Gaining Momentum

The more baby steps I take in getting my own house together, the more addictive HGTV becomes. I go through fits, currently I am obsessed with Income Property, the bland über Canadian host, the West Elm staging in the reveal, the way the costs are never really fully explained, there is something about the show that makes me feel better about my own slum. It could just be denial. I shouldn’t really take comfort in the fact that professional contractors can do something, then so can I.

In addition to the baby steps I’ve taken in home improvement, I’ve also started taking baby steps in life improvement.  Setting routines, making lists, the like. I have no idea if it’s working or not, but I feel like it might be, which is a chicken and the egg style argument to begin with, so yay! I’ll count it as a success. I have had the itch to shop, but haven’t scratched it. Nor have I gone into gluttony, so yes, more progress. My friend is urging me to workout, thinking the endorphins or whatever will also further my mental progress towards healthy living, and while I do agree with him, I’m not at that point yet. Or rather, I can still be lazy. And just avoid the latest pictures of myself that pop upon facebook.

My weekend is full of projects and Sundance films, which will involve driving all over the place. Plenty of time to reflect, to consider where I’m going and where I have been. Setting up my re-opened Netflix account and filling my queue. Maybe some random internet surfing, though I doubt it. Regardless, I am not feeling as down as I have in the past, for whatever reason, I’m grateful.

Dining Tiger, Waiting Dragon

I’m antsy at the moment, for reasons that I can’t seem to pin down. Maybe the progression into old age hasn’t reached the point where I can just sit somewhere. I thought that came with ear hair, but alas, it seems not. Where are the benefits ear hair? Where?

It could just the Vegas hangover, where everything was glam and glitzy and the promise of wealth and hookers was just a heartbeat away. 300 Miles West in the Inland Empire such beats do not seem possible, or rather, they don’t seem possible in Nordstrom’s cafe in Riverside waiting for friends to get dolled up for the party that brings me here. I’m sure the people who imagined this space are sharpening their knives.

In the fantasy in my head I will let them come for me, the designer and her subordinates, the drape gay and the chair girl,  who scoured through samples before picking the booth fabric. But before they can reach me, a black shape drops from the ceiling a Michelle Yeoh or Lucy Liu, saying Come with me if you want to live! And we will race through the mall fighting off assassins and not knowing who to trust. Until eventually we reach the exit, and our freedom because everyone knows that the designer valet’d and so we screech off into the smog beautified sunset.

Which is how I pass the time, until my ears grow thicketed or whatever it is that allows the old at heart to sit so complacently and wait out. Perhaps it’s because I have more of my life in front of me than behind me, or maybe I’ve never had to make such horrific decisions that I can sit and imagine the future of the road not taken. Instead I have matrix bullet time and Asian superstars, and that’s just fine.

Feeling provincial teaches me a very valuable lesson

I’m currently looking down over the strip from a room at the Wynn, the decorator seems to have taken to heart the Family Guy quip about being so successful that everything in your life is white.

It’s a beautiful room and a lovely hotel.

My traveling companion, who is in a mirror imaged room next door was more , it’s acceptable in attitude. Which, is to say this meets her standards, rather than being an exception. I know this was her attitude because probably 10 years ago it used to be mine. I would make grand sweeping statements like, I will never own a car without a sunroof, and it’s better to buy one Polo shirt that will last forever than 10 polo shirts that last a couple months. And I usually stuck to these rules that I had set for myself. And honestly? My life was better.

I have had a rough couple of weeks coming off a really trying couple of years. Years where I compromised those standards that I had 10 years ago to the point where I wear the polo rather than the Polo and enjoy the luxury of a really nice hotel room. But it’s not humbleness or humility that got me to this point. It’s actually rather that I don’t think that I’m worth it. I don’t demand or expect nice things for myself anymore, I get by, I make do, and while that seems like a very noble and healthy attitude towards stuff, it’s not. Because if all I ever ask for is the mediocre, then that’s all I’m ever going to get.

I think it’s a slow process, getting back to a point where I believe again that I am worth something.  Which is nice, because while I get there I can enjoy the shit out of this hotel room.

Fear of Loafing in Salt Lake

I should be driving home, but I’m not certain that I have the strength to pass the myriad resturaunts that lie in wait for me, easy on and off access. Or even the grocery store where I know I can get a bake at home package of cinamon rolls that I can drown in butter, like my sorrows.

