Riding the Bike with One Pedal.
Uh, yeah. I only stumbled on two questions, mostly because I was going too fast. I loved that the first clue for one drink featured the Big Lebowski!
The joke at our house is that we love to drink. Except we always are forgetting to drink the drinks. Sounds like a really bad New Year’s resolution, eh? REMEMBER TO DRINK. Oh well, at least I know I could hold my own …. on a game show. Gin for $500, Alex!
So….. after yesterday’s post, an observation was made at how readily I’ll just consume …..drugs. Even the wrong ones. Ayah. Well, I’ll admit, perhaps there is an undue influence of Alice in Wonderland from my childhood going on…. and really, my only explanation at this point is that the month of December really, really sucked. And when you’re caught in the undertow, a lot of automatic piloting takes over. (As opposed to Britney Spears, who does not go into the undertow, but skips right past it to Bar Thyself In A Bathroom And Get Put In Restraints.) I’m excited I figured it out relatively quickly (the horrid cold masked it for a couple weeks), and I’ll be back to my version of normal soon!
Speaking of bipolar-ness and crazy, the weather here? Is nuts. I guess it’s snowing right now. Yesterday and the day before were near 60 degrees. Lemme tell you, as a gal who likes relative consistency and does not enjoy being told to be flexible, I would like the weather to be consistent with the season we are in. Currently, and I feel the need to state this since apparently nobody TOLD the weather, it is WINTER. This does not mean we need a season of ice, of drifts of snow (though I do miss snow to some extent…) But chilly weather is ok. Good even. Our grass is confused. My wardrobe is confused. I am confused. (Ok, maybe that’s the ACE-inhibitors talking.)
Well, I’m off to eat lunch at that restaurant where, after dining there a year ago, my credit card was suddenly used to purchase ads in newspapers all around the country. (I see you out there. You think I don’t learn!) The food is awesome, and I haven’t been back there since The Incident. (Which, by the way, I did some sleuthing on, in an attempt to find the fuckers, but it didn’t pan out. But I’d do it again, and now I have a friend who’s a private investigator, so there. Thieves Be Warned!) However, no worries. I’ll be paying with cash.
LEARNING. It’s the watchword for 2008.
Oh, and I have finished knitting objects, but no pictures. The chevron scarf is DONE and being worn this minute. This is really a half-assed knitting blog, I must say. It’s more about Cacophony Jen and Her Catastrophes and Carousing and Correcting Others. Oh, and Indignation. I still love the Indignation.
No, not chicken butt.
But! I am still allergic to ACE-inhibitor drugs. Yeah! Guess who errantly refilled the exact Rx that jacked her up last year, and has been taking it for a month? Uh, yeah.
I was in a hurry to refill any outstanding prescriptions before our insurance changed (and prices went up.) And Aetna’s website isn’t the smartest – if you had a prescription that changed, no matter – they’ll serve the number up to you to click on “refill”! I even thought, before I actually got sick, that the little cough I had was reminiscent of the fun times I’d had at the beginning of the year. Even went so far as to double-check brand names. Guess who had a bottle of generic and didn’t put two and two together? (Have you figured out yet that all the answers to these questions point back to ME?! Yeah. I’m a friggin’ dope.)
I’ve since changed the features on my refill options so it shows the name of the drug, not just a random stream of numbers. And this morning, I picked out the little red pills from my pill box, and dumped all the remaining pills into the coffee grounds in the trash. Yes, coffee grounds. (There’s a website an’ everything for doing this. Super hooky addictive drugs are to be flushed, apparently.) Not that I think we’re going to get an insurgence of homeless people going through our trash this week, desperately seeking a water pill.
So, I’m so excited to sleep through the night again, and I’ve learned my lesson. The only person who can be trusted to pay attention to what drugs I should be taking is ME. (Not that I did a great job, as evidenced by this, but I think I also assumed that the Big Insurance Database somehow got rid of things you weren’t supposed to take. Not true!)
In knitting news, I have assembled the Doctor’s Bag, and now need to sew up the lining & stitch it in to said bag. Pics to come!!! (photo link is not my bag, but one posted on Amazon.)
