When in the throes of anger/rage/sadness/anguish, I often forget how quickly things can turn around. Today wasn't as good a day as yesterday for work speed, but since part of yesterday's problem was that a few of my coworkers seem to be annoyed or at least astonished by how much I still don't know, it was nice that today I met two other new temps. One was sitting next to me, so we didn't get to talk much (the work consumes a lot of attention), but I could see that she, too, was having a bit of a hard time sometimes, and though I'm not exactly happy to see her have trouble, I'm glad it's not just me. She seems nice - kind of reminds me of Anita, a lady some of us know from church, in the way she talks (and even a little in the way she looks).
The other is a guy named Peter - tall, late thirties or maybe early forties, with a voice a lot like Ray Romano's. We ended up in a conversation at the end of the day and talked a little about BCC (he knows another one of the adjuncts, a guy I know of, though it's probably not accurate to say that I know the guy himself) and about other things; he seems to have been in at least one band over the years. (That might have been the air or look he had about him that I couldn't quite place: the guy-in-a-band one.)
So it was a nicer day than I expected, and hopefully the rest of this week will be better, too. I'm sure God will make something good come out of this job besides just money...though I've yet to figure out what that good something could be.
1.31.2012
1.30.2012
I Declined to Stay Until 5:30 and Get Overtime
At work today, for the first time, partly because I was working under favorable conditions, partly because I took at least somewhat on faith that since the forms had all been submitted by the same one or two tax-preparation companies (or something - I think that's what they were), they weren't likely to vary wildly, I was able to meet my production quotas, at least for part of the day.
However, even that and a haircut were not enough to keep today from being bad. I am so cranky, partly because I am so tired, but also because it really has been a painful and aggravating day. So I'm going to bed.
However, even that and a haircut were not enough to keep today from being bad. I am so cranky, partly because I am so tired, but also because it really has been a painful and aggravating day. So I'm going to bed.
1.28.2012
Why do seagulls fly over the sea? Because if they flew over the bay...
(I'm not going to capitalize all my titles all the time.)
Late this afternoon, I started some homemade egg bagels, most of which came out of the oven maybe an hour ago - a dozen in all, though next time I'll make more, since these are smaller and thinner than the kind you'd get out of Wegmans. They're crispy on the outside, and a little chewy on the inside, and they're good. I divided the batch into three flavors - plain, sesame, and cinnamon-sugar-topped. Because all I'd had for dinner was some bodgy egg-drop soup - broth and egg and a little green onion - I felt justified in eating about four or five of them (I think most of them were smaller ones). The best was a cinnamon-sugar just cool enough to not burn my mouth; it was a little like fried dough, but better (less heavy, less oily, less fried-tasting). I mostly ate the others with cream cheese.
I used the recipe that Jo and I used the last time we made bagels, during our freshman year. The results didn't taste quite as good this time as that time, but they were still worth it. Maybe the biggest difference is that this time I haven't been eating mostly dorm food for who-knows-what-length-of-time.
Late this afternoon, I started some homemade egg bagels, most of which came out of the oven maybe an hour ago - a dozen in all, though next time I'll make more, since these are smaller and thinner than the kind you'd get out of Wegmans. They're crispy on the outside, and a little chewy on the inside, and they're good. I divided the batch into three flavors - plain, sesame, and cinnamon-sugar-topped. Because all I'd had for dinner was some bodgy egg-drop soup - broth and egg and a little green onion - I felt justified in eating about four or five of them (I think most of them were smaller ones). The best was a cinnamon-sugar just cool enough to not burn my mouth; it was a little like fried dough, but better (less heavy, less oily, less fried-tasting). I mostly ate the others with cream cheese.
I used the recipe that Jo and I used the last time we made bagels, during our freshman year. The results didn't taste quite as good this time as that time, but they were still worth it. Maybe the biggest difference is that this time I haven't been eating mostly dorm food for who-knows-what-length-of-time.
1.27.2012
It's the Weekend!
To celebrate, we made homemade pizza (one leek/potato/turkey-bacon, and one with half cheese and half Tex-Mex-ish chicken with salsa...mostly I made both of them, but Carrie took charge of the chicken-and-salsa half), and I invited everybody over to eat some. As it turned out, only Brendan came, but he and Carrie and I had a nice time. (I didn't give anyone any details about what kinds I was making, so the sparse attendance is probably not connected to how unusual our pizza toppings were.)
On a completely different (and, despite how it sounds if you don't know the site, apolitical) note, Bad Lip Reading really needs to get on a video for Newt Gingrich. I think it'd be funny. But at the rate the site's going right now, he could be out of the race by the time they try to get around to it. So, from me to you, BLR: chop-chop.
On a completely different (and, despite how it sounds if you don't know the site, apolitical) note, Bad Lip Reading really needs to get on a video for Newt Gingrich. I think it'd be funny. But at the rate the site's going right now, he could be out of the race by the time they try to get around to it. So, from me to you, BLR: chop-chop.
1.26.2012
O Previous Entry's Title, Now You Mock Me
So...I definitely forgot to blog yesterday. As you had probably noticed.
It's been a busy week. If I'd actually stayed all eight hours every day (which only happened for the first time today, because the actual number of hours we work is determined by mail volume, so I've been let out at 12:30, and at 4:00, and Tuesday got canceled altogether, but today I really did stay until 5:00), it might be my first forty-hour-a-week job ever. I can't remember whether I ever did actually work forty hours a week for RIT over a summer (well, actually, their full-time week was only thirty-five hours anyway, but...). Some summers, at least, I worked eight-hour days, but only two or three days per week. Maybe all of them were like that.
I'm still not very fast at this job (we have to fill out production logs, listing how many forms we've processed in a given timeframe) - just under half as fast, in fact, as I heard I'm supposed to soon be able to be. It's not a terrible job, but it does make teaching look better than it did before. (Teaching, however, is still not financially sustainable, so it's still just as well that I'm exploring other options.)
Today has been so action-packed, including after work, that I bought a sub out of Subway to serve as my dinner, because doing so was almost the only shot I had at anything more dinnery than the peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich I would have made myself otherwise. I ate half of the sub, but I'm about to go eat the other half, even though it's late. And then...am I actually going to do any Bible reading? I hope so, but after about eight hours of work, about an hour and a quarter of errands, and about two hours of interpersonal warmth, it's hard not to want to scrap it in favor of the last chapters of my reread of Murder Must Advertise. But I'll probably try doing both.
