A small illness

I wonder how many blog posts/diary entries/letters have begun with "I hate being sick." Or how many have begun with "I wonder how many..." (but let's not go down that recursive road). At any rate, I've had a nasty cold that knocked me out of life other than what was absolutely necessary: feeding Maia, caring for Chloe, going to work because the US sucks for maternity care and I don't have any sick days and we can't afford to lose any of my time. Ahem. I went to bed as soon as Chloe did for several nights running, or tried to; Maia's close to but not yet at the point where we want to start sleep training her (she needs to space out her meals a little longer first) and so if she wouldn't sleep, I couldn't. Theoretically Eric could watch her, but he's got a deadline on the textbook he's writing, and I do want to let him have the evenings child-free when he can since he has them all day. Of course that doesn't, or shouldn't, mean that he goes off duty when I get home, because that would mean I was working all hours while he wasn't, but I can be kind.

I'm still not well, but my body is in cleanup stage: cough winding down, gunk removed not being replaced, hunger starting to come back. I read the other day a description of shingles that ran something like "They don't just give you medicine for the pain, they give you antidepressants to manage your mood" and realized with interest that I'm never depressed when I'm sick. I mean, I'm unhappy about being sick; but I don't have that my life-is-worthless, the-future-is-dread kind of mopeyness. Maybe it's because when I'm sick, the future is bright because in the future I won't be sick. Or that when I'm sick my body shuts down higher-level things like existential angst and focuses on survival, which is wholly appropriate. At any rate, I look forward to being able to afford existential angst.

Ivy Lee mode

I had a long to-do list this morning, longer than I wanted, longer than was easily winnowable as some days' lists are. I've been going back and forth between several of the items, working on a bit here, a bit there, trying to find something I can finish and check off and not finding it. Just a little while ago I settled into Ivy Lee mode and have started crossing things off. I already knew this works...but the temptation to flit is strong. Why is that? Because I'm highly distractable? I still take breaks between, and during, items to surf the Web, chat, dawdle, make lists for myself...but I do get more done.

Reading this post will increase your risk of expatiation by 43%.

This study says that in older women, those who ate more of current dietary guidelines (fruits, vegetables, whole grains, low-fat animal products) had a 30% less death rate from all causes, but especially cancer and cardiovascular disease.

This article describes two studies looking at the relationship between eating habits and non-Hodgkin's lymphoma (cancer of white blood cells). One showed that people who ate most vegetables had a 42% lower risk of non-Hodgkin's lymphoma; the other showed a 51% lower risk. [I'm not sure exactly what they were looking at here--the study design sounds dubious the way the article describes it--but that's not relevant to my point.]

This article describes a study finding that people who increased consumption of fruits and vegetables by approximately two servings per day reduced their risk of head and neck cancer by 6%.

(Incidentally, the Book of Daniel apparently agrees with these studies, according to Wikipedia. I'll have to pull out my Bible and see if I can find this.)

I think the way they provide this information is interesting, and not very effective. "Vegetables/fruits/whole grains lower your risk of X, Y, and Z." It's a perfectly legitimate and honest way to present their findings. But it has no real impact to me, viscerally or psychologically. Why? I think it's because (a) I don't know what my base risks of X, Y, and Z are, and (b) my assumption is that my risk is pretty low ("it can't happen to me" fallacy). So why do I need to worry about lowering my risk any further? Can't be that important. Result: I don't really care about this information.

But what if the scientists and journalists wrote it this way? "Eating two or more servings of junk food daily increased older women's risk of death by 43%." "Replacing vegetables with junk food increases your risk of non-Hodgkin's lymphoma by 70%." That means more to me. They're telling me that this is something I'm (probably) doing that's endangering my health by a lot.

Admittedly, they'd have to redesign new studies to be able to say these things. But it's interesting that scientists are looking hard at what's healthy--on the assumption that we don't know--and ignoring what's unhealthy. The basic assumption that they, and we, seem to have, is that an unhealthy diet is the standard to judge all things by.

I wonder when this happened, and how it coincided with the growth of nutritional research. And I wonder what it would take to change it.

