Day in the life
Interesting things are happening.
Monday night I was so wired after the final stretch to meet deadlines that I couldn't fall asleep until after 4 a.m., a new world record for me.
Tuesday was another eleven-hour day at my office, after which I walked to the plaza in the mild early evening air to meet some friends I hadn't seen in months. By the time I was halfway there I was warm enough to have to stop and take off my sweater.
At the market we ran into a couple more people I hadn't expected to see, and from that moment on through the whole next 30 hours or so everything ran together like a warm, delicious dream. Dinner at the Himalayan restaurant, the owner of which was finally back in town to serve us personally – something we had been missing, since he's so charming and gracious and always brings us nice little surprises like a plate of hot papadam or an extra bottle of the wine we'd enjoyed so much last week. That night I fell asleep as soon as I got into bed and slept soundly all the way through until morning for the first time in more than a year (as of few years ago I usually wake up at least once during the night, needing to pee).
When I woke up Wednesday morning I knew immediately that I was awake, and then I realized that I was really awake – totally rested and relaxed and ready to get up, not groggy and exhausted like I usually am in the morning. A happy yellow note on my bedroom door informed me that Mr. A had pumped up my tires and prepared my bike to be ridden before he left for the day – I had mentioned the night before that I was feeling inspired to start riding again – so all I had to do was put on my helmet and go. I had a vigorously productive day at work, full of unaccustomed energy despite the fact that I had nothing to eat all day, and at 6:30 Mr. A picked me up in the truck, gave me a delicious pesto and mozzarella sandwich he'd made for me to eat on the way, and drove me across town to a classical Indian music concert put together by some folks at the ashram.
These two guys were amazing – they did this one raga for sunset that had me completely mesmerized. At the concert I connected again with two more friends I hadn't seen in awhile and made plans to spend more time with each of them next week. Also at the concert there were so many beautiful tastes and smells – homemade chai and kir and this pumpkiny custard thing that was divine, and smells of neroli and roses and fresh ginger, and across the room a beautiful woman in a champagne colored sweater and terra cotta pants, sitting on a deep rose colored cushion on a burgundy mat on the floor (my cushion was green, and my mat was purple). Another woman was wearing orange and chartreuse linen robes, and another anorexically beatific looking girl was sitting against the wall wrapped in a crimson wool shawl. Also, at the end of the long row of grownups' shoes outside, a tiny little Indian boy had left his tiny little pointed leather genie shoes right in the middle of the doorway, and virtually every person who entered the room noticed them and stopped to exclaim, "Look at those shoes!" They were the most spectacular shoes of the evening.
What else? A tabla player with an enormous afro was sitting on the floor just in front of me and I loved his vocal and enthusiastic appreciation of the music. I loved looking at the giant wall hanging with all the five thousand different Ganeshes embroidered around its edges. I loved the sweet almond cookies one of the women from the ashram had made. I loved driving home after the concert, drowsy and satisfied and emanating peace and well-being.
Abrupt change of topic: At work I have been given a promotion of sorts – we'll see if the title sticks after the big boss returns from his vacation, but as of yesterday I'm now the editor (as well as the designer, still) of this new twice-weekly entertainment and local news tab. I'm supposed to be getting some kind of assistant to help with the drearier production tasks, though I'm not all that hopeful that this will ever actually come to pass. Although, realistically, it's going to have to – there's no way one person can do everything I'm supposed to be doing with this thing. The fact that I have been doing it anyway doesn't mean it's possible, it just means I'm pushing myself way harder than any human should ... which I'm hoping will give me some leverage when I go in to ask for that raise.
It's satisfying to produce something really successful, even if it isn't very important or enduring. The first two issues were so well-received that we're going to be increasing the page count by about 30% – another reason I'm going to need some help. Aside from the adrenalin of an aggressive publishing schedule, I'm also enjoying the process of creating something new, from scratch – figuring out what goes in and what doesn't, designing a look and feel for it, documenting the workflow, writing procedures, etc. etc. It seems like everywhere I work, this is the role I eventually end up in – blazing a new trail, setting it up to run like clockwork, and then – hey, wait a minute! – getting laid off so the maintenance of my new system can be done by less expensive employees.