By the bye, readers: this template doesn't do a great job of displaying links (I think I have to fix the link text color...and do so correctly this time), but there really was a link to the grammar/punctuation bar jokes from the last entry. Just hover over the text with your mouse and you should see it.
It's been a busy week. If I'd actually stayed all eight hours every day (which only happened for the first time today, because the actual number of hours we work is determined by mail volume, so I've been let out at 12:30, and at 4:00, and Tuesday got canceled altogether, but today I really did stay until 5:00), it might be my first forty-hour-a-week job ever. I can't remember whether I ever did actually work forty hours a week for RIT over a summer (well, actually, their full-time week was only thirty-five hours anyway, but...). Some summers, at least, I worked eight-hour days, but only two or three days per week. Maybe all of them were like that.
I'm still not very fast at this job (we have to fill out production logs, listing how many forms we've processed in a given timeframe) - just under half as fast, in fact, as I heard I'm supposed to soon be able to be. It's not a terrible job, but it does make teaching look better than it did before. (Teaching, however, is still not financially sustainable, so it's still just as well that I'm exploring other options.)
Today has been so action-packed, including after work, that I bought a sub out of Subway to serve as my dinner, because doing so was almost the only shot I had at anything more dinnery than the peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich I would have made myself otherwise. I ate half of the sub, but I'm about to go eat the other half, even though it's late. And then...am I actually going to do any Bible reading? I hope so, but after about eight hours of work, about an hour and a quarter of errands, and about two hours of interpersonal warmth, it's hard not to want to scrap it in favor of the last chapters of my reread of Murder Must Advertise. But I'll probably try doing both.
By the bye, readers: this template doesn't do a great job of displaying links (I think I have to fix the link text color...and do so correctly this time), but there really was a link to the grammar/punctuation bar jokes from the last entry. Just hover over the text with your mouse and you should see it.
1.24.2012
One of These Days I'm Going to Forget to Blog
I almost did tonight.
Also, there isn't actually a lot to say tonight. So instead I present this link: Seven Bar Jokes Involving Grammar and Punctuation.
And I'm glad you're all reading, especially because some nights you yourselves may not necessarily be. So thank you.
Also, there isn't actually a lot to say tonight. So instead I present this link: Seven Bar Jokes Involving Grammar and Punctuation.
And I'm glad you're all reading, especially because some nights you yourselves may not necessarily be. So thank you.
1.23.2012
Cubed
I did some revision and expansion on Tuesday, but the first version went up on Monday night.
Hey, guys, I don't think, on second (or third, or whatever) thought, that I'm actually going to plan to write a whole post about Megan's memorial. You can ask or e-mail if you want, though, if you're curious.
Today was my first day of temp work. It's almost certainly the most overtly-corporate space I've ever worked in: posters with mottoes or sayings, or pictures of people who work for the company, line the walls. The workspaces are right next to each other, partially marked off with fiberglass (or something - you can see through them) partitions. Mine was at the end, by the wall. There're a good dozen workstations to a grouping (six on one side, six on the other, each line of half-a-dozen facing the other, visible through the partitions), and a number of those groupings in the room itself. From a bird's-eye view, it would probably look a little like a supermarket, with the lines of temps and other workers as the shelves (except that they face each other, like I said, whereas grocery-shelf items might be more back-to-back...and, of course, you're talking about shorter "shelves" than in a store), with aisles between them. I'll have to check next time to see whether I'm remembering it correctly.
Within about fifteen minutes, I was sent (with two others) to "refresher" training (I wasn't allowed to take my notes home when I trained last Tuesday, and six days away from that much information, after only a fairly brief exposure to it, is asking for a lot of lost knowledge), so that should give you some idea of how I fared initially. After the refresher course, things were somewhat better, but also short: they sent us home after half a day, as the temp people said they might, since the amount of work I get depends heavily on how much tax-document mail they get per day. Also, tomorrow's work got canceled altogether, though I'm told that Wednesday is still on. So this is looking like it's not going to provide as much income as I thought it would, and I won't be surprised if it doesn't run all three weeks.
And a little oddity to close things out: here, at a little past eleven PM, the recycling truck has just come by and collected the stuff in any bins people've already put out to the curb, including Carrie's and mine. (Update at 11:20: I think the garbage people have just come by, too.) Their scheduled time is Tuesday; I haven't known them to come late Monday night before. Huh.
Hey, guys, I don't think, on second (or third, or whatever) thought, that I'm actually going to plan to write a whole post about Megan's memorial. You can ask or e-mail if you want, though, if you're curious.
Today was my first day of temp work. It's almost certainly the most overtly-corporate space I've ever worked in: posters with mottoes or sayings, or pictures of people who work for the company, line the walls. The workspaces are right next to each other, partially marked off with fiberglass (or something - you can see through them) partitions. Mine was at the end, by the wall. There're a good dozen workstations to a grouping (six on one side, six on the other, each line of half-a-dozen facing the other, visible through the partitions), and a number of those groupings in the room itself. From a bird's-eye view, it would probably look a little like a supermarket, with the lines of temps and other workers as the shelves (except that they face each other, like I said, whereas grocery-shelf items might be more back-to-back...and, of course, you're talking about shorter "shelves" than in a store), with aisles between them. I'll have to check next time to see whether I'm remembering it correctly.
Within about fifteen minutes, I was sent (with two others) to "refresher" training (I wasn't allowed to take my notes home when I trained last Tuesday, and six days away from that much information, after only a fairly brief exposure to it, is asking for a lot of lost knowledge), so that should give you some idea of how I fared initially. After the refresher course, things were somewhat better, but also short: they sent us home after half a day, as the temp people said they might, since the amount of work I get depends heavily on how much tax-document mail they get per day. Also, tomorrow's work got canceled altogether, though I'm told that Wednesday is still on. So this is looking like it's not going to provide as much income as I thought it would, and I won't be surprised if it doesn't run all three weeks.
And a little oddity to close things out: here, at a little past eleven PM, the recycling truck has just come by and collected the stuff in any bins people've already put out to the curb, including Carrie's and mine. (Update at 11:20: I think the garbage people have just come by, too.) Their scheduled time is Tuesday; I haven't known them to come late Monday night before. Huh.
1.21.2012
Shorter than You Were Led to Believe This Would Be
It's been a busy day and I can't stay on: having spent all afternoon at one birthday party, I'm about to go off to another. The first one, for my Aunt Cathy (Jo's mom), has been fun and nice. My arrival to the second one, for Joe, will be very late (what a bum I am for stopping to blog...although I primarily came back to the house to grab the bacon-wrapped crackers I made him as his present), but I'm off to it anyway.