I am probably hungry, but I am also thwarted emotionally, which means I want white flour foods preferably browned by deep frying. And there is a Sconecutter on my way to the freeway. In Utah scones are basically donuts, rather than a dry yet tasty biscuit with fruit. They also serve them with “Honey Butter” that is actually corn syrup mixed with margerine. It’s about as appetizing as it sounds. And yet, I would probably drive thru if I had the guts to leave.

When I was diagnosed with cancer, my doctor put me on a soft foods diet, which meant little fiber, processed foods, etc. I thought it would be heavenly, suddenly I was restricted to only foods I loved to eat. White bread! This is not the story where I suddenly grow to appreciate the value of a salad. Nope. In fact, the only thing I craved was popcorn. Which was strange because I never really cared about it before. Then it was put on the No list and I suddenly could not get enough of it. Even after the reason it was put on the no list manifested itself like buckshot through my colo-rectal area.  Though being on that diet did finally expose my conscious self to the way I use food as a coping mechanism. Recognizing I have a problem hasn’t really led to any of the other steps however. Which is why it’s an hour past when I could be heading home, afraid of drive thrus and grocery stores, and pretty much just wishing I could be home without having to exercise the will power to say no.

426 words about the start of something. Or the start of nothing.

Thus far, my new year seems to be all about kicking me in the ass. I remember a teacher once telling us that it’s times of change that are the most challenging, however the change from 2010 to 2011 shouldn’t really count. It’s an arbitrary date set by the Romans incorporating the many calendars and people they conquered. My mother’s Shaman would say that at times of struggle, we are hitting the floor of the next level of consciousness, and so we must break through it. I’m not really sure what explanation is appropriate. Maybe both.

Due to auto related problems I find myself taking public transit again, which is both rewarding and frustrating. Rewarding because it’s comfortable, relaxing, a set schedule that appeals to my consistent nature. But frustrating in that it adds 2 hours to my commute. Instead of a relatively quick drive, I’m now transferring to several modes of transit and am at the mercy of timetables that are not always respected by others. Thus far I’ve also been able to avoid the more interesting characters but I think that’s more because I’m going in earlier than I used to and they are still stirring in whatever caves, hovels, and shelters they’ve created for themselves. And maybe they have moved to more warmer climates, as the weather has been absolutely frigid. So frigid that I had water freeze in my poorly insulated home office. I wear fingerless gloves, and a pair of earmuffs, while I work in here, mainly because it amuses me. I’ve my reviews to finish today, an employee and an intern. I was disappointed with my own review, not because it was bad, but because it was rushed, didn’t really have any real constructive feedback on my performance, and also I spent time and effort making sure my subordinates had appropriate responses, and felt cheated that my own boss didn’t give me the same courtesy. Ah well. If it hurts me in the raise/bonus game I think that I will take it to the next level. Something I probably would not have done in the past, so that’s something. Perhaps that is why I’m finding the transition into the new year so difficult.  I think that pretty much this is the year that I get organized, or at the very least start piloting this life of mine again. I’ve just kind of been letting things happen for a very long time now. It could very well be that I’m just not used to holding the reins or whatever metaphor works. Drivers seat. Etc.

Auld Lang Syne

It will soon be the Year of the Rabbit, which is the year I was born into, per the Chinese Zodiac which means 2011 is going to be a lucky year for me. Looking back at 2010, I was pretty lucky. I extracted myself from a horrible job and found one that was not horrible for more money and more importantly, a future. I hung out with friends, I spent time with my family. I found nothing true or amusing in a Signals or Harriet Carter catalog which is my gage for mental acuity. In short, pretty much I’m in the same boat I was in at the start of 2010. I am thinking that this what the mid 30’s are for most people, wheel spinning and a lack of progress. Things don’t change much, and we just all go on together. I’m comfortable with that.

 

Happy New Year.