Hmm. Well, the fact that that's happened three times in the past ten years doesn't necessarily mean it's going to happen here. I'm not worried. Not that I think I'm indispensable – nobody is – but this is a different kind of company. If people do well, they tend to keep them around. As I mentioned the other day, my boss has been there over 25 years.
Anwyay. I've been noticing that the more time I spend with visual communications, the less articulate I become. When I was working as a writer, I would close my eyes at night and see lines and columns of text upon text upon text. Now, I see colors, shapes, and moving images of faces, plants, animals, buildings, fountains, trees, cars, sunsets, and all the other visuals my eyes are filled with every day. It's kind of nice, for a change, to feel the language part of my brain receding into the background. Though it does make for kind of boring, undisciplined blogposts.
Wow. I just glanced up at the tv – Mr. A just got home and put in Key Largo – and there's an impossibly thin Lauren Bacall wearing a white shirt, a long dark skirt with a wide black belt, and perfect, plain espadrilles. Totally hot.
The other day I lifted up the corner of one of Mr. A's reptile habitats (aka, an old piece of carpet draped over some broken chunks of concrete) and there were three lizards all curled up together taking a nap, and a beautiful brown toad. Other cool animals I have seen lately include a baby hummingbird drinking nectar from the blue rosemary in front of the porch, a tiny black lamb surrounded by gleaming white chickens, two calves frolicking in a field, a blonde chihuahua puppy named Charlie eating from a pile of garlic fries as big as he was that someone had just dropped on the ground in front of him at the farmer's market, and a very young and fragile looking baby horse with long spindly legs and an enormous head, drinking milk from his mother. We see him almost every day, actually – he lives with his family in a little pasture at the end of our road. Every time we pass him we look at each other and say, "Horse milk. Horse milk."
Monday night I was so wired after the final stretch to meet deadlines that I couldn't fall asleep until after 4 a.m., a new world record for me.
Tuesday was another eleven-hour day at my office, after which I walked to the plaza in the mild early evening air to meet some friends I hadn't seen in months. By the time I was halfway there I was warm enough to have to stop and take off my sweater.
At the market we ran into a couple more people I hadn't expected to see, and from that moment on through the whole next 30 hours or so everything ran together like a warm, delicious dream. Dinner at the Himalayan restaurant, the owner of which was finally back in town to serve us personally – something we had been missing, since he's so charming and gracious and always brings us nice little surprises like a plate of hot papadam or an extra bottle of the wine we'd enjoyed so much last week. That night I fell asleep as soon as I got into bed and slept soundly all the way through until morning for the first time in more than a year (as of few years ago I usually wake up at least once during the night, needing to pee).
When I woke up Wednesday morning I knew immediately that I was awake, and then I realized that I was really awake – totally rested and relaxed and ready to get up, not groggy and exhausted like I usually am in the morning. A happy yellow note on my bedroom door informed me that Mr. A had pumped up my tires and prepared my bike to be ridden before he left for the day – I had mentioned the night before that I was feeling inspired to start riding again – so all I had to do was put on my helmet and go. I had a vigorously productive day at work, full of unaccustomed energy despite the fact that I had nothing to eat all day, and at 6:30 Mr. A picked me up in the truck, gave me a delicious pesto and mozzarella sandwich he'd made for me to eat on the way, and drove me across town to a classical Indian music concert put together by some folks at the ashram.
These two guys were amazing – they did this one raga for sunset that had me completely mesmerized. At the concert I connected again with two more friends I hadn't seen in awhile and made plans to spend more time with each of them next week. Also at the concert there were so many beautiful tastes and smells – homemade chai and kir and this pumpkiny custard thing that was divine, and smells of neroli and roses and fresh ginger, and across the room a beautiful woman in a champagne colored sweater and terra cotta pants, sitting on a deep rose colored cushion on a burgundy mat on the floor (my cushion was green, and my mat was purple). Another woman was wearing orange and chartreuse linen robes, and another anorexically beatific looking girl was sitting against the wall wrapped in a crimson wool shawl. Also, at the end of the long row of grownups' shoes outside, a tiny little Indian boy had left his tiny little pointed leather genie shoes right in the middle of the doorway, and virtually every person who entered the room noticed them and stopped to exclaim, "Look at those shoes!" They were the most spectacular shoes of the evening.