Tomorrow's Sunday, so I'll catch you on Monday.
Tomorrow's Sunday, so I'll catch you on Monday.
1.20.2012
1.19.2012
Little Things Again
Maybe I should try to write a form poem again. I've never written a ballade; I might like to try. I'd also like to fix the photo display on my wall.
On another note altogether: tomorrow, for the first time since about 1989, January looks like it will end up having come and gone without my being in school at all, as student or instructor or otherwise. I think I do feel a little wistful about that. But also, I just don't know that I had the heart to teach this semester. I suppose I would have if I'd had to. Still, despite the career complications and that I will miss being in a scholastic setting, I am grateful for the break.
On another note altogether: tomorrow, for the first time since about 1989, January looks like it will end up having come and gone without my being in school at all, as student or instructor or otherwise. I think I do feel a little wistful about that. But also, I just don't know that I had the heart to teach this semester. I suppose I would have if I'd had to. Still, despite the career complications and that I will miss being in a scholastic setting, I am grateful for the break.
1.18.2012
Stuff You've Heard Lots About on This Blog Over the Years: Fatigue and Food
Today I was too tired, thanks to staying up late reading on top of existing sleep debt, to do much of anything productive until after a mid-afternoon nap, after which I had to do many things in quick succession, since I'd slept through most of the time I would otherwise have had.
Except when I'm tired, I think making dinner is one of the highlights of my day. Planned dishes coming up (not necessarily in this order): bean-and-cheese enchiladas, homemade pizza, and a new one, crockpot sesame chicken (which will hopefully provide much of the flavor of the Chinese-food dish I like so much, but will perhaps be a little more healthful). But when I'm working all day for the temp job, as I soon will be, I have a feeling that Carrie and I will quickly start relying on meals that take thirty or fewer minutes to prepare. That's a little disappointing, but then, it should also be temporary.
Except when I'm tired, I think making dinner is one of the highlights of my day. Planned dishes coming up (not necessarily in this order): bean-and-cheese enchiladas, homemade pizza, and a new one, crockpot sesame chicken (which will hopefully provide much of the flavor of the Chinese-food dish I like so much, but will perhaps be a little more healthful). But when I'm working all day for the temp job, as I soon will be, I have a feeling that Carrie and I will quickly start relying on meals that take thirty or fewer minutes to prepare. That's a little disappointing, but then, it should also be temporary.
1.17.2012
Just Before Getting Off the Computer for the Night
Today I trained for the temp job. It'll be "document prep" for tax forms - in short, I check over certain tax documents sent to the company, to make sure they're filled out in the right way, sometimes adding clarifying notes or stamps or suchlike. Then I generally sort them into types, setting similar kinds together. Since I stand to be about to do forty hours of it per week, I think I'll be glad not to be doing it for more than three weeks. But it'll be decent office work - checking and stamping and clipping. If I'd done data entry instead, I'd probably have to type things into computers all day. With document prep, I'll hardly (if ever) have to use a computer at all. Though I generally like computers, the idea is kind of a nice one. Plus, once I've gotten used to things, I'll get to bring in my iPod (since it's an older generation, without a camera) and headphones and listen to music and stuff while I work.
Having more or less made up my mind yesterday to do it, I also e-mailed the college today to get my lone remaining section reassigned - that is, given to another instructor - and I also asked whether I'd have to reapply for an adjunct position if I wanted to come back next semester. My department head, to whom JoAnn the Friendly Secretary forwarded my message, was very nice - sent me an e-mail I found both polite and kind, apologizing for the short notice on the loss of the first two sections, and saying they'd be happy to have me come back next semester. So it's a clean and uncomplicated break, or at least that's how it looks.
And that deserves more comment, but instead, for now, I'm going to shut the computer down, get ready for bed, finish the book I'm rereading, and then go - hurrah! - to sleep.
Having more or less made up my mind yesterday to do it, I also e-mailed the college today to get my lone remaining section reassigned - that is, given to another instructor - and I also asked whether I'd have to reapply for an adjunct position if I wanted to come back next semester. My department head, to whom JoAnn the Friendly Secretary forwarded my message, was very nice - sent me an e-mail I found both polite and kind, apologizing for the short notice on the loss of the first two sections, and saying they'd be happy to have me come back next semester. So it's a clean and uncomplicated break, or at least that's how it looks.
And that deserves more comment, but instead, for now, I'm going to shut the computer down, get ready for bed, finish the book I'm rereading, and then go - hurrah! - to sleep.
1.16.2012
Branching Trees
My dad and his fraternal twin, my Uncle Rich (sometimes Richie), were the middle children of their biological family (and perhaps also of their adoptive family, though I'm not sure there). Above them in age was a trio made up of a brother and two sisters, all born in the 1940s (whereas Dad and Uncle Rich arrived toward the mid-50s); below them a trio of a sister and two brothers, all born (as far as I know) in the 1960s. Aunt Ellen was the youngest sister, and she had only one child, a girl named Megan, born in 1983. Megan, my brother, and I made up the entire younger tier of cousins from that part of the family - the elder cousins (children of my dad's elder siblings), though important to us and fun to play with, were a good decade or more older than we were.
I saw a fair amount of her in elementary school (my brother was too little then to play much with us) because we spent so much time then in Bath (New York), where that side of the family mostly lived. I remember tree-climbing in Aunt Peggy and Uncle Bert's yard with her; remember (I must have been pretty young) the first time I was presented with two unequal pieces of some treat, and, having been told to give one to Megan, was faced with the choice between politeness and greed. (After a long pause filled with deliberation, I chose greed, to the laughter of other relatives around, and was promptly corrected, probably by my parents.) I remember that she was cute, with wavy (curly?) hair; a charmer. I think I did feel, though who knows with how much clarity, like our grandmother liked her better than me; and I think I remember that Megan would talk sometimes about school, what she was studying, two years ahead of me, since I was that much younger. Altogether, I liked her.
I also think that hers was the first house at which I ever slept over without my parents - a somewhat daring move on my parents' part, in retrospect (I remember them not having said yes right away to the idea), because Megan's home life was not like mine. I may have gotten to sleep over at some time when Megan's dad wasn't going to be at the house the whole time (or maybe at all), and there would have been a reason for that: Aunt Ellen's husband, if I remember correctly what I heard some years later, was a drug dealer even then (and possibly worse). But I did get to go over, and I remember, with an odd combination of vagueness about some things and what I believe to be clarity about others, her room and some of the things in it. I remember playing Caveman Games on her NES, trying unsuccessfully to press the buttons fast enough to rub the two sticks together with enough friction to start a fire. I think I remember the shag carpeting in the living room, sitting on it the next morning, the sun lying in patches across it as we played the game (we must have moved the Nintendo there from her room?), as we maybe ate or had eaten cereal.
