"How ya doin'?"
"Ohh just treading water to keep from the sharks underneath," David says in his New Zealander's voice.
We laugh in the hallway at work because it's dramatic but kind of true. Even when our lives seem small in comparison to CFOs and soldiers, the sense that there are sharp teeth ready to snatch off your toes, or at least nibble at them uncomfortably, is still real.
When Cary's gone, this is just how I feel. But now that Jules and I are over our second illness that deserves a hurricane name ('cause again I'm hyperbolic like that), I think I can handle anything.
Cynically, I give this feeling five minutes.
Before he left, he got off the phone with the skipper, who had the news. "Whidbey?" I ask eagerly from the couch with Jules attached to me and my eyes no longer glued to Mr. Robot, knowing we've been lucky this far - not blessed, lucky - it must/could continue right? We're charmed and good deep down and work so hard...yes, I would like some stinky fatty cheese with my whine.
"Fallon."
#$@&%*!
It's fine.
It's fine.
Teardrop.
What's wrong with you, woman, snap out of it!
Whidbey Island. Pax River. Fallon, Nevada... There was a string of decent options come February 2016. We were on the fence anyway about this one this time around, pop 8,600, shifting its Post-It note on the kitchen wall between top spots. The flying is supposed to be great, search and rescue (SAR), mountain experience, blah, blah, blah, WINK. I love small towns, went to school in one, enjoy driving through them to wherever we're skiing – looking through the diner windows and at the movie theater marquees, romanticizing tumbleweeds and solitary houses set back from the roads, yadda, yadda, yadda.
But I couldn't shake the notion I was moving backward in life, in work-career-job-whatever you wanna call it. Or is it really that our furniture resembles Lisbeth Salander's before she buys grown-up stuff with her hacker money? That seems dumb. Yet everyone else appears to be moving onward and upward with job security and a nearby Pieology and the fruit in the bowl in the fridge with the stuff.
But he did well. And I did too. And we're bright-siders anyway. And hey, don't you want to be us? Have my husband, my kid, my dog, my car, my house. Look we traveled to Seoul. Look we bought a leather couch. Post it, filter it, tweet. Blog about it. We done good, lookit! She sleeps through the night. Butters protects us against cockroaches. Bull. Shit. The truth is nothing is ever perfect and even outside Uncle Sam's Godlike plan and the gloss of social media, no one has control over much. It takes faith in yourself and selflessness, and the great white hope or Hogwarts or whatever you believe in.
And don't let anyone Stepford wife your ass, a friend said, hitting the nail on the head for how I was feeling; it's not only about them, including little people and pets. You'll be running on fumes before you know it because you're human not a robot. Take an interest in yourself and brush off the guilt every time you do what they do: talk about your work, eat til you're full, sleep in, let chores wait.
I will lose it between jobs. I will take a gig reading between bowlers or handing back movie ticket stubs. I will stalk the editor of the local paper until Tesla offers me something I can't refuse or Breaking Bad is filming a second spin-off and needs someone to hold microphones which may dip into the shots. "Jimmy Fallon," I'm coming for you. But in the interim, I'm gonna squeeze the shit out of Japan – from the friends to the trains to the trip that is baby modeling to the ski season to the shortest commute I'll ever have between work, daycare, coffee and store.
There it is, that high again, this time but again from a cathartic (tsk, tsk) blog post I can't resist putting on Facebook because I have nothing else witty to say on there let alone in the flesh in a timely manner. But now I have a bloody nose. Figures. It'd been five minutes. Is it dry in Fallon? Well at least I won't need a blow dryer.
Cary has passed me overseas screening paperwork for the second time in our lives. A friend told me about this; we're moving to a place so remote, it requires a health screening.
None of us can have it all, be the tallest or the bestest, in the ideal place or phase always. Have splendid timing. Still we can at least have our bananas in a hammock if we want, and trust for the best with the rest.
 |
| Tonight Show Host Jimmy Fallon |
"Ohh just treading water to keep from the sharks underneath," David says in his New Zealander's voice.