I'm a regular

I went with my friend at work to lunch today, to the Coney Island we usually go to. The waitress there, our favorite, knew our drinks before we ordered them. I've never been a regular anywhere before. It was kind of neat, but also kind of scary. We'd go other places if there were any within reasonable driving distance.

I don’t know why I've been so quiet on this blog of late. I know it's partly because the gardening thing is interesting and easier, and it's partly because my words seem to have dried up a bit. But journaling is usually easy. I've been writing 500 words a night on Shoelace, most nights anyway, but it gets hard and most of what I've recently written is bad. I don't know what to do, other than keep plugging away at it and maybe doing some exercises to practice more. I want to write, but I also like to do other things, and almost everything else is easier, so I do those other things. I had a much easier time of it in 2001 when I was writing PV and had no other hobbies.

Part of it might be because I have Eric now, which means (a) someone to tell things to and (b) someone who shares my life but probably doesn't want to be written about a lot. And I am still adjusting to this whole being married thing. Or rather, this whole having-someone-else-share-my-life thing. I'm mostly happy with the way things are, but it still requires thinking about when I can no longer say "Sure, come on over" because my husband might need quiet for studying, or when I have to think about whether to get an expensive Christmas present for him because he might or might not think it's worth spending our money on (I decided he would), or when--for example--I really wish I were in some other city doing something else but I can't because I promised I would stay. And also, of course, because my husband and best friend have to stay. And it's very strange to want to go, with him, but also want to stay here because it would make him happy and moving will make him sad. My marriage does not suck, but the complexity of thinking required in married life sometimes does.

(On the other hand, I kind of like this feeling that I've moved up from a beginner's level of adulthood to perhaps journeyman level. I don't know when master level kicks in. Or does it ever?)

Anyway, yes, things going on, I'm not unhappy, but I'm a little dissatisfied. I don't know if it's because I'm too settled or not settled enough. Arrgh.

But at least I now have someplace I can go where, if they don't know my name, they know what I drink.

Mildly down, and thinking about childhood and presents and genius and crusades and what it might take to get someone like me (or, more specifically, someone like Eric) to really devote one hundred percent to a single cause. While I spin and listen to music and think about writing and quilting. More later, maybe.

On packing lunches when school is out.

The sky is darkening, and the sound of the Moody Blues is fading. They're playing at the Toledo Zoo, and since we live about half a block away, I got to hear a free partial concert. I spent some time outdoors walking and some weeding (and acknowledging that three cantaloupe plants is probably more than anyone needs, and three slicing cucumber plants certainly is). I'm more depressed than when I went out, which annoys me.

Eric's been off the past couple of weeks, and he's been (a) bored (b) listless because of a lack of a schedule (c) not eating or drinking enough (d) not sleeping well and (e) worrying because of all of the above. Thus he called me today, sounding extraordinarily down. When he's depressed, or highly anxious, he gets in a mood where he's low and self-pitying and won't listen to reason or experience (even his own), and it scares me a bit when he gets like that. It doesn't last, but as he says himself, what if someday it does? And why can't I do anything? I want to be able to do something.

I've been doing well at work these days (I'm not sure simple competence should have me feeling so chipper, but it does) and I suggested that I could start coming home for lunch, at least for the week and a half he's still got off. After that is the honeymoon and after that school starts, at least partially, and he should be fine. Until then, I think I'm either taking longer lunches than usual, or packing lunches for Eric to eat. When he's actually working he does it himself, but part of the problem is that he doesn't think about food until his blood sugar is too low for him to be able to make good decisions. He worries me sometimes. He's a high-maintenance guy.

I wonder if all shy people hate horror movies; or, what I think about at work.

I was going upstairs to talk to someone about a problem I have at work (a technical problem, that is) and reflecting as I have before that this job, plus the one before, has been excellent for me and my shyness. I always hated calling strangers, or talking to people about technical problems like this; my heart would pound and my face would get warm, and it was awful. But lately I haven't been getting that feeling. I pick up the phone to call some client I've never spoken with and for whom I may well not have any answers, and I wait for that reaction, and it doesn't come. It's very strange. I'm still a little reluctant to do things like that, but I no longer dread it.