She also came over to our house once - for a week, or at least that was the plan, but I don't remember now whether she stayed for the whole time. I know we went to the beach on one of those days, and that afterward (because of sunburn?) she threw up. I don't think I really remember anything else.
We grew, and we saw less of each other, though I must have written her a letter (in those days before universal e-mail) sometime in seventh grade or so. Megan and Aunt Ellen had moved to Florida by then (Aunt Ellen and Uncle Walt having split up), and I must have mentioned once that I was taking Spanish in school, because Megan wrote back with part of her letter in Spanish, with an English translation accompanying (though I could read most of the Spanish without it). But I think it wasn't in that letter, but in an e-mail my dad got from Aunt Mary, eldest of the sisters, later (was it several years later, or not that long?), that I learned that Megan had been clean for x-amount of time, and that that term meant that she'd been addicted to some or other drug, or maybe drugs.
The cleanliness wasn't to last. I saw her maybe once after that. Mostly, I guess, she was in Florida, working on a shrimp boat. Usually she was with Aunt Ellen. But last I'd heard, they'd both been living in Rochester. My assumption across all those years, based on what evidence my family tended to get from Aunt Mary (who wasn't doing it to gossip, at least not as far as I know - she's just better at keeping track of family), was always that she was addicted to something.
But apparently she'd left Rochester and gone back to Bath recently, to live with Uncle Walt again. And it was in Bath, a couple of days ago, that it happened. You can tell where this is going.
It was heroin - an overdose. A friend had done CPR, and she'd revived. But instead of taking her to the hospital, her boyfriend took her back to where she was living (I don't know where she'd been when she overdosed) and put her to bed. It was the wrong choice.
So Aunt Mary called my dad with the news last night, and I heard this afternoon when my mom called. I don't know how Aunt Ellen is, though one can sort of imagine. As for Walt - I don't know him well enough to make any but the vaguest of guesses.
Megan and I hadn't spoken in years; I don't know if "grieved" is the right word for how I feel. But I'm sad that this is how it ended - not just that she was only twenty-eight, but that she got lost in the shuffle of my thoughts and life, with hardly a thought spared and probably nary a prayer. She lived, she died; from early days, her life was not pretty. God knows whether she was ever anything close to happy. That all this should have happened to my cousin, should still be happening (she's not the only substance abuser of the many cousins I have, thanks to my huge, three-sided extended family), and that not to speak is easier than to speak, and that one ends up assuming that the other person doesn't care whether you know her or not, and probably would be happier not having to make awkward conversation with a near-stranger - these things are not right.
Though I don't know whether it's real grief (what determines it one way or the other?), I think it's true to say that I miss - maybe her, or maybe who she was, or maybe the future her that there'll never be. Even when or if it crosses into melodrama or cliche or self-absorption, or becomes a private entry in a public space, I sit here collecting and documenting things I can remember about her and the times I saw her, making some record. It's all, and the least, I can do.
I saw a fair amount of her in elementary school (my brother was too little then to play much with us) because we spent so much time then in Bath (New York), where that side of the family mostly lived. I remember tree-climbing in Aunt Peggy and Uncle Bert's yard with her; remember (I must have been pretty young) the first time I was presented with two unequal pieces of some treat, and, having been told to give one to Megan, was faced with the choice between politeness and greed. (After a long pause filled with deliberation, I chose greed, to the laughter of other relatives around, and was promptly corrected, probably by my parents.) I remember that she was cute, with wavy (curly?) hair; a charmer. I think I did feel, though who knows with how much clarity, like our grandmother liked her better than me; and I think I remember that Megan would talk sometimes about school, what she was studying, two years ahead of me, since I was that much younger. Altogether, I liked her.
I also think that hers was the first house at which I ever slept over without my parents - a somewhat daring move on my parents' part, in retrospect (I remember them not having said yes right away to the idea), because Megan's home life was not like mine. I may have gotten to sleep over at some time when Megan's dad wasn't going to be at the house the whole time (or maybe at all), and there would have been a reason for that: Aunt Ellen's husband, if I remember correctly what I heard some years later, was a drug dealer even then (and possibly worse). But I did get to go over, and I remember, with an odd combination of vagueness about some things and what I believe to be clarity about others, her room and some of the things in it. I remember playing Caveman Games on her NES, trying unsuccessfully to press the buttons fast enough to rub the two sticks together with enough friction to start a fire. I think I remember the shag carpeting in the living room, sitting on it the next morning, the sun lying in patches across it as we played the game (we must have moved the Nintendo there from her room?), as we maybe ate or had eaten cereal.
She also came over to our house once - for a week, or at least that was the plan, but I don't remember now whether she stayed for the whole time. I know we went to the beach on one of those days, and that afterward (because of sunburn?) she threw up. I don't think I really remember anything else.
We grew, and we saw less of each other, though I must have written her a letter (in those days before universal e-mail) sometime in seventh grade or so. Megan and Aunt Ellen had moved to Florida by then (Aunt Ellen and Uncle Walt having split up), and I must have mentioned once that I was taking Spanish in school, because Megan wrote back with part of her letter in Spanish, with an English translation accompanying (though I could read most of the Spanish without it). But I think it wasn't in that letter, but in an e-mail my dad got from Aunt Mary, eldest of the sisters, later (was it several years later, or not that long?), that I learned that Megan had been clean for x-amount of time, and that that term meant that she'd been addicted to some or other drug, or maybe drugs.
The cleanliness wasn't to last. I saw her maybe once after that. Mostly, I guess, she was in Florida, working on a shrimp boat. Usually she was with Aunt Ellen. But last I'd heard, they'd both been living in Rochester. My assumption across all those years, based on what evidence my family tended to get from Aunt Mary (who wasn't doing it to gossip, at least not as far as I know - she's just better at keeping track of family), was always that she was addicted to something.
But apparently she'd left Rochester and gone back to Bath recently, to live with Uncle Walt again. And it was in Bath, a couple of days ago, that it happened. You can tell where this is going.
It was heroin - an overdose. A friend had done CPR, and she'd revived. But instead of taking her to the hospital, her boyfriend took her back to where she was living (I don't know where she'd been when she overdosed) and put her to bed. It was the wrong choice.
