I'm in love with the radio station that we're listening to at work right now, 93XRT. Everything current and otherwise, just a good mix of music. U2, Brandi Carlile, Bob Dylan, Ben Harper, Counting Crows, Snow Patrol, Shawn Mullins, just to name a few bands that have been on that I've been keeping track of the last few hours. I'm in love. Plus, there's also This American Life! I should find a way to go to one of their live tapings....
I'm also in love with a TV dinner brand called "Eat Right" that is not available in the ATL. I had turkey slices with cornbread (just like real cornbread with cornbread consistency) topped off with a light sauce and cut carrots -- for all I knew, I was eating real food. (I know, right?)
I realized today that part of the reason that online chatting is so fun is that you can interrupt someone and you're not interrupting them. You can just keep talking if you want to and the other person can fend for themselves in terms of getting a word in edgewise. And you can always catch up with each other and read over what each of you said if there are somehow two different conversations going on simultaneously. It's one of the ultimate forms of multitasking all within one "conversation."
Monday, June 29, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Lost in the Day
It took me all day to get to where I am now -- ready to get to work. And now, it's actually time to end the day, to wind down, get ready for tomorrow, be at peace with the day's events. Why did it take me so long? I got a few things done, admittedly. I haven't left my apartment. I watched hours and hours of the West Wing. I assembled a cabinet/shelf system for my kitchen and I unpacked a few boxes and made brunch and later, dinner. I did a little bit of cleaning, a little bit of organizing, and some reading. I played on the Internet a lot.
Just now, I started unpacking boxes in the sunroom, realizing that it's really too late to begin any of those projects. Have to wait till tomorrow. But tomorrow, there's church and hanging out with Jeff later. Maybe I won't get anything done at all. But I needed today. I needed a day of leisure. I haven't had that in several weeks, in over a month, really, and in the wake of the move I needed to just take it slow for a day. My conscience is screaming at me that I could have done so much more, that I need to learn to not be so lazy. And while I agree, I'll give myself this day. I won't give myself many others while I'm in the process of unpacking and acquainting myself with this new city of mine. But I'll give myself today.
I was starting to wonder where some of my clothes were until I unpacked a box just now -- one of the duffel bags I'd packed to go in the car with me had been left in my bedroom and thus had been packed in a box with a group of other random items in the process. Here were most of my bras, undergarments, and summer t-shirts I thought I would wear or want in the first few weeks. I was starting to think I needed to go shopping but I just needed to unpack. I wasn't insane thinking I'd packed these items. I only forgot to separate them from what the movers packed.
I'm looking forward to a time when I no longer compare everything in Chicago to something in Atlanta or something in Atlanta that I no longer quite have to something in Chicago that's new. I wish I talked about it less with coworkers but evidently it's what's on my mind because that's what I talk about. Endlessly. I talk about it. Others' patience will wear thin eventually.
Everyone asks me how's Chicago. What's it like living here. It's fine, I tell them. I'm not really at a point where I can tell them what it's really like. I don't have my routine down or parking or my neighborhood or friends or.... My life is still in transition. I appreciate their asking, however. I simply don't know what to tell them. I share random details about my street or work or the cute little restaurant my mom and I went to on her last night here called Cafe Turquoise, which had the BEST Mediterranean food. Pictures later when I found the cord that attaches my camera to my computer. I thought I'd packed it in a reasonable place to come with me and yet I find myself without it already....
Just now, I started unpacking boxes in the sunroom, realizing that it's really too late to begin any of those projects. Have to wait till tomorrow. But tomorrow, there's church and hanging out with Jeff later. Maybe I won't get anything done at all. But I needed today. I needed a day of leisure. I haven't had that in several weeks, in over a month, really, and in the wake of the move I needed to just take it slow for a day. My conscience is screaming at me that I could have done so much more, that I need to learn to not be so lazy. And while I agree, I'll give myself this day. I won't give myself many others while I'm in the process of unpacking and acquainting myself with this new city of mine. But I'll give myself today.