So I started thinking about why it went away, and then why it started in the first place. What happened in my early childhood to make me shy? I could imagine that perhaps as a child I was afraid of new things and new people, and got that reaction of dread whenever I had to encounter them, and my fear of that dread led to a fear of the things that caused the dread, and made me averse to new people. (Shyness goes way further than that…but let's keep things simple.) But in that case why isn't everyone shy? Some people positively love strangers. Did those extroverts never experience fear of new people, or did they simply get over it rather than experiencing aversion to it? And if so, do they enjoy fear more than shy people--say, at the movies?

Microscopic examination

I went looking for the reason why the first flower on a cucurbit (cucumber, squash, melon) is always male. Here, I found out, and also found the most beautiful photos and microscopy of a squash blossom ever. Maybe not ever. I've never seen other microscopy images of squash blossoms. Anyway, gorgeous and cool, and they made me happy. I'm very much in a garden state of mind these days. Some quilting. No writing, other than daily journal entries. Does this make me a non-writer? Fickle? In hiatus? Or just lazy?

Not enough covered

Now that we're up against it, I don't want this wedding anymore. What I want is to ditch the dress with the neckline that my mom cut too low (apparently at my dad's suggestion--I guess they really want grandchildren quickly?), buy a light sundress that doesn't require a bustier, and forget the music and the processional. I want a small group of my closest friends and family gathering around in a pretty spot with trees around, I want them to be comfortable and have drinks and snacks, and I want to say my vows without a lot of fanfare. And right after the vows, I want to get the party started without posing in dozens of pictures.

I can't do that, because Mom's already made the dress, and…well, actually, I think that's the main objection. We paid a deposit for the chairs, but we could abandon it, and my current dream wedding would be more flexible in the event of rain--which the weather channel is still predicting--anyway. There are people coming we don't care as much for as some people who aren't coming, but that's inevitable for any event, I think. The bridesmaids could still wear their nice dresses, and the groomsmen could leave off their vests and just help out with serving food. Except we've got someone from the catering company serving.

Ah, well. It won't happen anyway. Right now Eric is making ice cream and finishing up the programs (I hope), and Mom and Dad are driving around town, buying things. We might not have music for the processional--if I can't think of something I want and that Eric will find acceptable--but there will be a processional and a recessional, and the bridesmaids and groomsmen lining up, and the people staring at my too-exposed chest, and toasts and cake-cutting and traditional silliness, and I think--I think--it's mainly because of the dress my mother made me.

Marching on

We went to the Toledo Symphony on Saturday, their season finale, Beethoven's Ninth. The first and second movements were great fun, the third was pleasant but boring, and the fourth was good except for the soloists. I feel like a Philistine, but the truth is I don't appreciate operatic voice. It doesn't sound like music. The chorus was great; it sounded like another instrument. But the soloists sounded dissonant; something about what they do to produce the full-bodied voice threw me off, and I wished they weren't there. Also the soprano wore color, which I didn't think was allowed.

We've also been talking this weekend about economic recession or collapse, and about climate change, and then about the two together, though only briefly because it's depressing to think about. It's confusing, talking about how I might live to observe how global warming triggers an ice age or how civilization collapses under the weight of its own advances, but I'm also planning a wedding, thinking about children, saving for my retirement.

But the wedding planning continues apace; we've figured out our vows and the ring ceremony (and explanation--Eric had way too much fun with this) and are just filling in the introduction and segues. We bought strawberries and peaches for ice cream (the first peaches of the season! We didn't think we'd see any!) and papyrus for the centerpieces (and to be potted for the gazebo) and a bed for us eventually but Mom and Dad in the next week.