What else? A tabla player with an enormous afro was sitting on the floor just in front of me and I loved his vocal and enthusiastic appreciation of the music. I loved looking at the giant wall hanging with all the five thousand different Ganeshes embroidered around its edges. I loved the sweet almond cookies one of the women from the ashram had made. I loved driving home after the concert, drowsy and satisfied and emanating peace and well-being.
Abrupt change of topic: At work I have been given a promotion of sorts – we'll see if the title sticks after the big boss returns from his vacation, but as of yesterday I'm now the editor (as well as the designer, still) of this new twice-weekly entertainment and local news tab. I'm supposed to be getting some kind of assistant to help with the drearier production tasks, though I'm not all that hopeful that this will ever actually come to pass. Although, realistically, it's going to have to – there's no way one person can do everything I'm supposed to be doing with this thing. The fact that I have been doing it anyway doesn't mean it's possible, it just means I'm pushing myself way harder than any human should ... which I'm hoping will give me some leverage when I go in to ask for that raise.
It's satisfying to produce something really successful, even if it isn't very important or enduring. The first two issues were so well-received that we're going to be increasing the page count by about 30% – another reason I'm going to need some help. Aside from the adrenalin of an aggressive publishing schedule, I'm also enjoying the process of creating something new, from scratch – figuring out what goes in and what doesn't, designing a look and feel for it, documenting the workflow, writing procedures, etc. etc. It seems like everywhere I work, this is the role I eventually end up in – blazing a new trail, setting it up to run like clockwork, and then – hey, wait a minute! – getting laid off so the maintenance of my new system can be done by less expensive employees.
Hmm. Well, the fact that that's happened three times in the past ten years doesn't necessarily mean it's going to happen here. I'm not worried. Not that I think I'm indispensable – nobody is – but this is a different kind of company. If people do well, they tend to keep them around. As I mentioned the other day, my boss has been there over 25 years.
Anwyay. I've been noticing that the more time I spend with visual communications, the less articulate I become. When I was working as a writer, I would close my eyes at night and see lines and columns of text upon text upon text. Now, I see colors, shapes, and moving images of faces, plants, animals, buildings, fountains, trees, cars, sunsets, and all the other visuals my eyes are filled with every day. It's kind of nice, for a change, to feel the language part of my brain receding into the background. Though it does make for kind of boring, undisciplined blogposts.
Wow. I just glanced up at the tv – Mr. A just got home and put in Key Largo – and there's an impossibly thin Lauren Bacall wearing a white shirt, a long dark skirt with a wide black belt, and perfect, plain espadrilles. Totally hot.
The other day I lifted up the corner of one of Mr. A's reptile habitats (aka, an old piece of carpet draped over some broken chunks of concrete) and there were three lizards all curled up together taking a nap, and a beautiful brown toad. Other cool animals I have seen lately include a baby hummingbird drinking nectar from the blue rosemary in front of the porch, a tiny black lamb surrounded by gleaming white chickens, two calves frolicking in a field, a blonde chihuahua puppy named Charlie eating from a pile of garlic fries as big as he was that someone had just dropped on the ground in front of him at the farmer's market, and a very young and fragile looking baby horse with long spindly legs and an enormous head, drinking milk from his mother. We see him almost every day, actually – he lives with his family in a little pasture at the end of our road. Every time we pass him we look at each other and say, "Horse milk. Horse milk."
2 Comments:
I just love your posts! My mind swims with all the colors and shapes you describe. You absolutely deserve that raise! Go get it girl!
I love days like that--they rarely happen. How DO they happen anyway? What causes them?
Love all the colors, and l love you for noticing them and appreciating them so much.
They are lucky to have you at that paper.
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