I’m the chief executive of fantasy land

Too quiet

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I’m probably going to regret even thinking this, but this week has been quiet at work.  A little too quiet.  Like trouble is brewing somewhere, and it’s going to hit us hard soon.  Now that I’ve thought it, it’s probably going to come true.

That’s both pessimistic (in this particular case) and incredibly arrogant of me to believe that things will happen because I think them into being.  But you know, as far as I can tell, nothing is real if I don’t think of it.  You’re all constructs of my imagination, believed into being to keep me company.  The sandwich I had for lunch today (which was really good, by the way – hummus, cucumbers, artichoke hearts, and roasted red peppers) was imaginary, made for me by imaginary Potbelly employees.  I just had a conversation about my imaginary job with my imaginary coworker in my imaginary office.  Where am I, really?  What am I?  Who am I?

I just watched a YouTube video of a rabbit defending her babies from a very large snake (and winning).  That is not something I would have thought to imagine.  Existential crisis averted!  You may all consider yourselves real.

What’s to be nervous about now?

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I got the go-ahead yesterday to tell my team about our plans.  FINALLY.  My boss, HR, the CEO, and the CFO are all being supportive.  (I haven’t spoken to the CEO and CFO, so I don’t know HOW supportive they are, but that’s irrelevant now.)  Yay!  So I wrote some notes yesterday, was nervous all morning, and met with Ben (my senior guy) just before lunch, where I blurted it all out with no regard for my notes.  Luckily, he understood what I was saying and doesn’t have any immediate concerns.  He’s the linchpin – where his mood goes, the team’s mood follows, so I need him to be positive about it, and he was!  Not over the moon, but why would he be?  I just need him to NOT think it’s a disaster.

So then I went to Wegmans to buy cupcakes so I can bribe the rest of the team into contentment when I tell them at our weekly meeting in….less than 90 minutes.   Updates to come.  Hopefully very boring updates.

Update: They’re fine!  They were outwardly supportive, at least, after they made sure I was NOT leaving them and they were NOT getting a new boss.  Which is sweet of them.

SO relieved.

Life is a stage

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My run this morning was so great, it had to have been faked somehow.  I’m pretty sure I was on a movie set.  It was around 8:30 on a beautiful Saturday morning in spring.  The sky was clear and brilliantly blue and the sun was shining.  Everyone I passed answered my “Good morning!” or least waved or smiled back at me.  My running playlist (which is huge and on perpetual shuffle so I’m always surprised) skewed heavily toward Dean Martin with Three Dog Night’s “Let Me Serenade You” to bring me to the finish line.  The trees are still in bloom, and – I swear I’m not making this up – as I passed under a couple of cherry trees, a breeze picked up, and I ran through a cloud of tiny pink blossoms falling to the ground.  The only things missing were chirping cartoon bird.  I think I’ve seen this happen to Jennifer Garner.  Minus the cartoon birds.  I guess neither of us rate those.

Unreal.

Curbing my desire to squee

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I mentioned the other day (last week?) that I loved Amy Bai’s Sword SO much that I emailed her to tell her about it.  (Seriously, I really REALLY liked it, and I’m really REALLY glad she’s working on the sequel.)  Then I started following her on Twitter (I follow a handful of authors I like on Twitter – they’re fun).  Then she emailed me back and was super nice.  (Or maybe she emailed me back and then I started following her on Twitter – can’t remember, doesn’t matter.)  AND THEN, she started following ME on Twitter.  I am not cool enough for this.  But I’m trying to act like I am.  🙂  No public squeals of delight. I’m pretty sure the neighbors didn’t hear me.

Luckily, Jess has upped her game on Twitter, and I’ve taken that as a dare to do the same.  Why be on Twitter if I’m not going to use it?  All I do is follow a bunch of people hoping to be amused.  Boring for anyone following me, including myself (not that there are many of those (which is okay)).  So let’s be less boring (at least to me and Jess).

Small dilemma: I was going to start tweeting about the books I’ve been reading that I’ve really liked, but having Amy Bai follow me on Twitter (have I mentioned that Amy Bai is following me on Twitter now?) makes me hesitate (because hers is one of the books I would tweet about).  Does it look self-serving?  Like, “Look at me!  I liked your book!  I’m telling the world, and it’s only coincidence that I didn’t tell the world until after you started following me and would see it (wink, wink)!”  Except that I told you guys before she was following me (but she doesn’t know that), and I told HER before she was following me (she’s following me!), and since I’ve already told you, why even tweet about it?  I don’t want to look like I’m sucking up or starved for attention.  Or a stalker.

Overthinking this?  Probably.

Definitely.  Authors are people who like other people for the same reasons everyone else does, and being nice to people is appreciated (usually) and my insecurities are having a field day.  Just relax already.

They can’t close it without telling us!