I’ve not had great luck with swap exchanges. Back when the Ample Knitters list was churning strong, an offshoot started a spoiler exchange, that was knitting-related. I signed up, thinking it would be fun – the idea was to send something each month, I think it was for 3 or 4 months. So a relatively substantial commitment, but it didn’t need to be expensive, just a small surprise in the mail, and I think it also culminated in a larger present as the last item. So I sent off my package and waited. And waited and waited and waited. My spoilee loved her stuff, and I may have even sent her a second package, but then after all my waiting, I pulled out. (And alerting the hostess to the situation.) After all, it’s great to make another person happy, but the person who had me shouldn’t be raking it in without paying it forward, right? I did get presents from people who knew me, personally, because they felt so bad for me – lovely and kind, really, and I was overwhelmed by that, but it still didn’t let the person who had my name off the hook.
That was about three years ago, and I’ve watched other swaps come together – Kristin has done them, there’s the huge Sockapalooza, – and while I’ve read all the successful posts for those people, I still felt the burn and hesitation. Plus, hey, let’s face it. I’m a selfish sock knitter. Less so now, but at the time, I was all, “huh, no, I don’t knit socks for very many people, let alone a stranger!” So when I spotted the International Scarf Exchange on HPNY’s blog, I thought, there’s one I could do. A scarf. I’m the queen of scarf knitting. I even chronicled my own drama knitting the scarf for my recipient, Rochelle. I had great fun putting everything together for her, because we had similar tastes in yarn and colors.
Sadly, the person who had my name – and wrote me several emails, all very animated and inquisitive – has stopped communicating. Because she was so involved before the mailing deadline, I can only imagine that something bad has happened, and I just wish she’d let me know what happened – anything is better than the silence, really. That’s the one piece of advice I’d have, for swap participants, if something bad befalls you & you can’t uphold your end of the swap, just TELL the people affected – it’s so much better than what the imagination constructs. And the feeling of empty the silence brings. The ISE5 hostesses have a great angel system set up, and because of the amount of time that has passed, I have a new person knitting for me. And oh, the email I got this weekend was hilarious and adorable, because I think my angel is in Taiwan and using a translation program to email me: “I am newly assign for yours pal, I crossed period of time for you actually not to receive the scarf to feel indignant… ” Oh, it’s like we were matched in heaven. Indignant, indeed. A word I don’t ordinarily think of, but it couldn’t be more perfect, and I’m thinking about how fitting the IndignantKnitter moniker really is for me. She also picked up on my dislike of pastels (“the tints”?). Too cute.
So, I don’t know – I haven’t decided how I feel about swaps – ambivalent is probably the best word right now. You’d think my odds would vastly improve if I participated in one again – after all, the majority of people get their stuff. I just think of the other work-related “secret santa” or “secret cupid” things I’ve done, and one of those always leaps to mind – oy. The secret cupid that had me (years ago) did a pretty marginal job, and your brain always thinks, well, maybe it’ll be a nice big present at the end, don’t get…. indignant…… and then I got a three-inch resin bear eating honey from a pot for my final gift. Yeah. I did get a lot of laughs from friends over that one. Like, really, please. Tell me that in my personal style and how I decorate, I don’t exude Resin Figurines as something I’d like to have.
Indignant, indeed.
Lordy.
What a week. You’d think I was the chief salt miner with a hunnert paper cuts or something, but chef-boy-ar-dee, this was the longest short week, ever.
I was so utterly drained by the end of the day today, I actually went out for a drink with co-workers.
I never go out for a drink.
I expect things will normalize a bit once we’re all back in the swing of regular work weeks, and I even said how badly I need a routine, so this kvetching about my hard knock life should abate pretty soon.
Now I’m going to crash – I was God’s little crabapple today, and I’d like to wake up … different…. tomorrow. Maybe a pear, or a bowl of cherries. Happy, happy weekend. May the fruit be with you.
Whenever I think of a movie that personifies letting go of our deepest and darkest sadnesses, I think of Harold and Maude. So it isn’t any surprise that the title of this blog sprang up as lines from a Cat Stevens song.
