleagues don't get it. If they do and they're allowed to come to work, I am going to throw a fit. Maybe I should throw one now.
But it's true. We're sick. Ms. Pearl and I have the flu. She's got a fever and is napping off and on all day. I am achy and stuffy and taking lots of fluids. It's impossible for me to stay up longer than 3 hours. Day Quil and Ny Quil. Ms. Pearl's on cocktails of tylenol for fever reduction and robitussin between Tylenol doses.
Here's the thing that kind of makes me grumpy.
All week last week, two of the fellas I work with came in sick. They were all snotting and hacking all over the place. Each two days at least. Nobody told them to go home. Nobody acted like they were some kind of icky disease transmitters.
Of course, the first day I go to work all sicky, I get sent home when I'm not there for a full hour. Does that seem fair to you? My right to spread illness is less than my colleagues'?
Of all of my colleagues, I suspect I am in the least good financial position to take days off, for any reason.
Maybe it's really true that they are trying to get the illness out of the building. Maybe it is really true that they are sick of the sickness. But why send me home and not them? Why wait until I come in sick to start to try to get rid of the sickness?
Am I annoyed by this because I am constantly on guard because I am a woman and as such the rules are different for me? Am I annoyed because of the implicit double standard? Am I annoyed because I am sick and feel like utter hell? Am I annoyed because I had no patience for Pearl today?
We're sick. And we wouldn't be if the show room hadn't been filled with icky sicky for four out of six days last week. I just hope my other two colleagues don't get it. If they do and they're allowed to come to work, I am going to throw a fit. Maybe I should throw one now.
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