Posts Tagged ‘Life In General’
Victoria’s swamped, so she’s asked to take an extended away, leaving me as a one man show until her inevitable return.
This isn’t a problem except, jeez, I don’t know what to do with this thing. I mean, we’re four months into a group blog and it’s no longer a group blog–it’s Jinky talking to herself. How is that different from Friday night dinner? IT ISN’T. And at the same time, I would hate to just give it up, too. What would be the fun in that?
So now I’m not sure what to do. Talk to myself twice a week until she comes back (if she comes back)? Start a project and hope others tag along? Grovel for guest bloggers? Replace–gasp!–Victoria with 2 (or 3 or 4) other bloggers?
I’m open to suggestions. In the meantime, if you want to offer up a guest blog, be it a one-time thing or on an ongoing basis, don’t be shy. I don’t bite…hard.
I’m in the middle of remodeling my office (YES. STILL.) and I’m so sore I cannot move my anything. My arms feel like lead, sore, achy lead, and if I close my eyes I imagine my knuckles can touch the ground, that’s how long they’ve been stretched out. I have painted and painted and sanded and painted and spackled and painted and PAINTED.
Since I work from home, it’s important for me to have a space dedicated to work. A space where not doing dishes feels OK, because I am at work now, not at home, but also a space where I can leave that unfinished project unfinished and eat, de-stress, or get some sleep. A lot of the time, I don’t feel comfortable doing any of those things, because I’m always worried about the dishes and the projects and how can I do them both at once? It’s impossible! And then I just curl up in a fetal position under my desk and cry about it, because my nerves are so frazzled and it’s only 10AM.
Last week, I was getting some of the finishing touches in order. One of these finishing touches was a shitload of dry-erase board. We’re talking 5′ of dry erase board surround three out of four walls, something like 150 square feet. It was going to be AWESOME until the quotes started rolling in, quotes with numbers so high they didn’t look like numbers, they looked like the sound a man’s genitals makes when it’s presented with the prospect of an ice cold swim in a piranha-infested lake.
With the real stuff out of the question, I ran down to Home Depot to pick up some dry-erase paint. After all, it’s cheap, it’s easy, and if it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. What’s the worst that could happen, right?
MORE ON THAT LATER.
Anyway, so I pick up the dry-erase paint and head to the checkout. The girl behind the counter picks it up, looks at it, and says, “Is this for your kid?”
“No,” I tell her. “It’s for my office.”
“How much dry-erase board do you need?”
“About 150 square feet.”
“Why the hell do you need so much dry-erase board?”
“I make a lot of notes.”
The check-out girl just looks at me for a moment. Then she says, “Honey, ain’t you never heard of a Post-It?”
This morning, while I was out buying shampoo, I ran into my aunt Rose and her granddaughter Aubrey at Target.
Aubrey is six and has just been released from the hellfires of first grade, and she’s pretty adamant she won’t be returning for grades 2 through 12.
My conversation with her went something like this:
Aubrey: She made us write one essay every week! They had to be 3 pages long! All of them! IT MADE MY HAND HURT!
Me: Essays aren’t so bad.
Aubrey: YES. THEY ARE.
Me: Well, think of it this way. If you do the essays, eventually you’ll graduate, and then you can do whatever you want.
Aubrey: Can I stay at home like you?
Me: Sure.
Aubrey: (quiet for a moment) What do you do at home, anyway?
Me: I’m a writer. I write stories and books and things.
Aubrey: (contemplating) So…do you have to do three pages a week?
Me: It’s not really set in stone, but I try for around 50 pages a week.
Aubrey: (horrified) Do you get a grade?
Me: Well, sort of, I guess.
Aubrey: When you get something wrong, does your teacher make you do it again so you can fix it?
Me: Yes…
Aubrey: Do you ever sit out recess so you can do your work?
Me: Yes…
Aubrey: DOES IT MAKE YOUR HAND HURT??
Me: Yes…
Aubrey: Wow. Your job SUCKS.
