I don't wait well. I am impatient, ready for whatever it is (vaguely waves hand around to indicate the ethers) to happen. I, like most people, I imagine, have always been like this. I couldn't wait to grow up, to do the next thing. I often tried to force things to happen before their time, or I sit in the present and obsess over the future.
This is where I am now. Scott reminded me the other day, as I was again apologizing for fretting and worrying, that this down time is obviously for a reason. I admit that it's probably true, but I'm ready for it to be over and to have learned the lesson and/or gained the experience and move on.
I keep mulling over the various phrases I have uttered over the last few months, and I fight the urge of thinking "I was so stupid to have said that; I take it back!" to the "Well, what's said was said, so let's ride this thing out." The scariest is just not knowing what's on the other side. I feel like I have been walking (at a rather fast clip) and suddenly chanced upon a very high, large wall. It stretches up, and I cannot see over it. It stretches for miles in either direction, so I cannot see around it. I can always backtrack, but what is the point? I will come again to this wall and will have to figure it out later if I don't face it now. I'm going to have to climb the damn thing or figure out the magic phrase to let me pass through. I am not a fan of heights, but I'll brace myself and deal with them if necessary. As far as the magic phrase, perhaps I just need to find someone to help me through. I keep imagining a figure like Gandalf at this point for some reason.
And so, I wait and try to perfect the art of that. Waiting doesn't necessarily mean patience is required. It is more of finding ways to occupy oneself until the waiting is over. Maybe it is time to face down those stacks of projects I have been putting off because of work. Maybe it is time to commit to the vague promises and ideas that float into my mind and get tucked away. Maybe it is time to hit the job markets again and to seek other things.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Pauses
That moment when it's all just gone to hell in a hand basket? When the rug's been yanked out from under? Light at the end of the tunnel is quite dim (if it even glows)? Welcome to my spring term.
Plans? On hold. That last post? Ugh. I can't even think of it at the moment because I am so overwhelmed by the fact that I am suddenly finding myself rather underemployed. That's the life of the adjunct/freelancer, I suppose, but, good grief, it's uncomfortable. I suppose all great change starts with discomfort. That's what I keep telling myself, anyway. I had a friend back at holiday tell me that I had some major karma coming from the gods of academia, but at the moment I feel smited (usage?) by them. And, yet, my little Sagittarian nature, the damn little engine that could that it is, just won't believe that. We Sags can be so ridiculously optimistic even when being pessimistic. It's annoying, even to us.
It's simply a shift, a change, I keep telling myself. Up, down, up, down. So, things have been put on hold for a bit until the bank account finds a bit more equilibrium. This is infinitely frustrating, and poor Scott has to deal with my nail-biting, broody, moody, fretting self for a while. Maybe it means that our plans need more time to incubate, marinate (see, that Sagittarian optimism coming through). Fingers crossed that this is very, very temporary!
Plans? On hold. That last post? Ugh. I can't even think of it at the moment because I am so overwhelmed by the fact that I am suddenly finding myself rather underemployed. That's the life of the adjunct/freelancer, I suppose, but, good grief, it's uncomfortable. I suppose all great change starts with discomfort. That's what I keep telling myself, anyway. I had a friend back at holiday tell me that I had some major karma coming from the gods of academia, but at the moment I feel smited (usage?) by them. And, yet, my little Sagittarian nature, the damn little engine that could that it is, just won't believe that. We Sags can be so ridiculously optimistic even when being pessimistic. It's annoying, even to us.
It's simply a shift, a change, I keep telling myself. Up, down, up, down. So, things have been put on hold for a bit until the bank account finds a bit more equilibrium. This is infinitely frustrating, and poor Scott has to deal with my nail-biting, broody, moody, fretting self for a while. Maybe it means that our plans need more time to incubate, marinate (see, that Sagittarian optimism coming through). Fingers crossed that this is very, very temporary!
Sunday, March 17, 2013
On new things
I have been working on courage and throwing myself out into the ether even more to see what happens this year. I have shadowy dealings and secrets--which aren't nearly as diabolic as they sound, sadly. Let me try this again.