So Aunt Mary called my dad with the news last night, and I heard this afternoon when my mom called. I don't know how Aunt Ellen is, though one can sort of imagine. As for Walt - I don't know him well enough to make any but the vaguest of guesses.
Megan and I hadn't spoken in years; I don't know if "grieved" is the right word for how I feel. But I'm sad that this is how it ended - not just that she was only twenty-eight, but that she got lost in the shuffle of my thoughts and life, with hardly a thought spared and probably nary a prayer. She lived, she died; from early days, her life was not pretty. God knows whether she was ever anything close to happy. That all this should have happened to my cousin, should still be happening (she's not the only substance abuser of the many cousins I have, thanks to my huge, three-sided extended family), and that not to speak is easier than to speak, and that one ends up assuming that the other person doesn't care whether you know her or not, and probably would be happier not having to make awkward conversation with a near-stranger - these things are not right.
Though I don't know whether it's real grief (what determines it one way or the other?), I think it's true to say that I miss - maybe her, or maybe who she was, or maybe the future her that there'll never be. Even when or if it crosses into melodrama or cliche or self-absorption, or becomes a private entry in a public space, I sit here collecting and documenting things I can remember about her and the times I saw her, making some record. It's all, and the least, I can do.
1.14.2012
Football-Related Thoughts
-After the Saints got eliminated (much to my brother's satisfaction, I'm sure), I threw my Super Bowl matchup hopes behind Giants-vs.-Broncos, because if I can't see the excellence that is Rodgers vs. Brees, I'll take the fascinating unpredictability that would be E. Manning vs. Tebow (I know I'm speaking as though the QBs constitute the entire team, but...). But unless Tebow & Co. can engineer the most amazing comeback of their comeback-laden season, that idea's exploded, too.
-I loved Rick Reilly's Sports Illustrated columns back as a schoolkid, and I remember the column from when he hired lipreaders and determined that Peyton Manning, for all that his public persona was (as Reilly said) like Dudley Do-Right, swore a lot while on the field. Still, it shocked me all the same to hear him (Reilly, I mean) on Colin Cowherd's show yesterday, via the radio, saying that he'd also hired lipreaders to check Tim Tebow, and had also asked around to see if he'd been at any strip clubs, just to test the QB's Christian cred. I confess to having immediately felt indignant - even though Reilly reported, in tones of amazement, that Tebow's mouth and eyes had both proven clean. But, on further review, of course that's what Reilly did; it's really only to be expected. There's enough hypocrisy in the world, and I guess it's natural that the times we do live up to our commitments aren't news. And, really, it's better that he did it, because now everyone knows that the guy does live what he says he does. Reilly was stunned and admiring - though he did still talk a little as though Tebow's faith's primary virtue were as a tool, saying about the Broncos' wins, "Whatever he's doing, it's worth it." For the record, it's also worth it now, with the Broncos at 10 points, the Patriots at 45, and less than eight minutes left in the game. But likely Reilly understands that to some extent, too.
And by the way, I'm not going to pretend Tebow's performance is consistently solid yet. I like him (not least because I like it when quarterbacks kind of do what Doug Flutie did and try to run around instead of being super-traditional), but he isn't automatically a perfect player just because he loves Jesus. Altogether, I'm interested to see what happens in time, whether he ends up really good, or average-but-still-honoring-God, or what.
-You'll notice, by the way, that an unpredictable quarterback is only pleasantly fascinating when he's not your quarterback. Watching Ryan Fitzpatrick, who also runs hot and cold, feels a little different.
-I loved Rick Reilly's Sports Illustrated columns back as a schoolkid, and I remember the column from when he hired lipreaders and determined that Peyton Manning, for all that his public persona was (as Reilly said) like Dudley Do-Right, swore a lot while on the field. Still, it shocked me all the same to hear him (Reilly, I mean) on Colin Cowherd's show yesterday, via the radio, saying that he'd also hired lipreaders to check Tim Tebow, and had also asked around to see if he'd been at any strip clubs, just to test the QB's Christian cred. I confess to having immediately felt indignant - even though Reilly reported, in tones of amazement, that Tebow's mouth and eyes had both proven clean. But, on further review, of course that's what Reilly did; it's really only to be expected. There's enough hypocrisy in the world, and I guess it's natural that the times we do live up to our commitments aren't news. And, really, it's better that he did it, because now everyone knows that the guy does live what he says he does. Reilly was stunned and admiring - though he did still talk a little as though Tebow's faith's primary virtue were as a tool, saying about the Broncos' wins, "Whatever he's doing, it's worth it." For the record, it's also worth it now, with the Broncos at 10 points, the Patriots at 45, and less than eight minutes left in the game. But likely Reilly understands that to some extent, too.
And by the way, I'm not going to pretend Tebow's performance is consistently solid yet. I like him (not least because I like it when quarterbacks kind of do what Doug Flutie did and try to run around instead of being super-traditional), but he isn't automatically a perfect player just because he loves Jesus. Altogether, I'm interested to see what happens in time, whether he ends up really good, or average-but-still-honoring-God, or what.
-You'll notice, by the way, that an unpredictable quarterback is only pleasantly fascinating when he's not your quarterback. Watching Ryan Fitzpatrick, who also runs hot and cold, feels a little different.
1.13.2012
In Which I Don't Bore You, By Virtue of Keeping it Short
Today I lost two of my three spring sections at BCC, bringing my projected semesterly income down to just over two-thousand dollars after taxes. So I hope the temp work goes better than expected, or, better still, that one of the three(!) hospital jobs for which I'm still in the running (none interesting, but all steadier than adjunct work) decides that they want me.
For your lightbulb-joke punchline, you may highlight the following empty space for the answer:
Two: One to screw it almost all the way in, and the other to give it a surprising twist at the end.
For your lightbulb-joke punchline, you may highlight the following empty space for the answer:
Two: One to screw it almost all the way in, and the other to give it a surprising twist at the end.
1.12.2012
I'll Proceed as Though Recounting To-Dos and To-Dones will Interest You
(Part of me wants to change that to "to-do's" and "to-done's" for better readability, but I feel like that's probably not correct.)
I really do want to write better stuff soon, but for now, here's my bitlet:
Yesterday was a busy afternoon, evening, and night, despite how bland my entry about it was. After probably no more than five-and-a-half hours of sleep, I got back up this morning for three hours in person at the temp agency, followed by a Red Cross thing. So what I'm saying is, yes, I got a temporary job, though I don't have to do anything for it until next week. But I'm not going to talk about it right now; instead, I'm going to bed. I'm getting up fairly early tomorrow to be fingerprinted and drug-tested, and then I go off to the Legitimate Friday Activities, and then I have lunch, and then I get an estimate done on the damage on my car (I got backed into on New Year's Day), and then there are at least two other things I should be doing, not including anything I ought to do for class, nor including that I ought to cook the sausages in the fridge. Also, there's a pile of unwashed clothes and other detritus on my floor (how did it get there? Has it only been there since New Year's Eve, or might it actually have been longer?), and I think I've been wanting to do something about it all week.