I was starting to wonder where some of my clothes were until I unpacked a box just now -- one of the duffel bags I'd packed to go in the car with me had been left in my bedroom and thus had been packed in a box with a group of other random items in the process. Here were most of my bras, undergarments, and summer t-shirts I thought I would wear or want in the first few weeks. I was starting to think I needed to go shopping but I just needed to unpack. I wasn't insane thinking I'd packed these items. I only forgot to separate them from what the movers packed.
I'm looking forward to a time when I no longer compare everything in Chicago to something in Atlanta or something in Atlanta that I no longer quite have to something in Chicago that's new. I wish I talked about it less with coworkers but evidently it's what's on my mind because that's what I talk about. Endlessly. I talk about it. Others' patience will wear thin eventually.
Everyone asks me how's Chicago. What's it like living here. It's fine, I tell them. I'm not really at a point where I can tell them what it's really like. I don't have my routine down or parking or my neighborhood or friends or.... My life is still in transition. I appreciate their asking, however. I simply don't know what to tell them. I share random details about my street or work or the cute little restaurant my mom and I went to on her last night here called Cafe Turquoise, which had the BEST Mediterranean food. Pictures later when I found the cord that attaches my camera to my computer. I thought I'd packed it in a reasonable place to come with me and yet I find myself without it already....
What to Do?
I woke up this morning and realized that wasn't anything I HAD to do. I woke up on my own at 8:30 AM (not surprising but I was exhausted, so I'd hoped to sleep in). My internal alarm clock rarely fails me even though I'd prefer to find a way to reach inside that precarious part of my subconscious that thinks that I am a morning person and slap it across the face. And thus, probably why it cowers somewhere in my subconscious.
I have a variety of things I need to do a some point in time, preferably sooner, but I realize I don't have anything I HAVE to do. I'll do something, don't get me wrong, but this the precise reason my mom wanted to stay longer or at least steal me away from work for a few extra days and help me weed through all the mundane tasks of organizing and moving in. She could only do so much while I was at work (which is frankly very selfless of her to be here and doing it). I need to put together a wall cabinet, find my light bulbs, assemble my television connection cords, assemble a bench, clean out my sunroom where all the boxes have been put, find a way to hang all my remaining clothes somewhere outside a closet, buy and install shelves above all bars that hold up clothes in the closets I do have, et al. I'm just not entirely certain where to start.
So, time to go make some breakfast (turkey bacon, fried eggs, waffle, and a apple, for those interested). Then I'm figuring out how to put in order my worldly possessions. After carting them 700 miles north in a process I was not able to oversee or supervise that involved loading and unloading them on several large trucks, I still don't know what to do with them. Why did I buy all these things?
Why did I ever think these things would make me happy? They're what I have from my life and yet they're nothing; they're just things. There are other, better things that I could be doing with my time. I could call my father; I have yet to wish him a happy Father's Day almost a week since the day itself; I could pray for the world; I have yet to find any organizations to volunteer with in Chicago; I could call my sisters. So I should tackle these first -- there will undoubtably be time in the rest of my day for all the other mundane but necessary things that I must do to finish moving in.
I have a variety of things I need to do a some point in time, preferably sooner, but I realize I don't have anything I HAVE to do. I'll do something, don't get me wrong, but this the precise reason my mom wanted to stay longer or at least steal me away from work for a few extra days and help me weed through all the mundane tasks of organizing and moving in. She could only do so much while I was at work (which is frankly very selfless of her to be here and doing it). I need to put together a wall cabinet, find my light bulbs, assemble my television connection cords, assemble a bench, clean out my sunroom where all the boxes have been put, find a way to hang all my remaining clothes somewhere outside a closet, buy and install shelves above all bars that hold up clothes in the closets I do have, et al. I'm just not entirely certain where to start.