We laugh in the hallway at work because it's dramatic but kind of true. Even when our lives seem small in comparison to CFOs and soldiers, the sense that there are sharp teeth ready to snatch off your toes, or at least nibble at them uncomfortably, is still real.
When Cary's gone, this is just how I feel. But now that Jules and I are over our second illness that deserves a hurricane name ('cause again I'm hyperbolic like that), I think I can handle anything.
Cynically, I give this feeling five minutes.
Before he left, he got off the phone with the skipper, who had the news. "Whidbey?" I ask eagerly from the couch with Jules attached to me and my eyes no longer glued to Mr. Robot, knowing we've been lucky this far - not blessed, lucky - it must/could continue right? We're charmed and good deep down and work so hard...yes, I would like some stinky fatty cheese with my whine.
 |
| Tesla Motors (soon-to-be) gigafactory |
#$@&%*!
It's fine.
It's fine.
Teardrop.
What's wrong with you, woman, snap out of it!
Whidbey Island. Pax River. Fallon, Nevada... There was a string of decent options come February 2016. We were on the fence anyway about this one this time around, pop 8,600, shifting its Post-It note on the kitchen wall between top spots. The flying is supposed to be great, search and rescue (SAR), mountain experience, blah, blah, blah, WINK. I love small towns, went to school in one, enjoy driving through them to wherever we're skiing – looking through the diner windows and at the movie theater marquees, romanticizing tumbleweeds and solitary houses set back from the roads, yadda, yadda, yadda.
But I couldn't shake the notion I was moving backward in life, in work-career-job-whatever you wanna call it. Or is it really that our furniture resembles Lisbeth Salander's before she buys grown-up stuff with her hacker money? That seems dumb. Yet everyone else appears to be moving onward and upward with job security and a nearby Pieology and the fruit in the bowl in the fridge with the stuff.
But he did well. And I did too. And we're bright-siders anyway. And hey, don't you want to be us? Have my husband, my kid, my dog, my car, my house. Look we traveled to Seoul. Look we bought a leather couch. Post it, filter it, tweet. Blog about it. We done good, lookit! She sleeps through the night. Butters protects us against cockroaches. Bull. Shit. The truth is nothing is ever perfect and even outside Uncle Sam's Godlike plan and the gloss of social media, no one has control over much. It takes faith in yourself and selflessness, and the great white hope or Hogwarts or whatever you believe in.
And don't let anyone Stepford wife your ass, a friend said, hitting the nail on the head for how I was feeling; it's not only about them, including little people and pets. You'll be running on fumes before you know it because you're human not a robot. Take an interest in yourself and brush off the guilt every time you do what they do: talk about your work, eat til you're full, sleep in, let chores wait.
I will lose it between jobs. I will take a gig reading between bowlers or handing back movie ticket stubs. I will stalk the editor of the local paper until Tesla offers me something I can't refuse or Breaking Bad is filming a second spin-off and needs someone to hold microphones which may dip into the shots. "Jimmy Fallon," I'm coming for you. But in the interim, I'm gonna squeeze the shit out of Japan – from the friends to the trains to the trip that is baby modeling to the ski season to the shortest commute I'll ever have between work, daycare, coffee and store.
There it is, that high again, this time but again from a cathartic (tsk, tsk) blog post I can't resist putting on Facebook because I have nothing else witty to say on there let alone in the flesh in a timely manner. But now I have a bloody nose. Figures. It'd been five minutes. Is it dry in Fallon? Well at least I won't need a blow dryer.
Cary has passed me overseas screening paperwork for the second time in our lives. A friend told me about this; we're moving to a place so remote, it requires a health screening.
None of us can have it all, be the tallest or the bestest, in the ideal place or phase always. Have splendid timing. Still we can at least have our bananas in a hammock if we want, and trust for the best with the rest.
2 comments:
At least Lisbeth's furniture was non-maintanence and worry-free. (There's a silver lining to everything).
So true. <B
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