Also, just to save this entry from complete lameness, here's a joke (I didn't make it up) in honor of how Carrie's been gradually reading the Peter Wimsey novel series: how many mystery writers does it take to change a lightbulb? I'll give you the punchline tomorrow.
I really do want to write better stuff soon, but for now, here's my bitlet:
Yesterday was a busy afternoon, evening, and night, despite how bland my entry about it was. After probably no more than five-and-a-half hours of sleep, I got back up this morning for three hours in person at the temp agency, followed by a Red Cross thing. So what I'm saying is, yes, I got a temporary job, though I don't have to do anything for it until next week. But I'm not going to talk about it right now; instead, I'm going to bed. I'm getting up fairly early tomorrow to be fingerprinted and drug-tested, and then I go off to the Legitimate Friday Activities, and then I have lunch, and then I get an estimate done on the damage on my car (I got backed into on New Year's Day), and then there are at least two other things I should be doing, not including anything I ought to do for class, nor including that I ought to cook the sausages in the fridge. Also, there's a pile of unwashed clothes and other detritus on my floor (how did it get there? Has it only been there since New Year's Eve, or might it actually have been longer?), and I think I've been wanting to do something about it all week.
Also, just to save this entry from complete lameness, here's a joke (I didn't make it up) in honor of how Carrie's been gradually reading the Peter Wimsey novel series: how many mystery writers does it take to change a lightbulb? I'll give you the punchline tomorrow.
1.11.2012
Quick Entry
So my day's been unexpectedly busy. Among the things I still have to do: fill out some stuff online for a local temp agency. I'm not even technically part of the company yet, but they already have data-entry work they want to send me out to when I am.
A piece of bad news: the red-dye allergy still rages, and it's pickier than ever. I should have known that getting hives or whatever on Christmas Eve after just one or two Starbust was a bad sign. Now it looks like I can't even drink hot chocolate that's had candy canes dissolved in it. Ife, who works at Starbucks, gave Carrie and me some packets of Starbucks hot chocolate for Christmas, and the peppermint kind gave me boiled-lobster-colored knuckles pretty much immediately.
A piece of good news: the salted-caramel flavor has no such coloring, and it is gooood.
A piece of bad news: the red-dye allergy still rages, and it's pickier than ever. I should have known that getting hives or whatever on Christmas Eve after just one or two Starbust was a bad sign. Now it looks like I can't even drink hot chocolate that's had candy canes dissolved in it. Ife, who works at Starbucks, gave Carrie and me some packets of Starbucks hot chocolate for Christmas, and the peppermint kind gave me boiled-lobster-colored knuckles pretty much immediately.
A piece of good news: the salted-caramel flavor has no such coloring, and it is gooood.
1.10.2012
Indecision: My Hair
I'm trying to decide what to do with it. I want to do more than just trim it or put the layers back in, but any style that falls above my collarbones but below my earlobes ends up looking weird, probably because my hair's so thick.
I could go really short again. The only time I've ever done that was my senior year of high school, when, mildly starstruck by the Olympic showing Sarah Hughes made - by the way, she has exactly the same birthday as I do, even to the year - and having a face shape at least sort of like hers, I got my hair cut like hers. It looked pretty good, but a little too boyish on me after a while, and when I started growing it back out, it looked bad enough at first that Heather Rivera, having seen a picture of me from around that time, later made me promise never to have hair that looked like that again. So I'd have to look for something a little more rounded or wispy or curly or something. The thing is, though, even if I found something like that, I don't know if I'd want to have short hair for the next two years, and that's basically probably how it would be. Chesterton once said, "You cannot grow a beard in a moment of passion"; similarly, though one can certainly lose four-to-six inches of hair in a moment of passion, one cannot regrow them quite so quickly (it took me probably a little under a year to tire of hair that short, and then it took probably a similar amount of time to grow it back out to a more normal length).
Lowlights are another, and probably more immediately likely, option. I've never dyed my hair in any non-washable way before, so that would certainly be something different. But it's already past midnight (though I started the entry before 11:30), so I'll have to talk about that some other time. In the meantime, to my surprise, I'm still in the running for all four of the jobs I applied to yesterday (you laugh, but one I went for a couple of weeks ago - though I was less qualified for that one than for these new ones - rejected me in under twenty-four hours). And the temp agency actually has work they say they want to talk to me about, though I did not successfully get to their office today. Very interesting; I'll have to figure it out tomorrow. Or, well, technically today.
I could go really short again. The only time I've ever done that was my senior year of high school, when, mildly starstruck by the Olympic showing Sarah Hughes made - by the way, she has exactly the same birthday as I do, even to the year - and having a face shape at least sort of like hers, I got my hair cut like hers. It looked pretty good, but a little too boyish on me after a while, and when I started growing it back out, it looked bad enough at first that Heather Rivera, having seen a picture of me from around that time, later made me promise never to have hair that looked like that again. So I'd have to look for something a little more rounded or wispy or curly or something. The thing is, though, even if I found something like that, I don't know if I'd want to have short hair for the next two years, and that's basically probably how it would be. Chesterton once said, "You cannot grow a beard in a moment of passion"; similarly, though one can certainly lose four-to-six inches of hair in a moment of passion, one cannot regrow them quite so quickly (it took me probably a little under a year to tire of hair that short, and then it took probably a similar amount of time to grow it back out to a more normal length).
Lowlights are another, and probably more immediately likely, option. I've never dyed my hair in any non-washable way before, so that would certainly be something different. But it's already past midnight (though I started the entry before 11:30), so I'll have to talk about that some other time. In the meantime, to my surprise, I'm still in the running for all four of the jobs I applied to yesterday (you laugh, but one I went for a couple of weeks ago - though I was less qualified for that one than for these new ones - rejected me in under twenty-four hours). And the temp agency actually has work they say they want to talk to me about, though I did not successfully get to their office today. Very interesting; I'll have to figure it out tomorrow. Or, well, technically today.