We also bought lots and lots of fruit leathers from Target, because our only other source is Trader Joe's in Ann Arbor, an hour away, and a small bay tree (for me; Eric was only humoring me until he saw how big the leaves are and how much the small ones cost in the store), and five cucumber seedlings in two pots. We're doing our part to support the economy, though it's not as much as some. (We were talking about how the subprime (?) real estate businesses might bring about the recession, when all those people on interest-only mortgages default, and I wondered how much Americans spend as opposed to how much they have to spend. If everyone lived within their means--counting mortgage payments as rent--would we have a slower economy? A more stable one?) And we bought some fluorescent lightbulbs and installed them, so we're doing our part to support the environment, though that's a very very tiny part.

Hobbies, happiness, and me

A friend of mine at work, who's getting married the weekend after we are, mentioned that she and her fiance are getting premarital counseling from their minister. "He asked us a bunch of getting-to-know-you questions," she said, "Only he asked me the ones about R, and vice versa. Then he asked us to name one thing about the other that we'd change if we could. I couldn't think of anything for R, except that I wish he'd take the trash out more often. Then R thought that meant I wished he'd do more around the house, but actually I'm happy with it, I just don't like the trash."

I asked Eric this question a few days ago and he thought of two things: to make me happier, and to make it so that I didn't have so many hobbies. "You're not as deep into gardening," he said when I asked if there was any in particular he wished I'd drop. "But then again fresh veggies are good. I don't know."

(I'm not so sure I'm not in deep with gardening. I have dozens of little plants on my windowsill and under my SAD light, and I'm wearing a path between the back porch and the garden by checking on it so often. I suspect I'm going to end up simply making it a path and maybe lining the garage side with mulch and bushes to make it look better.)

We've been talking about working on having a baby once we get married, and I've been hesitating about it--which is unusual, since we've both been baby-crazy for quite a while now. My hesitation about it is the only reason not to: we'll have a home, good jobs, reasonable financial stability, strong relationship, the desire for it, etc. But I'm not sure I have enough--am enough--to offer a baby. I'm content in my current job, but I don't want to be this way forever. Possibly having a kid would help me feel more fulfilled, but that's a rotten reason to have one. I may have written about this before, I can't remember; I've been thinking about it lots.

I want to know what sort of mother I'm going to be--as a person, not a parent. (I think, I hope, I'm going to be okay as a parent. I'm going to try, anyway.) I was thinking, I know some things I would like to do. So why aren't I doing them? And the answer is because it's easier; because my time is filled up; because I'm occupied, reasonably contented, and in a position where I don't have to do anything different. And tonight I wondered if this would be different if I didn't have so many hobbies.

Right now, I've got the wedding to plan, of course; that'll be done in a month. I've also got a quilt to finish before the wedding (so we can sleep under it on the new bed we need to get so we have a spare bed to offer Mom and Dad when they stay here), and another one for a baby shower in late June; I've got yarn to spin for a present; I've got a Christmas tree skirt E wants me to piece together (even though she got a better sewing machine than mine for Christmas); I want to spin yarn for and then knit Christmas stockings; I was thinking about making shawls of some sort for my bridesmaids and me--it's too late to knit them, but I could sew simple ones. I always have projects. I got my spinning wheel the other day, and tonight, in between making summer curtains for the kitchen, I practiced on it. I love it. I enjoyed the curtains too, simple and repetitive as they are. But I could be spending my energy on other things. Harder things. I can see where Eric's coming from, wishing I had fewer hobbies (though it's not like I don't waste plenty of time in the computer room with him...but then, you know, I talk to him about them). I'm wondering if I have a better reason for wishing it myself.

(But I don't think I'll be giving up the spinning. This wheel is the awesomest thing ever. Plus I got lots of freebies and Michelle wants to use it to make a Mother's Day present for her mom. How cute is that? I could give up the quilting, I think, after the baby shower quilt, at least for a time--though I had wanted to start submitting patterns to magazines. But I never seem to have the time to sit down and write them out. Yeah, freeing up my time would be a good idea.)

Declamations from the height of my great age.