New Year, Old Me

Today as I was rushing towards the train, I lost myself. It seems to be an easy thing to do these days, kind of disapear into, not really a void, but into a fugue state I suppose. One of the things that I tend to do is create a shell of things that I rely on for identity, I sometimes think of myself as some Native American on a vision quest, defining myself with modern day totems, relying on my iPhone and Skull Candy headphones to identify me, peg me, and pass me through. My laptop is not sending out the right message? Keept it in the bag while I pull out a Moleskin reporter to jot a few notes down with my Monte Blanc pen. The problem with relying on these things is that sometimes even they do not have the power to anchor me and I just kind of drift, feeling transparent and not good enough. A failure.

It’s no doubt times like these that lead people to have children, or go sky diving, or maybe commit horrific crimes. I’m not really interested in any of these things, in fact my apathy towards pretty much everything at the moment creates a vacuum that I’m not really ready to face. And so I will lose myself in reinvention fantasies, where I putter about a library in a smoking jacket working on my entomolgy collection or perhaps tweaking the sound from the Danish sound system in my gritty urban loft that never needs cleaning and everything is white.

I’m too old to cut myself, and yet too young to have a second childhood

I think I’ve been listening to too much vintage Nine Inch Nails, because man, I really have been down lately. Not in a depressed kind of way, but more in the What’s the Point? That I attribute to the 90’s when the world was going to hell and dragging my generation along with it. I have that same feeling, that I’m being passed over, that I’m going to chewed up and spit out, that nothing I do will really matter. All my alt rock and cheesy ’80s playlists are not doing anything to break me out of this mood.

I have been working a lot. Not that I mind putting in the hours, but I’m feeling a little bit like it’s being taken for granted, that it’s kind of expected and business as usual for my department, and while it would be lovely if I was being compensated for all the extra time and work I’m throwing at the myriad problems facing our department, I’m not. It’s extra frustrating that failure is not an option, and so I, and the rest of the people I work with, make it happen, and therefore it’s not a problem. We are all on edge, manic in our mood swings, and fiercely loyal to each other, it’s like the last three days of summer camp when you are exhuasted and the friendships are the most intense of your young life, and yet, when you step back, they just kind of disapear. So it goes in my department. And probably every other psuedo startup out there.

Our development cycle pretty much ends in the next month, allegedly. And it’s all about sticking out this time to get to the easy times, but I’ve been promised that before. We all have. I just don’t know if I can take it if it does not happen. Not that I feel “trapped” in this job, but I have one, and I would hate to have to find another. The last time I got fed up and quit, I grew to regret it, and now, 6 years later, I still find myself wondering where I would be if I stayed, would I be at corner office and 6 figures? Would I be happy? Would my life be any different? Would I have found someone that matches my personality so I can listen to Imogene Heap again, without the feeling of crushing defeat that there are women out there in the world like that, and if I came across one, how would she see me? It’s times like today that I think, not anything worth a second glance.

Save it for the morning after

I have a halloween party this weekend, that has me nervous. Mainly because it’s a crowd of people I don’t know, and I’m usually only comfortable around strangers with the controlled amount of alcohol. Too much alcohol and myself is bad, controlled, I’m okay. I can cope, etc. My problem happens to be I’ll be attending alone, which means I won’t be able to consume any alcohol. Or not be able to get home. I’m too old to get drunk and either drive home, or sleep in my car. It’s a conundrum. It’s the nervousness of an unknown social situation coupled with the string of bad luck I’ve been having lately that keeps me from trying anything new. But I’ve realized that not even trying is just as bad. Oh the meta conversations that bore me to sleep at night.

Buy my snore tape, it works well on neighbors

This morning on the train I, at some point, fell asleep. And then slept all the way to Salt Lake, being awoken by a Transit Cop just before the last stop to ask to see my ticket. And then comment on how loud I was snoring.

The only redeeming factor in this whole mess was the area around me? Vacant. On a morning commuter train. Awesome. It seems my snores have the ability to drive away strangers.

I’m working very hard on being positive and upbeat in the mornings, which eventually turns into just try not to collapse by the afternoon. It’s not work, it’s not play, it’s just, my life I guess. A lot of it also has to do with the Obama hater, mainly because I googled the stuff he was talking about and it’s all over the place. Such hatred. I’m just getting extra sensative in my old age. Eventually I’ll be living off the grid in some hippy commune, unable to live in society.

At least at that point I’ll be dating in my comfort zone. I am adamant however, in my refusal to either hacky sac, drum circle, and wear tye dye. There are just some things that I will never be comfortable with.