1.09.2012
New Week's Beginning
Today I applied for various part- and full-time jobs at hospitals, on the theory that menial labor in an interesting environment is better than menial labor in a boring or overly corporate one (though the American medical system isn't exactly non-corporate), and on the theory that non-retail jobs are going to be my only faint hope of not having to work on weekends. Applying was a comparatively fast process, thanks to my having applied to other ones there before; they save your resume information and stuff. I don't, however, think I'm likely to get any of the jobs. Scheduling at a hospital is hard enough without having to work around somebody's three community-college sections and, y'know, complete lack of job experience in a medical environment. (If one of the full-time ones did see fit to do so, though, I'd have to decide whether to take it, as that would mean leaving BCC. I'm not even that concerned about the classes I'm scheduled to teach in a mere ten-ish days; surely some adjuncts will lose sections to full-timers even if I somehow don't, so mine could be given to them. It's more a question of whether I'd be leaving the frying pan but find myself in the fire.) What will probably happen instead is that I'll end up interning (for free, just for some other kind of college-related job experience) in one of BCC's other departments while I teach.
I also read a bit of Tim Keller's King's Cross, which I got for cheap at this year's Penguin sale, and did most of today's page-a-day crossword (Carrie had already done most of the rest; we finished the last question or two together this evening). And I made dinner (the chicken-and-chickpea tagine-like dish), confirming for myself that, yes, I am more likely to get out the door on schedule for youth group stuff on Monday evenings if I, not Carrie, am the one who makes dinner. That's potentially counterintuitive, but it's true, at least this and next week. After that, I'll likely be teaching until about five PM on Mondays, so it probably won't be true anymore. But then, by that time, I probably won't be the sole youth-group assistant, either. (Thank goodness. I like these junior-highers, but I've been helping since partway through Micah's tenure, so my time as helper may actually have lasted longer than either Micah or Ife's time as youth-group leader.)
So, yeah, I helped out at youth group, but Ife's girlfriend was still around for part of it, and she headed up the girls' team in Capture the Flag, so I didn't even have to feel a little guilty about not playing - though instead I felt guiltier than usual, realizing anew how lame it is to be "helper" if you're not going to help with all of it. (Problem: I suspect I'd rather feel guilty about not playing Capture the Flag than actually play it more often.) L. (the girlfriend) really likes active stuff and games, and so does Ife, so they enjoyed themselves as much as the kids did. It was her first time here in Binghamton, and everyone likes her. ("She is awesome," whispered one of the youth-group girls as L. was leaving.)
Tomorrow I'll probably get on file with two of the local temp agencies, but also, at some point I should think about seeing whether any of my lessons need tweaking or anything.
I also read a bit of Tim Keller's King's Cross, which I got for cheap at this year's Penguin sale, and did most of today's page-a-day crossword (Carrie had already done most of the rest; we finished the last question or two together this evening). And I made dinner (the chicken-and-chickpea tagine-like dish), confirming for myself that, yes, I am more likely to get out the door on schedule for youth group stuff on Monday evenings if I, not Carrie, am the one who makes dinner. That's potentially counterintuitive, but it's true, at least this and next week. After that, I'll likely be teaching until about five PM on Mondays, so it probably won't be true anymore. But then, by that time, I probably won't be the sole youth-group assistant, either. (Thank goodness. I like these junior-highers, but I've been helping since partway through Micah's tenure, so my time as helper may actually have lasted longer than either Micah or Ife's time as youth-group leader.)
So, yeah, I helped out at youth group, but Ife's girlfriend was still around for part of it, and she headed up the girls' team in Capture the Flag, so I didn't even have to feel a little guilty about not playing - though instead I felt guiltier than usual, realizing anew how lame it is to be "helper" if you're not going to help with all of it. (Problem: I suspect I'd rather feel guilty about not playing Capture the Flag than actually play it more often.) L. (the girlfriend) really likes active stuff and games, and so does Ife, so they enjoyed themselves as much as the kids did. It was her first time here in Binghamton, and everyone likes her. ("She is awesome," whispered one of the youth-group girls as L. was leaving.)
Tomorrow I'll probably get on file with two of the local temp agencies, but also, at some point I should think about seeing whether any of my lessons need tweaking or anything.
1.08.2012
Sunday (and Some of Saturday)
First up: I'm changing this New Year's resolution (because it's mine, and that's how I do it) so that I'm only writing these entries six days a week. I think I'll want a rest from them, and there are very few things that I think people should ever require themselves to do every single day. Also, a clarification: "no reasonable expectation of getting to a computer" really means "anytime I'm out of town, whether I could easily get on the internet or not." Rather than "a computer," I really meant something more akin to "my computer."
Anyway, today I didn't use my time at all efficiently, and I missed Sunday school altogether for what turned out to not be a very good reason, but I was there for the 10:30 service, and did talk to a lot of people after church, which was mostly good.
Last night one of the games we played was called Curses (it's not about profanity, but about funny things you have to do - figurative curses), and Jerry, as it turns out, is epic at it. He can keep his wrists against his head, pinch his nose shut, talk like Elmer Fudd, sneeze at the ends of his sentences, and begin his turns by reciting wise sayings and commercial slogans-or-jingles, going on to act out whatever scene that turn's card directed him to. All of those things at once, I mean, except that the wise sayings, commercial slogans/jingles, and scenes all happened one after the other, because obviously you can't say three things at once. (I ended up carrying a lot of speech curses myself, so there was a point at which, every time I spoke, it had to be in a witch's voice and end with "I pity da fool!", and I also had to interrupt Tuttle with comments on whatever he was saying, every time he talked. Also, I had to remember to make a different animal noise at the beginning of each turn.)
So that's the game that Carrie wanted for Christmas. It's definitely fun, though I couldn't play it every week or anything; I think I'd like to only play it once in a long while, to keep the feeling of novelty for as long as possible, and because, though fun, it takes a lot of energy.
In other news, my dad got an iPad. It had something to do with work, but I'm told that my brother has definitely already used it to take a video of Dad (a Giants fan, as will momentarily become clear to some of you) doing the Victor Cruz touchdown salsa dance. Which my dad made him transfer to the home computer so that he could delete it off the iPad, since that's not the thing you want students finding at your college-recruitment-fair booth. Or at least maybe not, though I wonder if I wouldn't have appreciated the humor back in high school. (And I mean, c'mon, these kids have grown up with YouTube. Laughing at weird video clips of complete strangers is basically what some of them do for fun, right?)
It's past midnight now, and high time I started getting ready for bed.
Anyway, today I didn't use my time at all efficiently, and I missed Sunday school altogether for what turned out to not be a very good reason, but I was there for the 10:30 service, and did talk to a lot of people after church, which was mostly good.
