Addictions, August, etc.

I decided on Monday that maybe it would be a good idea to go off caffeine. When I started at CareNet, I resurrected the habit of drinking coffee all day long. What else does one do when confined to a desk? I'm so used to moving around... I couldn't stand it. Anyway. It got bad. In barely a month I reached the point where I was getting headaches if I didn't get some coffee in my system by 7:30 AM.

On Tuesday, when I got up, I thought I'd start weaning myself off the stuff. So I only had a cup and a half - which is the amount I manage to drink before I leave the house. I was fine. No headache, nada. Que bueno, I thought. Today I did the same, expecting to sail through my day. Not so. I spent the day bleary-eyed, slow witted, and fighting off a throbbing headache. All this only convinces me all the more that I should kick the habit. But it's going to be hard.

You know what I find to be one of the saddest sounds in the world? The trill of cicadas. I don't know if I've always felt that way, but I do now. I hear them, and a sense of disappointment and dread fills my stomach. I first heard them in mid-July, and it surprised me. They are usually out in August, and anyway, in our other town we never heard them - there weren't enough trees. Here, the trees are old, and are well stocked with all things good old trees have - squirrels, birds' nests, bats, tire swings, and lots of cicadas. Cicadas mean August, and August means the end of summer and the beginning of school. August also marks the certainty of the coming of Fall. This month always meant a return to the grind for me (both as a student and later as a teacher). And once school started, we hit the ground running - which meant it felt as though Fall had hardly begun before it was time for Thanksgiving. Sigh.

All these bummer feelings associated with August means that my birthday is always rather depressing. I've felt that way for a long, long time. I suppose it will get worse. I'm not 30 yet, but it's not far off. And then I'll have to add "getting old" to the list of Things That Stink About August.

On another note, I saw the trailer for the new Harry Potter movie. That makes me happy. November 21st. I think I'd seriously consider a midnight showing.

I Call It Bonding

Okay, I have to tell this story, because... I have to. I'm hoping my dear sweet husband will forgive me for it. It will reveal some extreme nerdliness on my part, but I'm willing to make the sacrifice.

For those of you who don't know (which would be, um, all of my side of the family), I now watch Star Trek: The Next Generation. I think. I'll go check the box...

Yup, that's it. (There are many eras of Star Trek, I'm told.) D and his roommate, Michael, tried to get me hooked back in our dating days. I started watching for him,because he's persuasive, and I loved him, and I could call it bonding. And it worked... kinda. In my opinion, Star Trek: TNG runs hot or cold. An episode can be great (by ST standards, of course) and the very next one ridiculous. I'll admit - I enjoyed an episode in which the holodeck recreated a Sherlock Holmes story for Geordi and Data. (I am aware of how I sound, family. I'd appreciate no comments from the peanut gallery.) I actually cried in another episode in which Data created a daughter, and then had to deprogram (euthanize?) her. It was sad, darn it!

Anyway. So, we're watching an episode the other night after dinner (we both needed some serious down time), and here's what happened. We're in the middle of an episode, the basic storyline is about this lovely young blond intern that joins the Enterprise. She has some super-amazing powers and voips some things from here to there, and (gasp!) the crew discovers she's a Q! (For my non-Trekkie family, a Q is an omnipotent alien race. Don't ask. It doesn't make much sense to me, either.)

Anyway, she goes through some sort of identity crisis. Turns out that nasty alien race killed her parents by playing God and issuing forth a freak tornado over their home in Kansas while they were assuming human form. Poor little blond Q was left an orphan. Not quite human, not quite Q. Or something.

Moving on. The show is not actually pertinent to my story. Here's what I need to say: Star Trek, by now, is dated. (How much can I hate Counselor Troi? Very much.) Everyone looks very late 80s/early 90s. Pretty blond Q-girl was no exception. She even had this little dark brown beauty mark by her mouth, near her chin. Very Cindy Crawford.