I caught myself today worrying. Worrying about a situation with a friend who likes to engage in a lot of passive-aggressive stuff, and how it hits all the buttons in me to freak out and worry worry worry. Those less involved might question the use of the word “friend”, but I’m letting that slide by like a puck on the ice. I envy my husband, to some extent, because he just doesn’t care. He has a very good buffer between himself and the world, and he even has really mean people in the duck world who say mean, shitty things about him, things that would keep me up at night, figuring out how to “win” the battle. I was never conditioned to have much of a buffer. I’ve got my own, it’s got Teflon hammered on to it, and it looks a little rough for wear, but there are still things that slip by, and usually the more personal and painful, the easier they get through.
So I took my lunch break to write out what I do when I’m being sensible. It turns out, I ask myself about five questions, to help put the inner Worry to rest.
1. Is the time to worry about (this problem) right now?
2. What is the worst-case scenario?
3. Does this situation involve another person’s thoughts, feelings, actions?
4. How much “real estate” is this taking up in my brain right now?
5. What outcome do I really want?
Now, how to handle the answers to those questions! Using a more detached, realistic approach.
Thought Process Guide:
1. Is this happening now? If the time to handle a problem isn’t right now, then it isn’t time to worry. Worrying is the illusion that you can control the problem before it happens. But telling me not to worry is like telling a chicken to start speaking Esperanto. So, let’s just acknowledge that worrying is a part of who I am, and let’s work to minimize its impact on my life.
2. Worst-Case Scenario? I used to have a boss who dealt with my high, keening worry about mistakes by asking me three questions: “Did the agency lose money?” “Did the client lose money?” “Did anybody die?” There was only time I remembered the answer was “Yes,” to any of those questions (and it was another person’s error, costing the company $40k.) Nobody lost their job. Nobody died. A math professor used to tell me, “Five hundred years from now, none of this will matter.” Well, it’s important to keep perspective. But for the sake of giving this Worry Project due diligence, let’s just imagine the worst-case scenario, and 9 times out of 10, I bet nobody dies.
3. Is there another person involved? Once there’s another person in the picture, you automatically lose 50% of your ability to influence the situation. Sometimes more. You simply cannot control another person, no matter how hard you try. Let go of what you can’t control.
4. How much real estate to give it? Worry is like a furnace. It can be stoked, fired up, added to and fueled until it’s a blazing, consuming bonfire and our minds can’t think of anything else. Take an honest inventory of how much brain power you’re currently devoting to this worry. Is it worth your precious brain cells? Really? Can you at least cut the real estate in half, as a gift to yourself?
5. What’s my ideal outcome? Inevitably, I want things to just be “ok”. To not have anyone mad at me, to not fail, to not have to fight, sometimes to win, to be right. Every single one of those wishes has a price, and it’s one I have to pay. Is it worth it? Especially if the time isn’t right now, if it involves another person, and it’s not benefiting me to keep ruminating on the subject.
My thought in this is that my inner Worry requires something. It doesn’t just go off and sit in a corner and wait very well. In fact, trying to ignore it only makes it more anxious, and it interrupts what I’m trying to focus on doing. To acknowledge I need a process, I’ve developed these five questions as a way to placate and calm the inner Worry. So much of what I want to do is “be prepared”, like I fear on some level I don’t have the self-confidence to handle a situation if I haven’t pre-loaded every scenario and run through it. Sure, it’s good to rehearse some things. It’s good to know how to defend your position and be prepared in many business situations. It even helps to run through things when you want to talk to someone about a personal issue, just so you sort out some of the emotionally charged verbiage and you can have your words heard more clearly. But I don’t need to borrow trouble. The day to worry about this isn’t today. I’ve had so much experience worrying, I need to remind myself that when that day comes? I’ll knock it out of the ballpark. I can worry with the best of the best. I’m platinum, or even AmEx Black when it comes to worry. So, Worry, you who sits inside just behind my ear and likes to whisper, we’ve walked through all this and it’s time to go be quiet. Just for today. If you’re still worried tomorrow, we’ll take five minutes and go through these questions again.
OK, since I’m being all 5-steppy and self-help-ey, I’m going to end with something positive. Going back to my beloved Harold & Maude, the movie ends with Harold playing the banjo on a mountainside, to the song “If You Want To Sing Out, Sing Out”. (I know, I know. I’ve totally inspired all 14 of you to put this in your Netflix queue, simply with the word “banjo”.)