So, time to go make some breakfast (turkey bacon, fried eggs, waffle, and a apple, for those interested). Then I'm figuring out how to put in order my worldly possessions. After carting them 700 miles north in a process I was not able to oversee or supervise that involved loading and unloading them on several large trucks, I still don't know what to do with them. Why did I buy all these things?
Why did I ever think these things would make me happy? They're what I have from my life and yet they're nothing; they're just things. There are other, better things that I could be doing with my time. I could call my father; I have yet to wish him a happy Father's Day almost a week since the day itself; I could pray for the world; I have yet to find any organizations to volunteer with in Chicago; I could call my sisters. So I should tackle these first -- there will undoubtably be time in the rest of my day for all the other mundane but necessary things that I must do to finish moving in.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Mom = Home
My mom has been here for almost my entire existence in Chicago, really. The same day my worldly possessions arrived, my mom arrived. She's been here since and will leave tonight. She's been incredibly selfless in helping me get settled -- today she said she'd clean my kitchen floor.
Once she leaves, I'll officially be away from my family and friends. I've been in limbo the last week, in a good way, with my immediate family very present in my life in simple physical presence here, both Laura and my mom. Now I'll have to forge ahead alone. It's not a bleak thought but I'm aware that life will be very different. It just makes me that much more grateful for my family. It's always good to be reminded that we are not alone.
Once she leaves, I'll officially be away from my family and friends. I've been in limbo the last week, in a good way, with my immediate family very present in my life in simple physical presence here, both Laura and my mom. Now I'll have to forge ahead alone. It's not a bleak thought but I'm aware that life will be very different. It just makes me that much more grateful for my family. It's always good to be reminded that we are not alone.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Hard Water (makes my life harder)
There's something in the water.
Every time I take a shower, my hair seems to get dirtier. It's a tangible feeling, not just my own paranoia about my hair. It's losing its luster, it's shine. It's limp and changing to a duller color of brown instead of the subtle red highlights of my former life (seems so long ago, though only a week.) I'm pretty sure it's the hard water.
This is annoying. Should I talk to my landlord? Even the cheapest systems that you can buy to soften your water are around $300. Is that asking too much?
If you know anything about tablets that I can stick in my shower head, please let me know. The Internet has been worthless to me in this endeavor except to deprive me of hope....
Every time I take a shower, my hair seems to get dirtier. It's a tangible feeling, not just my own paranoia about my hair. It's losing its luster, it's shine. It's limp and changing to a duller color of brown instead of the subtle red highlights of my former life (seems so long ago, though only a week.) I'm pretty sure it's the hard water.
This is annoying. Should I talk to my landlord? Even the cheapest systems that you can buy to soften your water are around $300. Is that asking too much?
If you know anything about tablets that I can stick in my shower head, please let me know. The Internet has been worthless to me in this endeavor except to deprive me of hope....
Monday, June 22, 2009
Love Stories (Loving Stories, Not Stories of Love)
I love stories. Fiction, non-fiction, half-truths, personal experiences, second-hand accounts, tales of others from my hairdresser, news, journalism, gossip, you name it -- I love hearing about other people's lives and how they unfold.
This is not profound. I feel silly even writing it -- except it's true. And while I do my best not to gossip, I find myself analyzing my friends' lives because I love them and their lives are interesting to me. I'm invested. More than that, I'm simply invested in people's lives. I love stories about anything and they never get old. I love books and reading and I've been doing that since I can remember. I love music and how it tells a story and it's meaningful beyond the notes on the page, even when there are no words beyond the notes on the page.
I have degrees in English and Journalism, two fields that record the stories of peoples' lives. My hobbies include reading, writing, photography, collecting quotations -- all things that catalog life and stories. One of my favorite blogs is Our Labor of Love, a blog of a photographer that does mostly weddings but also other photography engagements. I love looking at everyone's unique wedding story. They're all the same and yet somehow very different.
I adore movies -- every kind, with the possible exception of horror and gross scary movies that are more about creative ways to kill people slowly or grotesquely than anything to do with a movie. I love documentaries and reality television (real reality television, not I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here.