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As we pulled into the parking lot of the gym this morning, we realized two things.  First, Doug’s car wasn’t there, and second, the lights were off inside.  Not a good sign.  We pull through our normal parking spot and saw Doug’s car across from us.  He came running over to the driver’s side window to tell us that the gym was closed.  “Closed closed?  Like, forever closed?”  “Yeah.”  “Well, that sucks.”  We’re not at all annoyed with Doug – it wasn’t his call.  But the owner, who has everyone’s email addresses, could have let us know.  That’s kind of obnoxious.  John and I could have gotten an extra hour and a half (or more!) of sleep this morning, if only we’d known.  It was nice of Doug to show up to tell us.  The other location (our M/W/F class location) is still open, so Doug gave us the owner’s number so we could petition to have Doug teach there Tuesdays and Thursdays instead.  Which I promptly did.  Well, not promptly, but same day.  I called early afternoon and talked to him.  He said he’d work on it.  I’m hopeful.

Update: I got a text from Doug (because he has our info NOW) – he’s lined up to teach at the other location now, Tuesdays and Thursdays, same time.  Yay!  I’m not taking credit for that.  I have a very high opinion of myself, it’s true, but I’m fairly certain one phone call from me can’t save someone’s job.  If I have that kind of power, I should probably be more careful.

It’s her parade. She can hide if she wants to.

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The Bloggess is a wonderful thing (as is love – thank you, Michael Bolton, we’re aware, please wait your turn), and whoever invented her should be given a parade.  So, you know, that would include everyone she’s ever come into any sort of contact with.  No, that makes it sound like she’s only who she is because of other people, and I don’t think that’s right.  She should get some credit for molding herself into who she is (as should everyone, of course, good and bad).  So maybe I just want to give The Bloggess a parade.  Of course, she probably wouldn’t go, or maybe she’d hide in the crowd (either of which would be totally okay).  She can send a stand-in – maybe someone in a red dress.  Oh, EVERYone in the parade could wear a red dress!  If they wanted to.  No pressure.

In a recent post, she used Twitter and the Benedict Cumberpatch Name Generator (which I wish I’d known existed when I posted the thing about him a while back) to name her new fish, and between the suggestions and the picture of the lemur who looks like he’s about to jump out of skin in panic, I nearly fell out of my chair laughing.  I am SO naming my first horse Rinkydink Clompyclomp.  (Someday I’ll own a horse, just you wait and see.)

And now it’s Michael Bolton’s turn (warning: language not safe for children):

Quiet yoga time turned surreal

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I made it back to yoga this week, and we had a few minutes of relaxation time at the end. There was no music playing in the room, no talking, just stillness and breathing.  My mind really went quiet for a little bit, but then the rest of the world began to creep back in.  First, I noticed the ticking clock in the room.  I hadn’t even realized that clock made noise. Then, very quietly at first but louder the more I noticed it, I heard Kylie Minogue’s “Can’t Get You Out of My Head” seeping in from the speakers on the main floor of the gym.  But the song and the ticking clock weren’t in sync with each other, nowhere near the same tempo, so they fought, both getting louder.  I was having visions of meshed realities and Doctor Who. All in the space of about a minute. Maybe less.  Then the instructor called us back to reality, and it got less weird.

Goes with the territory

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I don’t want to do the whole cliché “I hate Mondays” thing, like Garfield or that song by that one guy where the girl kills herself (I almost typed “where the girl girls herself” – I have no idea what that could mean), and NO, I don’t have a case of the Mondays, but ugh.  Mondays, you know?  (I really mean this, but I’m finding it hard not to smile at the ridiculousness of writing about it – ooh, solution!)  They wouldn’t be so bad if we had a day off in the middle of every week.  No work on Wednesdays!  That’s my battle-cry.  Or it will be.  My focus is entirely on lunch right now – more specifically, putting off lunch.  I’m hungry NOW, but I’m going grocery shopping after work today, which means dinner will be later, which means I’ll be hungry while I shop, which is bad.  So.  Eat lunch a little later, make it through grocery shopping without buying everything in sight because I’m the hungry hungry caterpillar.  I can do it.  I can make it to 1pm.  I can.

While I’m watching the clock, let’s talk about something completely different: it is fundamentally funny to overhear developers having serious conversations about clobs and blobs.  Yes, I work in IT, and yes, I know what they are (in the most general way – for the curious, they refer to different methods of storing data in a database.  Those of you who know better: how wrong am I?  No, wait – you don’t have to tell me), but that doesn’t make the words less silly.  The visuals are fun, though.  Maybe the world on the other side of my cube’s wall is animated.  It’s a childishly-drawn cartoon where clobs and blobs have faces and personalities and need to be readily identified by others.  You know, maybe.

Birthday Shenanigans

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I’ve been trying really hard to be a caring manager and a good boss, create a fun working environment, all that sort of thing, but I keep almost screwing up birthdays. (Hey, celebrating team birthdays is fun.)  I have everyone’s birthday on my work calendar, so I know when they’re coming up.

