Skip to main content

Checking in

I've been in my new job for four weeks. I've had the bar in my ear for three weeks. How is it all going you may ask. The ear is still sore--still not sleeping on my left side, but seems to be healing cleanly with no strange scarring and growths. In case you are wondering, I do not actually have a copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows yet, and I am working very hard to keep myself from contamination. We have always ordered our copies from Britain from the days when the edition were different (HP & the Sorcerer's Stone/HP & the Philosopher's Stone) and now do it to keep the editions covers the same. Our copy will arrive some time this week.

The very, very stressful. Or perhaps it just seems so because I've been in such relaxed jobs for so long. The learning curve has been steep (and will continue to be so). I'm using programs of which I only had passing knowledge every day--like Dreamweaver and Adobe Design. What's funny in Dreamweaver and in the admin control of the website which I also have, I forget that there are such great shortcuts and buttons--I keep thinking I have to actually modify code. The week began badly, but ended well, so that's a good sign. I'm bringing work home every night which isn't--but I keep trying to tell myself that I've done that before when I started new jobs and once I beat them into a system and trained myself it all became much, much easier. I'm trying to re-write some new account letters right now which for some reason is giving me a devil of a time (thus, I am blogging instead). There is also a measure of office politics which I did not catch when I interviewed. I hate to have to worry about such things, esp. this early on.

Being terribly busy at work has also made me aware of how many things I wish I'd taken care of in my private life before I started this. On the plus side, I feel motivated to tackle things. On the negative actually getting down to work seems impossible with so many niggly little things in the way. I spent part of today trying to carve out a space in my sewing room to set up the laptop so that I can say, yes, I have a home office which is not shared with my husband. I realize all of this is a luxury (I'm sorry Musing--everyone should have a room of their own). No room in my house has a view--it's all industrial and seedy from my apartment--the highway in the back, the landlord's iron works on one side, the Mexican place at the end of the street on the other. Right now I'm typing in hardly ideal conditions. My laptop perched atop some fashion magazines atop a lateral cabinet where I keep all my files on fashion research. There is a big box taking up part of the space full of clippings from magazines that I have not sorted and the quilt that I need to reback and rebind is threatening to fall from the cutting table on the other side.

What one needs is a month off. One week to have some fun and unwind, one week to clean and organize. One week to actually get some work and one week to relax before returning to the grind again. Wouldn't that be nice?

Why didn't I back the quilt before this? Why haven't I sorted those files. Better yet, why do I keep them at all?

In addition to too much work at work and too much work at home, I would really, really, really like to move. I've wanted to move virtually since we moved into this place and it's really becoming dire now. Things are breaking down and our landlord's have a habit of asking their Cousin Vinny to do the repairs (really!) with mixed results. With my new raise we are finally in a position to find a nicer place. Of course, I don't want to live up to my means, either.

In preparation for a possible move I've been trying to weed. We have a lot of stuff and all of it has meaning. I've already tossed all of the things without meaning--including unwanted presents and vases bought on sale or aquired with long dead flowers. What's left are the things that seem important. Those lit mags with my annotations, old unfilled diaries, this filing cabinet of fashion clippings.

Clearly I am not going to be a fashion designer, and it looks like I may not be a costume designer either. Surely then I should simply toss the whole thing without looking at any of it. There will always be more magazines.

I've been collecting these since I was 13. 13! There's pictures of models like Famke Jannssen who went on to bigger and better things. Designers I knew were going places. Clothes I simply like and would like to make. And I HAVE used it. I DO refer to it. And life is long and unpredictable.

I have long wanted to be a minimilist. Living with only the needs of the moment, spare and elegant. Able to pack up and move in an instant to any abode.

But, I am not that person and as I slide towards my late 30's, it's time to admit that I never will be.

I was talking with a good friend yesterday about "being grown-up." Accepting the limitations and losses of one's life and making something different than what you had planned. I am thinking of the moment in Pleasantville when Toby McGuire's mother cries and says, "This isn't the way it was supposed to be," and the newly wise McGuire says, "There isn't any supposed to be." (Note, I may be paraphrasing that and I don't feel like going to IMDB to check.)

Do I toss those diaries with their half begun short-stories, trusting that if the story is important enough it will come back to me--it hasn't been finished in this long. I remember a woman I worked with at a fabric store who, when I asked her why she wasn't taking advantage of a sale said, "There will always be more fabric."

For so long in my life, I wasn't sure that there would be money for more fabric, more things, new things--so I still hoard. I don't save useless things. I'm not one of those people who will be found dead behind piles of newspapers from 30 years past (my Sunday paper goes out in the following week's recycling, thank you). But somehow I have too many potential things, bits of fabric and jewelry and writing and their sheer number stands in the way of my actually completing things.

This has gone in odd directions.


Popular posts from this blog

Driving in Boston

Inching along in a log jam of traffic yesterday on the Mass Pike I watched an Audi a few cars in front of me weave in and out of traffic determined to find the lane that was "moving" and yet for the whole half an hour that we sat there he ended up still only a few cars ahead of me. Sure there were times his lane pulled ahead, but then mine would catch up and he would switch back. The only thing he accomplished was to make the line that much slower. There was a great article that a friend sent me years ago on the physics of traffic and it has been determined that weaving in and out of tight traffic will really gain you nothing and in fact cause the very blockages that you believe you are defying. (Sidenote--an unfortunately side effect of so much of interest on the internet is that it is impossible to store all of the articles that interest you over the years in the vague belief that you will someday want to reference them to others) The article also pointed out that if all d…

Adapting a book--The Prestige

I was completely blown away by the movie of The Prestige, and I thought then about reading the novel, but it seemed too soon. So I carried the author's name around with me for over a year (Christopher Priest) and then, finally remembered to buy it through an odd sequence of events. We watched The Painted Veil based on the novel by Maugham starring Edward Norton, and while I decided I didn't want to read The Painted Veil because of it's differences from the film (which was more romantic and tragic) it reminded me that I had wanted to read Fight Club (the movie version of which starred Edward Norton) and that reminded me that I had wanted to read The Prestige (which did not star Edward Norton, but was up against The Illusionist which did). it's all Edward Norton's fault.

The Prestige is a very good novel, and yet, the movie differs from it considerably. And I am still trying to figure out what exactly that means. The central premise is the same, AND HER…

The end of Cloud Atlas

Feel I must write this--promised it to myself, can I finish before midnight (when I said I would go to bed at 11)?

Where was I?

Oh, yes, section 5, where it gets interesting--because it's the future, at least 25 years, hopefully more. I say hopefully, because I don't want to be living in this future. The section is called "An Orison of Sonmi-451." An Orison (I had to look it up, proving I don't remember my Shakespeare) is a prayer, but in this future world where language has taken as many turns as in Orwell's 1984, it is more a confession or final statement. Sonmi-451 is a clone (as the name might suggest). The section is not entirely original. It owes much to Brave New World and Phillip K. Dick's Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (made into the film Bladerunner). I find it interesting that 40 or so years ago--when Dick wrote his book he believed that future slaves would be Androids, replicants. Now we are much more likely to presume they will be clones,…