Last night one of the games we played was called Curses (it's not about profanity, but about funny things you have to do - figurative curses), and Jerry, as it turns out, is epic at it. He can keep his wrists against his head, pinch his nose shut, talk like Elmer Fudd, sneeze at the ends of his sentences, and begin his turns by reciting wise sayings and commercial slogans-or-jingles, going on to act out whatever scene that turn's card directed him to. All of those things at once, I mean, except that the wise sayings, commercial slogans/jingles, and scenes all happened one after the other, because obviously you can't say three things at once. (I ended up carrying a lot of speech curses myself, so there was a point at which, every time I spoke, it had to be in a witch's voice and end with "I pity da fool!", and I also had to interrupt Tuttle with comments on whatever he was saying, every time he talked. Also, I had to remember to make a different animal noise at the beginning of each turn.)
So that's the game that Carrie wanted for Christmas. It's definitely fun, though I couldn't play it every week or anything; I think I'd like to only play it once in a long while, to keep the feeling of novelty for as long as possible, and because, though fun, it takes a lot of energy.
In other news, my dad got an iPad. It had something to do with work, but I'm told that my brother has definitely already used it to take a video of Dad (a Giants fan, as will momentarily become clear to some of you) doing the Victor Cruz touchdown salsa dance. Which my dad made him transfer to the home computer so that he could delete it off the iPad, since that's not the thing you want students finding at your college-recruitment-fair booth. Or at least maybe not, though I wonder if I wouldn't have appreciated the humor back in high school. (And I mean, c'mon, these kids have grown up with YouTube. Laughing at weird video clips of complete strangers is basically what some of them do for fun, right?)
It's past midnight now, and high time I started getting ready for bed.
1.07.2012
1.06.2012
Chai Lattes Have Just Enough Caffeine to Make Napping Impossible, but Not Enough that I Actually Feel Awake
...The title's not a comment on my current state, by the way, but what I was thinking when I first started this entry (which was around 2 PM; the present timestamp reflects the current time, rather than the entry's start-of-writing time).
Anyway, it's a good thing I said improved punctuality this year, and not perfect punctuality. I definitely arrived fifteen minutes late this morning to the Legitimate Friday Activities (a longtime recurring Red Cross thing I do - that's not its real name, just the one I gave it a few years ago): not only had I failed to shower within forty-five minutes of waking, which meant that I was going to be about five minutes late as it was, but then I'd apparently forgotten what day it was and, for the first time, started going to the place where I do the Legitimate Thursday Activities (a newer and probably-more-temporary Red Cross thing). Upon figuring that out, I'd had to find someplace to turn around, and then had had to backtrack. When I finally got to the LFAs, I'm pretty sure Cathy looked at her watch.
I spent a lot of other time today writing more into this entry, but now that I actually have to post it because I forgot about it and now it's almost midnight, I'm deleting the other stuff and coming back to it another day. Maybe tomorrow. Who knows.
Anyway, it's a good thing I said improved punctuality this year, and not perfect punctuality. I definitely arrived fifteen minutes late this morning to the Legitimate Friday Activities (a longtime recurring Red Cross thing I do - that's not its real name, just the one I gave it a few years ago): not only had I failed to shower within forty-five minutes of waking, which meant that I was going to be about five minutes late as it was, but then I'd apparently forgotten what day it was and, for the first time, started going to the place where I do the Legitimate Thursday Activities (a newer and probably-more-temporary Red Cross thing). Upon figuring that out, I'd had to find someplace to turn around, and then had had to backtrack. When I finally got to the LFAs, I'm pretty sure Cathy looked at her watch.
I spent a lot of other time today writing more into this entry, but now that I actually have to post it because I forgot about it and now it's almost midnight, I'm deleting the other stuff and coming back to it another day. Maybe tomorrow. Who knows.
1.05.2012
2012! Go!
Somehow, somehow, I managed to post slightly more in 2011 than in 2010. It was some combination of JaBloWriMo and being in Rhode Island, apparently.
But anyway, this May will mark Quid Pro Quo's tenth birthday, so this is no time for it to wilt any further.
So, my New Year's resolutions, thus:
1. Improved punctuality in the two areas that challenge me most (at least when it comes to being on time): church- and Red-Cross-related activities. Also in everything else, if I can swing it, but I'm actually not that bad at being on time (I fixed the problem I was having last spring with getting to class) with anything that doesn't fall under those two categories above. (The problem is, I can list off about six things that regularly fall under the two categories above.) Excepted from the effort: (1) getting to trivia (because I do something else right before it most of the times I go, and I don't have a ton of control over how long it takes me to get done) and (2) getting dinner done on time (because I don't yet know my own chopping and prep speeds well enough to estimate things like that accurately - plus, sometimes the dish is just plain not done when it's supposed to be, for one reason or another).
2. At least three blogged sentences PER DAY, starting today (this entry counts as today's), except on days when I have no reasonable expectation of getting to a computer. Because if this can't be an interesting journal that only about four people read, I will settle for its being a boring diary that only one or two people read. After all, historians may care someday about my life, unlikely as that seems right now. (Maybe Resolution #3 should be to stop assuming in the back of my head that somebody's going to write my biography someday. It's funny, but also a little vainglorious.)
Hope your year's begun well. Tallyho!
But anyway, this May will mark Quid Pro Quo's tenth birthday, so this is no time for it to wilt any further.
So, my New Year's resolutions, thus:
1. Improved punctuality in the two areas that challenge me most (at least when it comes to being on time): church- and Red-Cross-related activities. Also in everything else, if I can swing it, but I'm actually not that bad at being on time (I fixed the problem I was having last spring with getting to class) with anything that doesn't fall under those two categories above. (The problem is, I can list off about six things that regularly fall under the two categories above.) Excepted from the effort: (1) getting to trivia (because I do something else right before it most of the times I go, and I don't have a ton of control over how long it takes me to get done) and (2) getting dinner done on time (because I don't yet know my own chopping and prep speeds well enough to estimate things like that accurately - plus, sometimes the dish is just plain not done when it's supposed to be, for one reason or another).
2. At least three blogged sentences PER DAY, starting today (this entry counts as today's), except on days when I have no reasonable expectation of getting to a computer. Because if this can't be an interesting journal that only about four people read, I will settle for its being a boring diary that only one or two people read. After all, historians may care someday about my life, unlikely as that seems right now. (Maybe Resolution #3 should be to stop assuming in the back of my head that somebody's going to write my biography someday. It's funny, but also a little vainglorious.)
Hope your year's begun well. Tallyho!