It's my last day to be twenty-six. There will be no birthday celebration, unless you count the angelfood cake and sweetened strawberries that I made myself yesterday and will be eating with Eric tonight, and no birthday present until I order my spinning wheel, which I haven't done because I don't feel the time is right. (What's really going on is that I'm in the miser phase of my financial-emotion cycle. Wait until I get back to the eager-to-buy side, otherwise known as Being My Father's Daughter.) And I'm okay with that. I want to ease into twenty-seven anyway.

I'm starting to notice true signs of aging--very slight, of course; but I'm definitely not as limber as I used to be, or as easily recovered from a night of little sleep. And of course there are all the mental adjustments that I continue to go through: am I really mostly through my twenties? Do I feel like an adult yet? How did I get here? Am I satisfied with how I've spent my time? How do I improve myself for the future? What do I really want out of my remaining time on the earth, and how do I get it?

Which is not to say I consider myself old or anything. I don't suppose people often do; you don't live seventy or eighty or ninety years all at once, but one day at a time, and one day is the only rock we have on which to stand. But I know I've now got probably a third of my life behind me, and I still don't know what's ahead. This whole getting married thing has helped with that, but only a little; I'll be living here two years, then on the West Coast two years; we hope to have children, and fairly soon; and that's about it. These things help to shape my awareness of the future and my plans for it, but they only help.

As a twenty-six-year-old, I have worked at a job I didn't like with horrible management; found a job I do like with good management (and much better pay); lived with someone else for the first time since 2002 and for the first time ever with a guy (well, one not related to me); planned most of a wedding; taken up gardening; saved quite a bit of money (oh, there's another post related to that--maybe tomorrow, if it's resolved then); worked on clarifying what actually makes me happy. There's more work to do, of course, but that's life.

One thing I need to do as a twenty-seven-year-old is sort out my hobbies and time-drains so that I actually have time to work on some things. And walk more. One thing about my previous job, it made me healthy (mainly because I spent as much time as I dared running up and down the stairwell, partly for exercise and partly out of frustration). I'm afraid I will not look buff and impressive in my wedding dress. But I'll look like me, which is what I'm working towards being all the time.

In Case of Apocalypse

Jen has a very interesting post up with a review of the book The End of Food and some comments on gardening. I wouldn't have thought of gardening as subversive--I worked in the yard yesterday and felt that I was, in fact, becoming very suburban-cliched, though I suppose I was weeding the flower beds and spreading mulch (and getting rid of the stupid landscaping fabric the previous owner put down and then didn't adequately cover) at the time rather than planting seeds. But I see what she means; my same-age peers have always been amazed that I cook my own food, let alone grow it.

(My broccoli seeds sprouted. I don't know where I'm going to put all this broccoli. Not to mention the tomatoes and eggplants and basil that are crowding my southern windows. And I've still got zucchini and cantaloupe to start in April. I'm going to see if the mothers want any plants, or if anyone at work does. Next year, when I have more confidence in the inherent ability of seeds to grow, I'll plant more wisely. Was this another facet of society's growing disconnection from the earth, or just simple lack of faith in myself?)

There was a post on a gardener blog I read recently--I can't remember where; I've been all over the blogosphere lately, staving off boredom when I run out of things to do at work--in which she posited that you could save only five seeds (species) to survive on after an apocalypse. She chose three vegetables--one was the tomato--and two flowers, as I recall, snapdragons and something else with an edible tuber. She said you can't live without beauty. I considered this and decided that mine would be some sort of grain (amaranth/wheat/rye/quinoa--I'd have to research their nutritional and growing properties to choose properly), a bean (protein, stores well), potatoes (healthy, filling, stores well), flax (seeds for eating, fibers for clothing, and hey, the flowers are pretty), and I'm not sure about the last--some sort of vegetable, maybe a green since I don't have any, but then greens don't keep and if anything botanical has survived, I bet dandelions have and we could eat those. I considered tomatoes, since they have lots of vitamins and can be dried for winter (I was really concerned about winter--though one of the first things I'd do if it became evident I was going to have to live off the land and my two hands is move south), but then the rest of the plant is poisonous. Maybe carrots. They'd store well too. Or raspberries or blackberries, maybe--fruit would be important, but trees would take years to get established and we could die of scurvy before then.

