05/03/2013

First, sorry I haven’t been noting, I’ve been reading… it’s just that I’m trying to make an honest effort to not become consumed in job searches, unemployment statistics, and horror stories of people who send 200 resumes a week and still haven’t found a job… kind of along the same lines as consulting web md with symptoms of a migraine and giving myself a self diagnosis that i must, in fact, be having an aneurism. In order to stay away from the above, I’m limiting the amount of time I spend in front of the monitor.

I have, however, managed to update the resume, and send it out five or six times. I need to spiffy up my Linkedin page, but, all in good time, I suppose. I also managed to get myself signed up for unemployment today. I’ll be getting exactly half of what I was making, which, actually, is more than I expected. With boyfriend working, and minimum payments on credit cards, we should be able to pull things off until I find work.

And now, as promised, since I haven’t done much to speak of (except tackle that mountain of laundry) today, here we are, a bit choppy and a good reflection of my general thought process these days.

things to write about tomorrow:

mason jars and fresh cut tulips

Yesterday, i went through the yard and made two bouquets (a yellow and white one, and a red, pink and purple one) of tulips. I put them in some old mason jars that were left for us in the basement and immediately fell in love with my house all over again. Sure, I’m out of work and things could be looked at as pretty grim… but at least I get to spend all this non-working time in a place so charming that fresh bouquets of flowers are just a snip away, and there are vintage mason jars hidden in cabinets that were left here for what seems like this very reason. And also, they look so pretty sitting on our dark wood pub table with the unfinished, patina’d plaster walls as a backdrop. 

letting things workout themselves

I had myself worked up into a little ball of anxiety with Harold and his weekday nurse this week. I mentioned I’ve been running some errands and driving him to see his wife in the hospital everyday this week, and also carting the nurse home because her car was in the shop. Well, in one of the drives to get her home, she mentioned that she had been telling Harold that she had been giving me money to drive them around so that he wouldn’t feel bad and would actually go see his wife instead of sitting home and being sad.

She said they were arguing about it and then she mentioned that he told his daughter who would reimburse her and she in turn would give the money to me. No no no no no no. I found this upsetting. I would never, in a million years, ask for ‘carting Harold around’ money. He’s my grandfather’s exact age and disposition and our next door neighbor. He misses his wife, who is in a hospital a five minute drive away. His company is comforting to me, and being able to do something helpful for someone takes the sting out of being laid off. For whatever reason, maybe the good intentions of youth?, she didn’t correct the daughter and let her believe that money needed to be exchanged. 

Anyways, I was trying to figure out how to get ahold of the daughter to clarify things-Harold seems to get confused and angry sometimes, so I thought it best to talk to her. And besides, he’s always got a nurse on his side, and i didn’t want to cause problems with all of them. 

Wooo, long story short, after a long night of dreading confronting her and not knowing what to do, while she was out of the car fetching a wheelchair for him on our last hospital trip, he brought the whole thing up. "how much do i owe you for all this carting?:" To which I responded with  pretty much the same thing above.. we’re neighbors, this is how i was raised, to do nice things for old people, etc.." He asked if K had been giving me money and said she had, and I said "nope, but I’m sure she had good intentions".. and just like that, all the worry and unease was gone. situation fixed itself. lesson learned. on to the next topic.

passing moments of panic

I’ll make this one quick – i mentioned i’d sent out a few resumes. Each time, no response, leading me to have these "why aren’t they calling" episodes. I know this is redonky and that out of all the resume’s I send, a very small percentage will actually call, and that I will only actually go to work for one place, but… the emotional, worry wart in me keeps having these mini hyper-ventilations. They go as quickly as they come, and I go back to admiring my tulips, yet still, the voice remains in the back of my head "what if no one DOES call"… meh. onward.

the garden & growing older/wiser

Another short one—four years ago, I couldn’t keep a potted plant alive in my house, and really had no desire to. somewhere along the way, I figured out I had a green thumb and how theraputic working with plants was for me, and latched right on to it. I was sitting back amazed at how much it’s become a part of my identity and basic ‘needs’ for happiness list, and how quickly… (see surprised friendships below).

the discomfort of cooking in the basement

It isn’t so much the physical discomfort… well, part of it is. It hurts my back to bend or sit in front of the shin-level canning stove… the thing that hits me most about cooking in the basement is that it’s a sharp reminder that things-in general-are not going as planned or fast enough. I suppose that’s silly, life has a funny way of throwing surprises at a person, but still. Everytime i find myself over a pot or a pan cooking something down there, it makes me feel distraught. I hate balancing cutting boards on moving boxes and not having anywhere to set down a spoon…and a million other things. I know that this, too, shall pass, and a beautiful, sparkling new kitchen is just around the corner, but I still get verrrrry snippy down there. Don’t even get me started on washing dishes in the cement utility sinks. As boyfriend says, at least we HAVE a canning stove and utility sinks to fall back on, and he’s right… but still.. basement cooking make mommy grumpy. 

my couch and robe and fuzzy blanket

after an emotional day yesterday, i was happy to find myself cuddled up in the corner in my boyfriend sized fuzzy robe and blanket, typing yesterdays entry, looking at my tulips. seemed to melt my rollercoaster of emotions day right away, and it occurred to me… all of that other shit aside, isn’t that what "home" is supposed to do? melt all the other things away?  I guess I’m home.

surprise friendships

The point of contact at my big multi million dollar account sent me a surprise ‘thank you’ package yesterday. there were no words of condolences.. just a quick note saying "you’ve been on my mind". Inside was a gift bag with some vintage gardening tools, including a cast metal twine spool with a pretty bird on top, and a fun tin watering can with a burlap label, a small wreath, and some fohncy hand soap and lotion. the kinds of

things you’d see in a restoration hardware catalog.. the kinds of things that i always admire but would never buy for myself…an absolutely perfect gift. i found myself asking how she could possibly know how much i’d treasure these things? the fed ex man rang my doorbell right as i was coming inside with my tulip bouquets… and most of my daylite time off has been spent outside. Then I realized that a person tends to speak freely about things they are passionate about, and I must have mentioned my garden more than a few times to her…and that somewhere along the way, this has become a part of my identity and was able to identify something that made brought me joy and I embraced it, and that this must mean I’ve grown up a little bit…. (leading me to the pensive note above). and also, it was really nice to know that I left such a nice impression in a volatile situation that she was inclined to send such a generous gift. helps with the old self esteem in a time when I could really use it-selling my sunny disposition to someone that should hire me.

little bits of light in the tunnel

my tulips, my couch, screens on the windows in place of storm windows, flowers on my apple trees… there are little vignettes all over this old house that i’m latching on to. things are falling into place. it’s finally starting to feel like less of a construction site and more of a home, and i am extremely grateful for that.

meandering.

one last thing, this. i can’t understand how these days of not working are just flying by and i seem to be slowly meandering…