Six months ago and I started aggressively listening to This American Life, which is a Chicago radio station (it's like I knew I'd be moving here) that offers stories of people once a week in a strange mix that all fit together into a strange sort of common link. It's difficult to explain, but amazing stories ensue.
I always love the backstory to everything -- like discovering WHY Chicago is such an architectural gem. When the city burned down in 1871, they invited all the architects of the country (perhaps the world) to come and rebuild it. Though the fire was devastating, it allowed Chicago to be what it is today, both in the Downtown area and all the neighborhoods surrounding it (read: not suburbs, but neighborhoods. All part of actual Chicago). It feels very planned and it is. Now if only Atlanta's burning down and reconstruction had been so successful.... I love it but I mean, let's be honest, there's hardly a grid system in much of the city and 12 streets named Peachtree? Seriously.
But I love that Atlanta has the story. People say it's not the same as other cities -- and it isn't. It doesn't have that same city feel. It's too sprawling, it's not laid out quite right, there are no seamless neighborhoods like Chicago, there is laughingly public transportation and thus a city where everyone drives, it's filled now with chain restaurants that have replaced local gems, and somehow it doesn't work to live in a lot of it, as the grocery stores and living amenities are all in some places while businesses are all in others. There is some small mixture but that sense of community can often be lacking. And thus the endless miles of suburbs. But I love it. It WAS home to me. I loved that I could go to any music concert I wanted and had easy access 15 minutes down the road. Endless restaurants, culture, music, movies, festivals, whatever -- it's an interesting center in the south for all things coming through. So you get that big city feel without actually having a proper big city -- but it works. So no, it can't really compare with New York or Chicago or Los Angles or San Francisco or Houston or Boston, or any of these other unique cities with so much history and architecture. When our city burned down, we were in the midst of actual civil war reconstruction and we were not left to our devices to rebuild, stuck for years in the process of rejoining the union. Even though I don't really understand the clinging to the past, it's no wonder that civil war history remains every day in the lives of all the people who remember and talk about it and reenact it. It shaped Atlanta as it is today. It seems to me to be one of the great reasons why our city is different. It's the strange red-headed stepchild to all the other big cities of America.
Having felt a little different, a little outside everyone else for much of my life, I can relate. That's why it's my city. Things change, however, and who knows what I'll say in five years, assuming I'm still living in this gigantic city called Chicago. Maybe I'll think of it as mine one of these days.
But the point is, I love stories. I write because I love stories. I'll always have to do something with stories. Everone loves music and movies and reading. Is it as simple as some people like to read and others like to lose themselves in movies and others like the way notes sound when put together? Or do we all just love stories?
This is not profound. I feel silly even writing it -- except it's true. And while I do my best not to gossip, I find myself analyzing my friends' lives because I love them and their lives are interesting to me. I'm invested. More than that, I'm simply invested in people's lives. I love stories about anything and they never get old. I love books and reading and I've been doing that since I can remember. I love music and how it tells a story and it's meaningful beyond the notes on the page, even when there are no words beyond the notes on the page.
I have degrees in English and Journalism, two fields that record the stories of peoples' lives. My hobbies include reading, writing, photography, collecting quotations -- all things that catalog life and stories. One of my favorite blogs is Our Labor of Love, a blog of a photographer that does mostly weddings but also other photography engagements. I love looking at everyone's unique wedding story. They're all the same and yet somehow very different.
I adore movies -- every kind, with the possible exception of horror and gross scary movies that are more about creative ways to kill people slowly or grotesquely than anything to do with a movie. I love documentaries and reality television (real reality television, not I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here.
Six months ago and I started aggressively listening to This American Life, which is a Chicago radio station (it's like I knew I'd be moving here) that offers stories of people once a week in a strange mix that all fit together into a strange sort of common link. It's difficult to explain, but amazing stories ensue.
