Wednesday, April 28, 2004
Sick in Spring
Few things are worse than developing a wicked head cold during the first really pretty spring weather of the year. OK, I'll be fair -- we had some nice spring weather before I got sick, but I didn't last. Stupid rain. OK, more fairness -- it's going to rain tonight and tomorrow. But yesterday was really pretty. And I was sick! It's so unfair!
Anyway. What I was going to say was that in addition to the nasty mucus (mucous? I read too many British publications) ruining the fine spring air, it's going to ruin a fun night out. Read: tonight, I am to attend a bachelorette party. Said party may or may not be fun, but chances are I won't be having any fun either way. The sniffling and snorting is only exacerbated by alcohol, which also tends to compromise the immune system, which might cause a minor sinus infection to morph dangerously into bronchitis or walking pneumonia or some other disease with odd vowel combinations.
So I'll probably end up ditching the party after dinner to go home and sniffle and snort in front of Law and Order (mmm, fun) while my husband is out with the groom-to-be, and all the other men of the wedding party, on a bus heading to a strip club. Which I only mind because he won't be at home, taking care of sick me. Phbbt.
Excuse me my pity party, but getting sick would have been much more convenient last week. I haven't even taken any work off, despite having nearly 4 weeks worth of sick leave, because I'm already taking off tomorrow and Friday afternoons to go to the insanely early rehearsal and weird Friday wedding of the people having the bachelor(ette) parties. Meh! I'm sure my coworkers would rather I leave than listen to the wretched noises my sinuses and lungs are making.
So. There's my update. Fun, hmmm?
Anyway. What I was going to say was that in addition to the nasty mucus (mucous? I read too many British publications) ruining the fine spring air, it's going to ruin a fun night out. Read: tonight, I am to attend a bachelorette party. Said party may or may not be fun, but chances are I won't be having any fun either way. The sniffling and snorting is only exacerbated by alcohol, which also tends to compromise the immune system, which might cause a minor sinus infection to morph dangerously into bronchitis or walking pneumonia or some other disease with odd vowel combinations.
So I'll probably end up ditching the party after dinner to go home and sniffle and snort in front of Law and Order (mmm, fun) while my husband is out with the groom-to-be, and all the other men of the wedding party, on a bus heading to a strip club. Which I only mind because he won't be at home, taking care of sick me. Phbbt.
Excuse me my pity party, but getting sick would have been much more convenient last week. I haven't even taken any work off, despite having nearly 4 weeks worth of sick leave, because I'm already taking off tomorrow and Friday afternoons to go to the insanely early rehearsal and weird Friday wedding of the people having the bachelor(ette) parties. Meh! I'm sure my coworkers would rather I leave than listen to the wretched noises my sinuses and lungs are making.
So. There's my update. Fun, hmmm?
Friday, April 23, 2004
Haven't been writing much lately...
...and I'm not sure why.
It's been busy, sure, but busyness should indicate MORE things to write about, not less. Somehow I think the things that are keeping me busy are unimportant, trivial, and that makes me sad.
I've been doing a lot of cool work in my job, but it's kind of unsung-hero stuff: coding and building things someone else wrote. Editing, but not too much. Modifying graphics, but not creating any.
And my calendar tells me that in the next five weekends, I have three weddings. I'm in two, and the other is of a favorite relative. But none of those events are MY events. My role will be observer.
Maybe this is a time for me to just Be. To do what I need to do, get up in the morning, eat and breathe, and give my soul time to rest. Time to regain its elasticity. It has felt sort of stretched thin lately.
So. Observe. Breathe. Eat. Write.
It's been busy, sure, but busyness should indicate MORE things to write about, not less. Somehow I think the things that are keeping me busy are unimportant, trivial, and that makes me sad.
I've been doing a lot of cool work in my job, but it's kind of unsung-hero stuff: coding and building things someone else wrote. Editing, but not too much. Modifying graphics, but not creating any.
And my calendar tells me that in the next five weekends, I have three weddings. I'm in two, and the other is of a favorite relative. But none of those events are MY events. My role will be observer.
Maybe this is a time for me to just Be. To do what I need to do, get up in the morning, eat and breathe, and give my soul time to rest. Time to regain its elasticity. It has felt sort of stretched thin lately.
So. Observe. Breathe. Eat. Write.
Wednesday, April 07, 2004
cooking
I've been doing a lot of cooking lately.
There's something soothing about compiling ingredients, preparing them, combining them in proscribed ways, and producing something savory or sweet.
There's also a measure of control to it. If I mismeasure or substitute bread flour for cake flour, the results are my fault, whether good or bad.
Yet, to a certain extent, I cannot be held accountable for the results if I followed the recipe to the letter and it turned out badly. The fault is on the test kitchen drone who wrote it out.
But I digress.
Cooking. We all must eat. Most of us like to eat certain things, or at least certain kinds of things. Cooking lets me take control of the things I like to eat. It's a power thing. And I acknowledge the power aspect. When I am sifting, scooping, heating, turning, deglazing, and folding in the kitchen, a small voice whispers to me that I'm turning the clock back: where's your husband? sitting on his kiester in front of the boob tube...
But I don't want him in my kitchen. I want total control over my food, what goes in it and when, and how finely it's been chopped, sliced, or diced.
And that control is soothing. Relaxing. Reassuring.
Edit:
Except the cleaning part. I hate the cleaning part. NOT relaxing, not reassuring. And not guaranteed I won't have to do it because sometimes the kitchen is just too dirty to live with.
There's something soothing about compiling ingredients, preparing them, combining them in proscribed ways, and producing something savory or sweet.
There's also a measure of control to it. If I mismeasure or substitute bread flour for cake flour, the results are my fault, whether good or bad.
Yet, to a certain extent, I cannot be held accountable for the results if I followed the recipe to the letter and it turned out badly. The fault is on the test kitchen drone who wrote it out.
But I digress.
Cooking. We all must eat. Most of us like to eat certain things, or at least certain kinds of things. Cooking lets me take control of the things I like to eat. It's a power thing. And I acknowledge the power aspect. When I am sifting, scooping, heating, turning, deglazing, and folding in the kitchen, a small voice whispers to me that I'm turning the clock back: where's your husband? sitting on his kiester in front of the boob tube...
But I don't want him in my kitchen. I want total control over my food, what goes in it and when, and how finely it's been chopped, sliced, or diced.
And that control is soothing. Relaxing. Reassuring.
Edit:
Except the cleaning part. I hate the cleaning part. NOT relaxing, not reassuring. And not guaranteed I won't have to do it because sometimes the kitchen is just too dirty to live with.