As I sat on the couch next to Vid, I sort of admired it. I reminisced a bit about the days when beauty marks were "in", and thought that perhaps her little mole was rather more flattering than the mole above my right eyebrow (which the dermatologist has assured me is no threat). I never really think about my "beauty mark" except when some little kid points out wonderingly, "Why do you have that above your eye?" Then for a day or two I worry, and get over it. Thank goodness, I thought, that Vid doesn't say anything about it.

So just as I'm finishing these thoughts, my dear sweet husband beside me blurts out, "If she's omnipotent, maybe she should use some of her superpowers to voip that mole off her face!"

"What did you just say?" I squawk, and suddenly, my beloved realizes his slip. He apologizes rather quickly, pecks me on the cheek, and I begin to laugh inside.

And even though I'm not in the least bit upset, I'm once again curious if I should go see a doctor. But even more so, I'm disappointed. I'm sure I missed an opportunity to work that situation more to my advantage, somehow.

Mostly Unpacked... Sort Of

Finally, finally, I have some pictures of the house for those of you who have been curious. Not too many, because, frankly, they're a pain to upload, but enough to give you an idea of how things changed. As I was choosing what to post, I came across the old "before" photos. It was startling, really, to see how much has changed. It is starting to feel like home.

Remember the periwinkle blue master bedroom? Here is what we decided to do. I would have taken a picture from the other direction, but D's somewhat nebulous pile of laundry (Is it clean or isn't it?) was in the way. Sorry for that admission, Vid. You know I love you.

Remember the purple room that took four coats of yellow to cover? We finally got it right. This is my office. Notice Biff and Eeyore in their places of honor.

Here's the living room. The dining room off to the side is nothing more than a table and chairs. Not very exciting really, I promise.

We still have so much to do. My next tasks involve painting the windows in the living room, dining room, and the walls in the bathroom, to be exact. I'm a little tired of the sponge-painted blue polka-dots.

Heading to bed, me. Or, actually, heading to bed with a book to read, me. Wendy Shalit's A Return to Modesty has got me hooked.

WE HAVE INTERNET!!!

And there was much rejoicing.

P.S.

There was more to our trip to the beach than just eating, I promise. Games and movies ("Hancock" is the worst movie I have seen in years.), walks on the beach, Guitar Hero, book reading (a new Lauren Winner find for me - yay!) - lots of good times. And my Uncle Bruce showed mercy and did not throw me in the water.

Greener Grass

I made a discovery yesterday: Coming back to work after a lovely relaxing vacation always stinks.

I used to think that was only true in the teaching field. I hated taking sick days, because it meant typing sub plans the night before, organizing all my stuff for the other teacher, and then cleaning up the mess anyway. (Subs almost never seem to accomplish what you want them to. Maybe my expectati0ns were too high, I don't know. But I can count on my hand the number of times I have walked into my classroom after a sick day and found the my plans actually done.) I thought that it must be better with a nine-to-five job.

But it's not. I mean, not having to make sub plans is great, let me tell you. Before leaving for the beach, I basically stacked my papers on my desk and walked out the door. But coming back was just as rough as always, in some ways. Sure, there aren't 25 eight-year-olds clamoring for my attention, tattling on one another, telling tales of how rotten everyone was the day before. But there was still the sense of being behind the game, having missed something. There was still a mountain of new work on my desk, new tasks to remember and appointments to keep.

Our friend J picked us up from the airport on Wednesday. We started talking about work - about Vid's work being fun, in particular. I made a crack that I wanted to find a job that was fun all the time. Then J reminded me of something important: aiming to find a job that was so much fun it didn't feel like work ever was basically the same as desiring industry pre-Fall. He's right, you know.

Work is work. No matter how much fun it can be most of the time, it's still going to feel gross at times. Especially compared to a trip to the beach.

Ocean City, MD

We're at the beach.

We've had beautiful weather so far, but today is cloudy. D is Guitar Hero-ing it, so here I am.

Being at the beach with my family means three things. Eating, sun, and mini-golf. It's hard to say whether those are written in order of importance or not. I think they are.