When I am facing down changes, big, life altering changes, I have to fight the very Sagittarian nature to talk about them, to share the details and the hopes. Scott has helped to quell this tendency a bit, thanks to his particularly secretive Scorpio nature (this is not meant as a disparagement, but as a general truth). Part of the reason is because life just doesn't always pan out the way we hope, and if I must be miserable, sad, and disappointed, I would rather it be mine to deal with and come to peace with. When things do pan out, then I can celebrate with others and they can say the usual "Oh! I had no idea you were doing that. Yay for you!"
There are only a few who know things/plans from the beginnings, and then there are others who find out from drunken nights. Give me alcohol and all the secrets come out. I would make a terrible, terrible spy. Spy: "Here's vodka drink; tell us your secrets." Me: "Ok!" What I imagine, though, is probably much less romantic than dark corners, silky dresses and sharp knives and more along the lines of Chunk's confession to the Fratellis in The Goonies. Yep, that's about right.
Courage I have in odd ways: I've thrown myself out of a plane, I've moved with no reassurance I'll land on my feet, I venture into different adventures not knowing the outcome, and more. But the soul-deep courage I falter on a bit. Also the things that may require big money and a longer commitment of time. Those scare the bejeezus out of me. But it's all part of the bigger plan, the bigger picture. We know where we want to end up, but it's going to take some huge leaps like this to get us there. I'm not always the best with slow and steady, and I never really have been. There is a lot of wrestling with my nature to keep this in check and to shore myself up for the long haul. There is a lot of assessing, reassessing, checking, rechecking involved, and I imagine more of this over the next few years as we work toward those goals we have.
I'd answer the "what do you want to be when you grow up?" question with a similarly puerile answer: Can't tell you (yet). *smile*
When I am facing down changes, big, life altering changes, I have to fight the very Sagittarian nature to talk about them, to share the details and the hopes. Scott has helped to quell this tendency a bit, thanks to his particularly secretive Scorpio nature (this is not meant as a disparagement, but as a general truth). Part of the reason is because life just doesn't always pan out the way we hope, and if I must be miserable, sad, and disappointed, I would rather it be mine to deal with and come to peace with. When things do pan out, then I can celebrate with others and they can say the usual "Oh! I had no idea you were doing that. Yay for you!"
There are only a few who know things/plans from the beginnings, and then there are others who find out from drunken nights. Give me alcohol and all the secrets come out. I would make a terrible, terrible spy. Spy: "Here's vodka drink; tell us your secrets." Me: "Ok!" What I imagine, though, is probably much less romantic than dark corners, silky dresses and sharp knives and more along the lines of Chunk's confession to the Fratellis in The Goonies. Yep, that's about right.
Courage I have in odd ways: I've thrown myself out of a plane, I've moved with no reassurance I'll land on my feet, I venture into different adventures not knowing the outcome, and more. But the soul-deep courage I falter on a bit. Also the things that may require big money and a longer commitment of time. Those scare the bejeezus out of me. But it's all part of the bigger plan, the bigger picture. We know where we want to end up, but it's going to take some huge leaps like this to get us there. I'm not always the best with slow and steady, and I never really have been. There is a lot of wrestling with my nature to keep this in check and to shore myself up for the long haul. There is a lot of assessing, reassessing, checking, rechecking involved, and I imagine more of this over the next few years as we work toward those goals we have.
I'd answer the "what do you want to be when you grow up?" question with a similarly puerile answer: Can't tell you (yet). *smile*
Monday, March 11, 2013
Breathing
Those moments when life suddenly upends again, and you're facing nothing but freefall? That incredibly uncomfortable moment of omgwth? Completely there. Bottled up, quiet, but there.
As an adjunct/part time full-timer, this is my life. I may have work; I may not. I may be so busy I don't get to sleep for days, and then I'm left with nothing, bereft of the busy-ness that was just my life. Some weeks I may kill eighty hours, but others I may work ten hours. We're up, we're down.
I told Scott I think I'm standing on the edge of something, but what I have no idea. I think we're both facing this in our own ways. And I am, admittedly, quietly, reservedly terrified. My minds skirts around it, this strange invisible thing that lurks in my subconscious. Perhaps it's simple paranoia at the uncertainty. I feel better, though, if I continue to not face it. I'll glance at it in my periphery, but I refuse to look at it head on. But that ache, that squeeze in my chest? I won't face it either.
