Sometimes I feel like the more things happen, the less I want to write about them. 

I got the full-time job. Yay, right? My manager announced it to the department and people kept coming into my office and congratulating me. Well, except for one guy, one of our union stewards, who asked me if I was stepping into a "guilded cage."

As an aside, I will explain this is the same person who, when management asked me to do something way outside of my job description (and sort of humiliating) he was affronted--but only because said task was keeping me from doing something he needed done. I truly believe he may have had something to do with management re-posting the job as full time; he told me he felt that a part-time secretary wasn't enough support. (And by "support," he meant that he was being asked to do things he felt were beneath him--although he certainly doesn't think they are beneath me.) Yes, and this is my collective bargaining representative. He loves to see himself as a real man of the people, but underneath, he's intensely arrogant.

In any case, I'm still ambivalent about the whole thing, but at least the stress of "how the hell will we pay the rent" is gone. As I said to Union Joe, I'll think about it later.

In other news, I scored a cast-iron, claw-foot tub for the house ($75--I am the bargain-hunting champ). The tub that's there now has been there all my life. It's a 1960s powder blue special. It's seen better days. And I'd much prefer something up off the floor. When I look at those installed tubs I always wonder what's leaking or growing or hiding under there. It's the first real home fixture I've ever purchased. 

I also met with the furnace guy, who showed me how to change the filter and pour vinegar down some pipe to clean it out once a year. Holy hell, but I'm a real grown up, now.

And finally, the new issue of the magazine comes out today. I'm on the cover. It's flattering and uncomfortable all at once.

Which appears to be May's theme.

x.g.

Post-Urban

I suddenly can't wait to get out of the city. I think it's the way things smell today--all damp earth and green. I can't seem to focus, but only remember how it is to wake up at the house and see mist over the neighbour's field.

I grab my shoes and open the back door and it's like breathing cool perfume. The dew seeps into my shoes but I don't care; I'll think about it later. There are birds everywhere. I don't have to look for them because they will flutter into my field of vision on their own. Something is blooming and I follow the colour. Something is rustling and I follow the sound. 

Last night I lay in bed dreaming of gravel crunching under my feet, going up the driveway to get the mail. In my dream there are chickens and they bustle over to see if I've brought anything nice to eat, just like they did when I was little. In my dream there is a six-foot strip of lavender that runs the length of the yard. The chimney is smoking for the first time in years and there is coffee waiting for me inside.

I loved this city life for a long time, but I'm getting very anxious for something else.
g. 

The fortune you seek is in another cookie.

photo by Alfred Eisenstaedt

Today I had to interview for my job. A dozen other people have applied and, according to the union, everyone who qualifies gets an interview. As one of the managers interviewing said, "Seniority counts." I happen to know at least three other people have more years here than I.

So suffice to say, it's been nerve-wracking. I prepared and planned, but who the hell knows?

This morning, a woman down the hall was handing out bags of fortune cookies leftover from her son's Bar Mitzvah. (Yes, I know.) I decided these would give me the answers to how things turned out for me today.

Here are my fortunes in the order in which they were revealed:

The machinations of your mind are an enigma.

Help! I'm trapped at the Fortune Cookie Company!

The fortune you seek is in another cookie.

And finally:

You're about to encounter a large sum of money... that you may not have.

Screw you, cookies.
g. 

You're going to need a much bigger shoe.

The weekend was good and tough in turns. The best part, though, was watching TARANTULA! with my dad and brother. Nothing brings a family together like depictions of a grotesque science experiment gone awry.

I'm glad I didn't see the poster in advance, though. I would have been sorely disappointed if I was waiting for the monster spider to pick up a voluptuous screaming lady in its fangy teeth. 

The lesson learned? If you're going to inject radioactive isotopes into something, make sure it's cute. And friendly. And not a SPIDER.

g.

I feel hungover this morning--headachey and tired and weirdly hungry. But I certainly had no drinks last night and, as far as I can tell, got more than enough sleep. I wonder if it's psychosomatic. 

I'm going to visit dad tomorrow. I haven't been in weeks. I really thought I'd be unemployed by now, so I went a little crazy scheduling things on weekends. I just assumed I could go visit any time. But then my contract was extended and, suddenly, I had no week or weekend days to spare.

And it seems, in the time since I've been back, things have taken a bad turn. Dad's pain is worse and both my sisters feel he's starting to show increasing signs of mental stress--though whether that's due to pain, depression or age, it's still hard to tell. He's forgetting things, repeating things. When I called him last night, he seemed to want to say something but couldn't get the sentence out. He tried a few times and gave up in frustration. Physically, the combination of an apathetic physician, my father's inability to communicate, and his refusal to take charge of his own condition has resulted in almost immutable physical damage: he cannot improve his situation without physical therapy and exercise but he's been sedentary for so long, exercise is nearly impossible. One of his doctors is now talking about the possibility of cutting (?) some of the tendons in his legs, just to allow him to lie down. He hasn't slept stretched out in a bed in more than two years.

As his eyes get worse and his muscles atrophy, he cannot do the things he liked and seems to hate everything else all the more. Whatever we bring him--new foods, new television shows to watch, new ideas for things in his apartment--he detests. Everything is "stupid." Sometimes, the mere act of bringing him a gift actually makes him angry. But he doesn't recognize his own negative attitude or see how it might be making his (and our) situation worse.

Now, the one medication that seems to lift his mood has proved to have dangerous side-effects. In the interim between stopping the medication and finding something new, his pain has increased and his mood is dropping to a new low, making him more desperate, distracted and irritable.

And I haven't been home in weeks, and I am afraid to go.
g.