Incident #1: My calendar showed one for a new team member for last Tuesday (the 21st) and another one for last Friday (the 24th), so Tuesday morning, I went to Wegmans and picked up some balloons (we know how to party around here) and another coworker picked up cupcakes.  Well, Tuesday was the day the snow started midmorning and we all headed home early.  Coworker #1 (whose birthday it was) checked in with me because she wanted to avoid the commute altogether and work from home.  Whoops.  So much for her birthday stuff.  I emailed her back and wished her a happy birthday.  She responded with confusion.  Turns out her birthday was the following Monday – I was just completely wrong.  Nice.  The rest of us couldn’t let the cupcakes go to waste (or wait overnight), so we divvied them up and took them home.  J  She doesn’t know that.  And since Coworker #2’s birthday still really was Friday and he wasn’t coming in at all that day (Tuesday) because of the snow (so he wouldn’t know) AND he was going to be out on the actual day of his birthday, I moved the balloons over to his desk.  Recycling.  We had cake for him on Thursday.

Incident #2: The following Monday, Coworker #1’s ACTUAL birthday, I had planned to pick up a cookie cake and balloons on my way in.  TOTALLY forgot.  Thankfully, I get in almost an hour before she does, so I went racing back out to the store.  Back no more than a minute before she got in, but it totally counts.  She doesn’t have to know that, either.

I think I’ve wandered from the point.  What is my point?  Oh.  I’m trying really hard, guys, and still can barely get birthdays right.  It’s a wonder I ever get the real work right.

Yes, THIS

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From an opinion piece describing how the American people are skewing more progressive comes something I wish every middle to left-leaning politician would take to heart:

With the knowledge that most Americans are, in fact, behind them, Democrats no longer need to fear running on their beliefs. They should stop letting special interests on the right hold ideas and ideals hostage and start listening to voters.

Maybe I’d stop hating elections.

Change of perspective

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I have decided to stop feeling like I’m behind on everything.  I’m not behind on the internet; now I’ve got lots of wonderful things to catch up on.  I’m not behind on reading (now that I’ve finished my book club book); I’m reading at my own leisurely pace.  I’m not behind at work; I’ve just suddenly got two jobs to do, and I’m keeping up as best I can.  I’m not behind on blogging, either.  It’s not like I can go back and post something for all those days my mind was elsewhere.  I’m where I’m supposed to be, and that’s okay.

Yoga class was nice last night.  Can you tell?

Because it’s Friday

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Oh, how I want this dress.

(More pictures.)

And I want to be a princess.  And I want a pony.  And world peace.  I can’t have any of that, but I can have funny cat videos. It’s one of my inalienable rights as an internet user.

Also, if you have 4 minutes to spare, watch this. Jimmy Steward wrote a poem, and I cried.

Pastoral fantasy

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John and I live in the middle of suburbia.  The epitome of suburbia.  It really really can’t get more suburban than where we live.  Lots of houses that all look the same, lots of people driving the same kinds of cars along all the same streets to take the same long commute to get to work and back.  When I go for a run in the morning, I’m running by the early-risers and long lines of cars.  There’s one stretch behind the high school where I run in the scraggly grass with the road on my right and the baseball field on my left, and usually I focus on the gradual uphill climb and uneven ground.  The other day I noticed little purple flowers lining the worn path in the grass, lots of little purple flowers, and for just a few seconds, I could ignore the cars zooming by 8 feet to my right and pretend I was running in a mountain meadow full of wildflowers.  It was a nice daydream, even if it didn’t last long.

A couple of days later, I spent a few minutes talking to a trail runner about where he runs and how to get there.  I may end up hating running on uneven ground (or where there may be snakes and other unpleasant things), but it’s something I’d like to try.  I think.

 

Let’s be shallow for a while. Try it. It’s fun.

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In a perfect world – and by a perfect world, I mean my perfect world, of course – I would be an inch or two taller (5’6″ is so boring), 25 to 30 pounds lighter, I would live in one of the places showcased by Desire to Inspire, and my wardrobe would be chosen by someone with great taste and plenty of money (’cause they’d be buying it for me – it’d be okay, since this is my perfect world, if that money were my own).  That would be the best part.  Someone else to do my clothes shopping, someone to put my outfits together.  Comfortable, good-looking, classic, good quality.  The clothes, too.  🙂  Tom and Lorenzo could live next door so they could send me right back inside when my personal shopper/wardrobe consultant failed and/or my lack of fashion sense reared its ugly head.  And I’d have a personal chef, preferably one who is capable of making deliciously wonderful meals that look like they have too many calories (lots of cheese, cream sauces, chocolate, etc) but really hardly have any.  A magic chef.

I wouldn’t need to be a princess if I had all of that.  I may have just admitted that I still wish I could be a princess.  (I still wear pink and purple, too.  Quite often.  Not usually at the same time.  At least I recognize my need for wardrobe help.)  The Princess Diaries speaks to me, partly because, really, how cool would it be if you woke up one morning and found out you’re a princess?  And partly because DUDE.  Julie Andrews is your grandmother.  We would sing ALL the time.

I can think of plenty of other things that would make my world perfect, both shallow and not, but the real world is beckoning and I kinda have to pay attention to it.  Damn reality.