I always love the backstory to everything -- like discovering WHY Chicago is such an architectural gem. When the city burned down in 1871, they invited all the architects of the country (perhaps the world) to come and rebuild it. Though the fire was devastating, it allowed Chicago to be what it is today, both in the Downtown area and all the neighborhoods surrounding it (read: not suburbs, but neighborhoods. All part of actual Chicago). It feels very planned and it is. Now if only Atlanta's burning down and reconstruction had been so successful.... I love it but I mean, let's be honest, there's hardly a grid system in much of the city and 12 streets named Peachtree? Seriously.
But I love that Atlanta has the story. People say it's not the same as other cities -- and it isn't. It doesn't have that same city feel. It's too sprawling, it's not laid out quite right, there are no seamless neighborhoods like Chicago, there is laughingly public transportation and thus a city where everyone drives, it's filled now with chain restaurants that have replaced local gems, and somehow it doesn't work to live in a lot of it, as the grocery stores and living amenities are all in some places while businesses are all in others. There is some small mixture but that sense of community can often be lacking. And thus the endless miles of suburbs. But I love it. It WAS home to me. I loved that I could go to any music concert I wanted and had easy access 15 minutes down the road. Endless restaurants, culture, music, movies, festivals, whatever -- it's an interesting center in the south for all things coming through. So you get that big city feel without actually having a proper big city -- but it works. So no, it can't really compare with New York or Chicago or Los Angles or San Francisco or Houston or Boston, or any of these other unique cities with so much history and architecture. When our city burned down, we were in the midst of actual civil war reconstruction and we were not left to our devices to rebuild, stuck for years in the process of rejoining the union. Even though I don't really understand the clinging to the past, it's no wonder that civil war history remains every day in the lives of all the people who remember and talk about it and reenact it. It shaped Atlanta as it is today. It seems to me to be one of the great reasons why our city is different. It's the strange red-headed stepchild to all the other big cities of America.
Having felt a little different, a little outside everyone else for much of my life, I can relate. That's why it's my city. Things change, however, and who knows what I'll say in five years, assuming I'm still living in this gigantic city called Chicago. Maybe I'll think of it as mine one of these days.
But the point is, I love stories. I write because I love stories. I'll always have to do something with stories. Everone loves music and movies and reading. Is it as simple as some people like to read and others like to lose themselves in movies and others like the way notes sound when put together? Or do we all just love stories?
Stubbornly Awake
There are times when I don't want to go to sleep. Sleep lies on my body heavy but I resist. And then, when it is time to wake up, all I want to do is sleep. Small child that I am, I'm enjoying this time to myself, just surfing the Internet, unpacking, and watching random episodes of The West Wing. Why is that I don't want to be doing what I'm supposed to be doing? I love sleeping -- why can't I just let go of today and move on to the next? What do I think I'm gaining by depriving myself of sleep? I'm stealing time from tomorrow by being awake right now. All too soon I'll have to pay the debt.
I was going to say that I'm just working off Eastern Standard Time still except that would be some fairly flawed logic, seeing as how it's 2:21 AM EST right now as opposed to Central Standard's 1:21 AM. Either way, it doesn't really matter. Either way, it's still Monday and I haven't let go of Sunday.
Perhaps there's something missing in my life, some activity or task I have left unfinished. This is some sort of subconscious drive to stay awake because I have sense of unfinished business in some area or another. What can I accomplish at 1:20 in the morning? But here I am, stubbornly awake.
I was going to say that I'm just working off Eastern Standard Time still except that would be some fairly flawed logic, seeing as how it's 2:21 AM EST right now as opposed to Central Standard's 1:21 AM. Either way, it doesn't really matter. Either way, it's still Monday and I haven't let go of Sunday.
Perhaps there's something missing in my life, some activity or task I have left unfinished. This is some sort of subconscious drive to stay awake because I have sense of unfinished business in some area or another. What can I accomplish at 1:20 in the morning? But here I am, stubbornly awake.
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