The eating never stops: full breakfasts of fresh fruit, donuts, eggs, Taylor's Pork Roll, blueberry buckle, coffee, juice, whatever you want, may beloved Ganny will dish up. I think she's probably earned sainthood from the Catholic church just from the number of made-to-order breakfasts she's cooked in her lifetime. We hungry masses descend upon her every holiday. Lunch usually consists of a visit to the local Italian deli, DeVito's (quick description here) over on the next block. It's wonderful. There's a woman who is usually behind the counter (I don't know her name), who I love seeing each summer. She has a tall gray bun and a long, soft, wrinkled face. She is always in a dress and full white apron. She was old and gray twenty years ago when I first began noticing her; I'm sure she was there prior to that, and so she must be about 80 now. She and her sons run the business that her father began. Subs and pizza, with Utz's potato chips and a Coke - make up the late afternoon lunches. And of course, we are on the east coast, so what would an evening be without a cocktail hour at five PM? Complete with cheese and crackers, of course. Dinner arrives shortly afterwards. After so many years, we have our routine. One night is fried chicken and sweet corn, one night steamed crabs and shrimp. Grilled hamburgers and Veinies (steak sandwiches) another evening. One night is appetizer night - a smorgasbord of yummy all for my grandmother, who always schedules beach week over her birthday. So much food, so little time. The dinner list goes on, but I think I should move on.

I got creamed in mini-golf last night. I scored a whopping 47 on 18 holes, the lowest score of all nine of us. Even my 9-year-old cousin beat me. By five strokes. Yeah, I know.

In spite of my love of being here, the beach illustrates a paradox in my life. I love the beach. But I hate the ocean. I mean, I don't hate the ocean. I love standing on the shore, looking out at that great expanse, listening to the surf. I love the sand under my feet, I love the look of the beach after a storm. But don't ask me to go in there. I hate the feel of the salt and sand scraping against me. I hate the thought of all the creatures that swim in it swimming with me. (Although I am amazed by the quantity and diversity of life that must lie under the surface, I don't actually want it near me. And yes, I know a lot of it is far away, but much of it is far too close for my liking.) I am terrified of the strength of the water. This week, the riptides are frequent and strong, which adds to my awe and respect for the way God created the oceans and tides. I'm staying away, thank you very much.

Stay away, that is, unless my Uncle Bruce decides to throw me in. There's absolutely nothing I can do to avoid that force of nature.

Rocking the Suburbs

Let's admit it: I'm sooooo suburban. And I think I like it.

Case in point: I drove to work early today so that I could run by the Starbucks near the office to get two bags of coffee beans ground. (We were receiving a monthly supply of beans from my friend Shauna... bless her. I didn't have to buy coffee or tea for a year. These are the last two bags.) I pulled my little Sentra up next to a blue Mini Cooper and got out of the car (feeling particularly professional in what I had decided to wear to work today). Even though this morning is overcast, there were several people - two business women, a guy with his laptop, and a biker - all sitting outside the Starbucks. I went in, passed the coffee over the counter, ordered my Chai Tea Latte, glanced at a Starbucks compilation CD (80s punk - D might like it), heard my order called, grabbed it, took a sip, pushed the door open, beeped my car fob to unlock the doors, sat down in the driver's seat and thought, "I like being a grown-up."

Then I realized that this morning was not so much a picture of being a grown-up as it was a perfect snapshot of life in these (suburban) United States. I like to pretend I'm more of a hippie than I am. But it might be time to own up to the facts.

We are (finally!) getting Internet on Wednesday, so I should be able to post some move-in day pictures soon. However, we're going with AT&T, which we (read: David) has to set up. And we leave for Ocean City on Friday (woot!) so I don't actually know when we will have Internet access at home. Soon and very soon, that much I can say.

Death by Frustration

We do not have Internet yet.

I'm going slowly insane. I had no idea how addicted I was (am) to communicating via email. I've been driving myself crazy. Each morning when I get up, I automatically head towards the computer to check the weather, or the news, or my email... and I can't do ANY of it! Auuurrrgh!

I brought my camera to work today to load pictures onto the hard drive, so I could post them. But I found out there's no photo software loaded into our computers, so I don't know if it's legal for me to do that. So... no photos yet, folks. Sorry.

And my work day is beginning. Sigh. Better go.