The scary things in life are like that, aren't they? If I can just ignore it, I'll be okay. I can keep all of the anxiety, the fear, the uncertainty, the doubt at bay. If I don't name it, it has no power. And really, can you name a ghost of a thing? Names create substance, and this is simply a feeling.
February is a tough month, but March inevitably brings change. That shift in the air, and perhaps it's just natural vibrations that I'm feeling. March is the seasons holding their breath, waiting for large things to happen. Fall is the lingering sigh of summer, but spring is a slow inhale. And maybe that is all that I am feeling.
As an adjunct/part time full-timer, this is my life. I may have work; I may not. I may be so busy I don't get to sleep for days, and then I'm left with nothing, bereft of the busy-ness that was just my life. Some weeks I may kill eighty hours, but others I may work ten hours. We're up, we're down.
I told Scott I think I'm standing on the edge of something, but what I have no idea. I think we're both facing this in our own ways. And I am, admittedly, quietly, reservedly terrified. My minds skirts around it, this strange invisible thing that lurks in my subconscious. Perhaps it's simple paranoia at the uncertainty. I feel better, though, if I continue to not face it. I'll glance at it in my periphery, but I refuse to look at it head on. But that ache, that squeeze in my chest? I won't face it either.
The scary things in life are like that, aren't they? If I can just ignore it, I'll be okay. I can keep all of the anxiety, the fear, the uncertainty, the doubt at bay. If I don't name it, it has no power. And really, can you name a ghost of a thing? Names create substance, and this is simply a feeling.
February is a tough month, but March inevitably brings change. That shift in the air, and perhaps it's just natural vibrations that I'm feeling. March is the seasons holding their breath, waiting for large things to happen. Fall is the lingering sigh of summer, but spring is a slow inhale. And maybe that is all that I am feeling.
Friday, March 1, 2013
Ye (not so) scurvy rogues
When we lived in Chicago, we struggled through cold winters, and inevitably by February, we were fighting off the vitamin D deficiencies, we were moody and irritable. We would come home from work, throw on the comfy pjs, and curl up. One brilliant thing, though, that came out of these winter doldrums, that tiny death that overtakes us every year, was an organic foods delivery service Scott found (Irv & Shelly's Fresh Picks, if interested, and I noticed that they have substantially grown their box choices now). Each week, we were gifted with a box of bounty. In the winter, it veered toward root veggies and hearty greens. We would get pounds of oranges, apples, and other fruits. It was glorious.
We were forced to figure out just what to do with sunchokes, beets, kale, chard, and other veggies I had not even heard of. I didn't eat beets. My mother had never bought beets. Kale? Asher ate it in a pinch, but not us. I could only handle so many oranges before I was done. And so we got creative. Sunchoke chips, orange marmalade, apple butter, stuffed apples, and on. Spring began to finally break through, and the box came overflowing with green. We had ramps, basil, broccoli, kiwi, wonderfully odd, fragrant mixes of herbs, leafy green things like watercress, and more.
I noticed a while back the delivery truck that would pull up to my neighbors' house each week, leaving boxes on their doorstep. The truck was delivering organics. Well, hot damn. We began looking into it, decided to wait until after the epic holiday trip this year (seriously, 5,000 miles in 2.5 weeks). I ordered while we away so we would receive our first delivery once we returned.
The box was delivered, and it was disappointing. The veggies were wilted, the apples mealy, the bounty not so bountiful. It was sad. The bacon, though, was delicious. So we gave the company the benefit of the doubt and had another box delivered the next week. Chalk the first box up to a post-holiday slump because the next week was good, and it has only continued to get better the longer we are with them. We're using Organics to You now. We order the small bin, which is more than enough for us each week. Our fruit bowl is overflowing, the crisper can't hold everything, and our diet is much improved. Plus, the grocery bill has dropped quite a bit since we aren't visiting the store three or four times a week (we tend to buy by meals rather than one huge grocery run) and buying random items. We are able to get the protein we want (bacon, steaks, salmon, and more) from local fisheries and farms. We're trying out the milk and eggs this week, both from a local dairy. I never check what is coming, so every Tuesday is a bit like vegetable Christmas. Surprise! This week we have spinach! Yay! (five-year-old me would be completely disgusted with the current me for being so excited over vegetables).