I mentioned this to Eric last night--he suggested corn as an alternative to grain or flax--and this got us on the subject of whether we'd survive an apocalypse, assuming it weren't the nuclear-war-everything-is-going-to-die kind. Perhaps a modern Black Plague wipes out 99.9% of the population (Eric got concerned about the gene/labor pool and I pointed out that 0.1% of the population is a lot more now than it was in 1346), or non-nuclear warfare devastates the country/planet, or asteroids hit, or Prada and Lean Cuisine go out of business the same day and most of the world commits suicide in despair. I can garden (at least a little, and if the apocalypse holds off a few years I'll know more), spin, knit, sew, and cook. Eric said, "I don't think I'm going to be very useful," but then he knows a lot about chemicals, smelting, medicine, and random stuff generally, and he's good at building things. If we had his mother along we'd be okay for water (she's head scientist at the local water company), and if we had his sister along we'd be good for medical care (she's a nurse). We discussed what we'd need, what we'd want put into an emergency pack or stash. This is the first time I've ever heard him willing to own a gun. We discussed what we'd do with pets, how to get people to band together for survival, whether it would be best to head away from the remains of civilization for a few years, what to do with useless or dangerous people, how long it would take to communicate with other continents and to rebuild if we knew what we were building toward. We'd want to record things, to make sure that we didn't lose what knowledge we have, and to try and avoid whatever mistakes led us to the apocalypse. I said, "There would be no more chocolate. No tampons, no birth control…and no epidurals." And no World of Warcraft, but then, we'd kind of be living it. He said, "This would be an interesting book to write. 'In Case of Apocalypse, Read This Book.'"

The Parable of the Sower discusses this a little--the story is about a collapsing American society and a girl who prepares for the collapse with an emergency pack and survival skills that she eventually has to use and is able to begin a new community with. (It doesn't mention epidurals.) And Eric says I need to read Nightfall the novel, as it also discusses how to start over and the political types who would try to take advantage of other people. But mainly I want to start reading more practical stuff--I wanted to learn more about canning and preserving anyway (I have some apple butter in the cupboard, but if I have as many tomatoes this summer as I hope to I'll have to branch out), and I have books on medicinal herbs and basic survival skills, and of course I want to learn more about growing things, and as my family gets bigger my gardens will get bigger. I hope I won't ever truly need these skills--I think--but I'd feel a lot better knowing them.

Mawwiage. And weddings.

We did some wedding stuff this weekend, finally. Eric got started doing the invitations (he's designing them in Illustrator, and getting an unholy amount of glee out of doing it) and I arranged a meeting with the cake maker. Today he's going to call the person at the thing (you had to be there) to find out whether we actually get a honeymoon this year, and I'm going to go get paper samples. And maybe some muslin for the kitchen curtains, because this lovely green linen blend I got is too dark. Any suggestions on what to do with approximately one-yard blocks of green linen are welcome.

And I was reading this Whatever post on how marriage is now mostly for the upper classes, or at least the non-poor. The comments veer towards the cost of weddings, with mentions of how marriage changes things. I don't think marriage will change anything fundamental for Eric and me. We've already committed ourselves to each other; we're already dealing with finances and obligations and life in general as a pair. (I still talk about my money as separate from his, but only in the present tense. We haven't technically joined finances yet, just bill payments.) We've had eight years to get to know each other, even though we've only spent the last two as a couple.

Bev told me that she felt the moment of legal marriage was more important than the ceremony. I'm sorry she feels that way, since we're going to be doing the legal stuff the Friday before and having the wedding on Sunday (but hey--at least they're only separated by two days, rather than my parents' two weeks), but I don't agree. (I'll take her along as a witness, though.) Some of those comments were on how doing things the traditional way is what drives up the expense of weddings, but they want those traditions--the cake, the dancing, the being carried around in a chair. I want that too--well, not those things specifically, but the reason that we're having a wedding at all is because I felt the legal recognition is not enough. We're not religious, but I recognize the ceremony of a wedding as deeply meaningful, to this culture and to me personally. I don't need my marriage recognized by God or state (though state is definitely useful, which is why we're doing it), but I do feel the need to stand up in front of everyone I love and say that I am no longer me but we; that on that day I am part of a new family as well as the old. Though in some ways that's false, because the new family is already begun. But I want the rite with which to say it, publicly and all at once, to everyone important to me and everyone who will need to know it in the future.

