Bread dough rising on the counter, nasturtium seeds germinating on the deck, breezes weaving through the apartment.
Phew, I’m almost moved in to Somerville- why do I have so much furniture? My calves are damaged in a way that I hope is not permanent. So, time for the quarterly report.
So far, so good. Dog: Healthy. Me: Healthy. Cut back on TV, selfhelp books, wasting time. Got some very solid writing done and happy with my writing progress and new writing group. Set some ghosts free.
Will post apartment photos soon.
Well, not yet, not for two months. But the boyfriend, a skilled manager, after listening to much complaining about packing and moving all by myself sniff sniff suggested I direct my energy toward our vacation. Primary sources consulted: A Time Traveler’s Guide to Medieval England, The Mighty Boosh, Jeeves and Wooster, 44 Scotland Street. I imagine our trip will be something like the above. Not much help picking a hotel in Edinburgh, though.
Having moved 3 times in two years, I like to think I have just the essentials. Sadly false. Some of today’s divestitures:
Packing is a process of despair (“I’m not moving to Spain. Not now and not ever” and exhilaration (“I don’t have to keep this broken marionette anymore!”)
Scott and I have funny conversations regarding careers. I was reading various job descriptions to him over the phone and saying well, I could do this, I could do that maybe I should move to Paris or Somerville, blah blah blah. Scott says “I only worked two hours total this month. One hour on two days, two weeks apart.” And then he said, everything’s perfect just don’t touch anything. For a week at least.
Maybe that’s why we get along so well?
Heading home for the weekend, whoo boy it’s a bit complicated, but I am anticipating some delicious food. Attending my late mother’s Gourmet Club in the house I grew up in- the theme is Presidents. What should I wear?
It’s a bit early in the season for maple syrup, unfortunately, but I’m thinking we can get some pancakes even though the sugar houses aren’t yet boiling. (too bloody cold)
This week without online distractions at work has reminded me of nothing more than my college work-study job. I worked in Neilson Library’s book repair department ten hours a week, stitching pamphlets, repairing torn pages, tightening hinges, and tipping in addenda. It was a little peaceful break in my studying schedule and the hot house atmosphere of competitive women’s college living. I thought that contrast was the reason I loved the job- but I realize now that was the last good job I had where I wasn’t online ALL DAY LONG.
Let me just check this headline/email/site for one second, and I’ll get right back to you about this thought…
Where was I? Oh yes, it’s generational. But what a pleasant surprise that I can indeed focus on one project at a time and complete them in order. I can walk out of the trap that is multi-tasking.
I just had my most calm and productive day of work in I don’t know how long, by simply removing gmail, facebook, and the nytimes from my day. My name is Emily and I am addicted to the internet.
Posted in muttering
Three weeks into the new year, I’m feeling pretty discouraged about certain recent events: election, Supreme Court decision, natural disasters. But I am holding steady with my resolutions and am feeling so positive about the way things are going family/friendship/writing wise I’m ready to add some more. What makes me miserable at work? The amount of time I spend not working: checking email, the blogs, the Times, the evil f.b.- (constantly monitoring my popularity). So this week’s pledge: only work at work. I shall report back.
Also no gossip.
My advisor in college introduced 19th Century European Thought with a dichotomy- either the idea from ancient Rome that “I am a man, I consider nothing that is human alien to me” or the thinking that became nationalism and fascism and genocide.
An academic librarian trying to make the small talk in a noisy Boston bar joked that we had nothing in common professionally when I said I ran the children’s department at a suburban library. I strongly disagree with this and I hated the impression I got that public service (and the unglamorous public reference service that I provide) is somehow not on the same family tree as other kinds of librarianship. This has been said many times before by women better than me, but how on earth do you expect your (or your neighbors’) children to learn to think for themselves and become compassionate forces for good in the world if you treat the people who teach them like you would a twelve year old babysitter you hired for the night?
 | Jon on Time for art |
 | erica on Patience and Fortitude: Update… |
 | lyn on Patience and Fortitude: Update… |
 | Katie P on Patience and Fortitude: Update… |
 | Jessica Hanscom on All You Need is Love (and a jo… |