Our bin this last week flummoxed me a bit, though. I opened it and sitting at the bottom was a strange celery like bundle and a huge bulb of something dirt colored. Perhaps fennel and celeriac. I checked the site and was spot on, but it was text only so I just guessed as to what name belonged to which vegetable. What I did just check, though, is which is which. I'm glad I didn't grab the bulb thinking it was fennel (as I first supposed). I have no idea what to do with these things. The chard I've figured out (last night was brown rice, topped with sauteed onion, celery, smoked sausage, and rainbow chard--gah, it was good stuff), kale chips are a new favorite snack, potatoes are easy to deal with, celery, onion and leek disappear pretty quickly. The grapefruit (a ton of it) has been slowly consumed and played with: broiled with sugar and vanilla bean, grapefruit curd, sliced and frozen and more. The beets are awaiting a mandolin to be sliced. The apples, kiwi, oranges and pears are obvious (although the Girl Scouts blindsided the healthier options at the moment). But the celeriac? It's huge. Can we eat that much? A friend has it growing wild in his front yard, but he's vegan, and I don't really trust his recipes (sorry, vegans). The fennel seems to be easier. There are lots of recipes with fennel out on Pinterest and various cooking sites. It's a vegetable adventure!
We were forced to figure out just what to do with sunchokes, beets, kale, chard, and other veggies I had not even heard of. I didn't eat beets. My mother had never bought beets. Kale? Asher ate it in a pinch, but not us. I could only handle so many oranges before I was done. And so we got creative. Sunchoke chips, orange marmalade, apple butter, stuffed apples, and on. Spring began to finally break through, and the box came overflowing with green. We had ramps, basil, broccoli, kiwi, wonderfully odd, fragrant mixes of herbs, leafy green things like watercress, and more.
I noticed a while back the delivery truck that would pull up to my neighbors' house each week, leaving boxes on their doorstep. The truck was delivering organics. Well, hot damn. We began looking into it, decided to wait until after the epic holiday trip this year (seriously, 5,000 miles in 2.5 weeks). I ordered while we away so we would receive our first delivery once we returned.
The box was delivered, and it was disappointing. The veggies were wilted, the apples mealy, the bounty not so bountiful. It was sad. The bacon, though, was delicious. So we gave the company the benefit of the doubt and had another box delivered the next week. Chalk the first box up to a post-holiday slump because the next week was good, and it has only continued to get better the longer we are with them. We're using Organics to You now. We order the small bin, which is more than enough for us each week. Our fruit bowl is overflowing, the crisper can't hold everything, and our diet is much improved. Plus, the grocery bill has dropped quite a bit since we aren't visiting the store three or four times a week (we tend to buy by meals rather than one huge grocery run) and buying random items. We are able to get the protein we want (bacon, steaks, salmon, and more) from local fisheries and farms. We're trying out the milk and eggs this week, both from a local dairy. I never check what is coming, so every Tuesday is a bit like vegetable Christmas. Surprise! This week we have spinach! Yay! (five-year-old me would be completely disgusted with the current me for being so excited over vegetables).
Our bin this last week flummoxed me a bit, though. I opened it and sitting at the bottom was a strange celery like bundle and a huge bulb of something dirt colored. Perhaps fennel and celeriac. I checked the site and was spot on, but it was text only so I just guessed as to what name belonged to which vegetable. What I did just check, though, is which is which. I'm glad I didn't grab the bulb thinking it was fennel (as I first supposed). I have no idea what to do with these things. The chard I've figured out (last night was brown rice, topped with sauteed onion, celery, smoked sausage, and rainbow chard--gah, it was good stuff), kale chips are a new favorite snack, potatoes are easy to deal with, celery, onion and leek disappear pretty quickly. The grapefruit (a ton of it) has been slowly consumed and played with: broiled with sugar and vanilla bean, grapefruit curd, sliced and frozen and more. The beets are awaiting a mandolin to be sliced. The apples, kiwi, oranges and pears are obvious (although the Girl Scouts blindsided the healthier options at the moment). But the celeriac? It's huge. Can we eat that much? A friend has it growing wild in his front yard, but he's vegan, and I don't really trust his recipes (sorry, vegans). The fennel seems to be easier. There are lots of recipes with fennel out on Pinterest and various cooking sites. It's a vegetable adventure!
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