That aside, though, weddings are a pain. This is an extremely low-stress, relatively low-cost wedding and I'm wishing we'd gone with "a party in each hometown" or "ceremony at the courthouse, post pictures on a website afterward" instead. I've never been good at hosting parties. I hope this one will be fun. A lot of people are coming a long way at high cost to see this, and I want it to be both meaningful and enjoyable for them. Someone in that comments thread on Whatever said something about perhaps big, lavish weddings tend to precede failed marriages because the weddings become about the bride rather than the couple. (Notwithstanding that in the early days of wedding planning people kept telling me "Do what you want; you're the bride." Probably they still would if I were still talking to anyone about wedding planning.) I'm starting to think that the wedding is really about the guests, the way ceremonies are often about the witnesses. Trees falling in the forest, you know. Cats in a box with poison gas. Or maybe I just feel that way because I'm me, and I'm having second thoughts about walking up the aisle (of grass, under preferably non-dripping trees…), not because of who I'm walking towards but because I'm going to have to say things in front of nearly a hundred people and I'm probably going to be crying. Whose idea was this anyway?

On feeling worthwhile

Well, the ice storm turned out to be a fizzle. There was a little ice, but nothing spectacular and nothing dangerous. I won't exactly say phooey, but it's close. At any rate, getting to work was uneventful. Being at work was not, because I had things to do almost all day. It was nice. I feel so much better when I feel like I'm contributing something. And I've discovered that when I feel I'm being useful at work, I'm happy. I don't need to be doing something extremely worthwhile (technical sales? Give me a break) or beneficial to mankind or exercising most of my brain. As long as I feel competent and useful, I'm content. Well, and if I have reasonably competent management and decent company policies.

I always figured I'd get to this point in my life and psyche eventually, where my ambition would finally quiet and I'd be okay with plodding my way through ordinary life. Everyone does it, after all, and I don't know that I believe so many skilled, intelligent people could live the proverbial life of quiet desperation without protest. It would probably be harder to content me if I didn't have other things that I do consider worthwhile and brain-exercising (or at least skill-developing) that I'm also quite involved in. Also--to be honest--if I didn't have the prospect of starting a new family. That figures into things way more than it used to, and--along with nagging my SO, going on cleaning binges, and cooking without measuring--helps to prove I am rapidly turning into my mother.

She likes me, she likes me not

Eric's mom distributed Christmas presents at dinner tonight. These weren't from her, but from Eric's aunt, who lives in Atlanta. I've met her a few times. The first time she said little to me at first, then came to me later and said, "I'm sorry I've been so cold to you; you look so much like someone I don't like very much." Subsequent meetings have been while visiting her dying husband, but despite that she's seemed to like me and be happy that I'm going to be in the family. So these presents: Eric's mom, and Eric's sister, and Edith, and Edith's daughter Michelle, all got jewelry. I got a mezzaluna, a moon-shaped two-handled knife meant for mincing herbs. I'm not sure what to think of this. It's not that I'm displeased not to have received jewelry; I don't wear much and I probably wouldn't have much use for what she picked out for me, considering what the others got (pretty, but not my taste). But I'm pretty sure she doesn't know me well enough to know that. So did she get me this (admittedly interesting, though hardly essential) kitchen tool because she took the time to either think that I'd like a practical tool or ask Brenda or Edith what I'd like, or did she pick out something at random because she didn't feel I deserved the same kind of gift as every other female in the family? (Note that Edith and Michelle are not technically family. I mean, neither am I, but that will change in three and a half months. Edith and Michelle's status won't.) Or did she decide that if I should kill her nephew, I ought to at least have a nice sharp implement to do it most quickly and painlessly?