Well, if you want to sing out, sing out
And if you want to be free, be free
cause theres a million things to be
You know that there are
And if you want to live high, live high
And if you want to live low, live low
cause theres a million ways to go
You know that there are
Chorus:
You can do what you want
The opportunity’s on
And if you can find a new way
You can do it today
You can make it all true
And you can make it undo
You see ah ah ah
Its easy ah ah ah
You only need to know
Well if you want to say yes, say yes
And if you want to say no, say no
cause theres a million ways to go
You know that there are
And if you want to be me, be me
And if you want to be you, be you
cause theres a million things to do
You know that there are
Chorus
Well, if you want to sing out, sing out
And if you want to be free, be free
cause theres a million things to be
You know that there are
You know that there are
You know that there are
You know that there are
You know that there are
We do know it. We just need to remember it. Sing out. Be free. I’m putting Cat Stevens on my iTunes right this second…..
What I’m going to write about isn’t :that: serious. It isn’t like Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome, where a soldier comes home from war. Or even being in a serious accident. But I opened up one of my numerous marketing emails today (having deleted all the ones that arrived over the holidays, because seriously, I would not be able to get anything done if I just read the daily news.) And there, the first article in the summary email, was a little write up about how a former client of mine (at an old job) was relaunching their brand and their new spokesperson and blah blah blah blah, and ordinarily I read that stuff with some interest, maybe click through, whatevs, jobs and clients do ebb and flow, come and go, and while I try my darndest to come up with a revolutionary idea on all my accounts, sometimes you just part ways. Like people you dated in college. But this client? This client scarred me.
This was a piece of business that seemed fantastic and exciting and wonderful and it was quickly discovered to be a shiny thin veneer of 24k gold that belied an evil below the surface, a tar baby of a project, that required vast amounts of atypical work and unreasonable deadlines. This would be when I worked under the person who habitually disappeared for hours (or the rest of the day) and basically did as little work as possible while making life hell for everyone under her. So as I describe this, know that I was out there at the edge of the plank already, unsupported and alone.
The project involved trading trips for advertising. With very little cash, mostly trade. If you’ve ever worked on trade, you have already flinched a little yourself. But we’re talking certificates beyond just “you can stay here for 4 nights”. This involved airfare (they had their own airline service), and then free nights at one of several hotels/resorts. The value of each resort was different. The value of the airfare was different from each departing city. There were – oh god, I’ve blanked so much out – maybe 17 markets? And we entered into trade agreements with every cable system in each market, parsing out packages and flights and oh, did I mention they had expiration dates, too? and it was all in exchange for advertising time. And the client changed their needs, expectations, and mind every other day.
This project required multiple daily conversations with my national cable sales rep, Joe. Joe and I were the lone paddlers in this boat, because at this point, not only did nobody else want to touch it, nobody else could even do it, what with the elaborate spreadsheets and our Rain-Man-esque ability to calculate various configurations of resort stays and flights from all the different cities. Our friendship was seared and sealed in the blood, sweat and tears we shed working on this project. We found our own strange coping mechanisms – singing, using funny voices (he does a Gay Cuban like nobody’s business). One of the markets was Miami, and when he would call about issues in that market, he was always starting out with the MY JAMMIES, We have to figure out MY JAMMIES, Chennifer. Oh god. It was just brutal. I altered a poster of the movie Waterboy to have his face on it and renamed the movie “BarterBoy” and it hung on his door for the rest of his tenure with that company.
So of course, when I found myself seeing my client’s name in print, and caught myself reflexively wincing and moving my head sideways away from the screen?
I sent him the article immediately.
I wish we’d never had to go through that hell, but I know one thing for certain. He will be my friend until death. We were In Country together and we got out alive. I’m still blinking a little bit, just traveling down memory lane. But smiling, too, because we at least found a way to survive, together, and get some laughs in – because there was no other choice except to cry, and it all kind of fits with where I’m trying to put my head in 2008. To be happier. To be less sad. To manage the Very Large Pain that has stayed with me, to laugh more than cry. I’m not exactly sure how to do it yet? But I’m going to start with a phone call to my buddy Joe and schedule lunch.
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