I'm not sure what to think.

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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.

Summertime and the theft is good

My Toledo estimated quarterly tax is due. Which is fine, except that I can't find the form to accompany it on the Toledo government website. There's a document on the municipal tax code itself, and a document for businesses on withholding it for employees (which my employer won't do, I asked), and there's the 2007 yearly form that says QUARTERLY ESTIMATED TAXES ARE REQUIRED twice and states that there is a form, but I can't find the form. You know what I can find? a "Tax Report" form with which I can report anyone I think is not paying the Toledo tax they should.

Also, I was woken up by a call this morning from a computer saying "If you are [me], press 1." I did so. It went on, "To verify your Citi Card billing address, enter your zip code." I hung up, thinking that phishing had gotten offline and into my phone and we were all doomed. Later, I found I had another message purportedly from Citi Cards, so I checked my account and found a $1,247 (or so) charge on it from Sears Roebuck. I called, and spoke with a lady who had terrible trouble deviating from her script when I asked questions, and closed the account. Apparently I have to wait for a Security Affidavit that they're going to send me before I can send in paperwork to contest the charge, but I shouldn't have to pay it in the meantime. Apparently there was a second charge after this, to Macy's, that didn't go through. I'm displeased with Citi for other reasons and intended to close this account anyway, but I'm grateful they have the security measures they do.

I'm also perplexed on how someone got my credit card number, as I haven't used this card in months (see aforementioned intention). I'm wondering if it had something to do with the Amazon order I put through months ago for Eric's Dungeons & Dragons edition four books, which just recently came out and was charged then to this card, only it didn't go through because there was some sort of error. Did the error involve someone taking the number out of Amazon's system for their own purposes? They only got a single, if expensive, item out of it, though. I wonder what they bought from Sears, and if I would have liked it.

The best is the enemy of the good

Complacency is my enemy. I think I have to remember that. I have received a kick in the pants from M, who is good at administering such kicks, to start working more actively on my career ideas again. I haven't forgotten them, but I've let them slide a little while I do all the other little things that make up my life.

Also procrastination. I have on my desk an Executive Crayon Pen, a Father's Day present for my dad. I did send his card, but this present is going to have to go expedited mail, and I'll have to get up early to get to the post office to do it. I'd have been better off sending it last week...but I didn't.

I am participating in the America on the Move challenge, which basically says that on average Americans are gaining weight and we need to stop it, and 1000 extra steps and 100 fewer calories will do it. I'm not worrying about my calories, but I'm participating in the "Oregon Trail" six-week challenge, which requires about 8400 steps a day. I'm currently at 9100, if my pedometer is to be believed (it isn't always, but it's all I've got), due to a half-hour walk at work and some gardening, plus walking to the other building whenever I needed the bathroom. I think this'll be good for me. I'm only doing it because Bev organized it and asked the family to do it. I have to admit it kinda burns me that she's ahead of all of us. Not enough to make me get up early to run, the way she's doing it, but I'm definitely feeling a competitive edge that I don't often feel.

I'm currently working on a post about gambling behaviors and feeling like I ought to cite. I probably ought to. I don't think Wordpress does superscript, though. I shall just have to use something else.

Things move, and people too

My seam ripper is missing. This is severely problematic. I have Dad's quilt to finish by July 1, when we go out. And not only is it not started, but I've got this other quilt to finish first. And to do that I need to rip out part of the also severely problematic back and redo it. Then pin, quilt, and bind--not too hard, especially since I can leave off the binding until there's more time, since it's just our summer bed quilt. But I can't find my seam ripper, which means I can't rip out the seam, which means I can't progress.

I was going to go to Joann to pick up a replacement seam ripper and maybe some cotton-acrylic or wool-acrylic yarn if I found some on sale for a baby sweater for my friend who already made me a baby blanket (I'm not pregnant and she knows it; she says she ran out of people to give blankets to and it's the only crochet stitch she knows). But Eric called because his friend from school had just told him she got a job offer, and he's worried because he was slightly later than his classmates at applying for jobs and is afraid he won't get one at all.

So I went home, and we talked. Some of the things he said were a bit odd--for example, that he would never be able to support our family. I mean, he went into teaching knowing what the salary would be like, and I've never demanded that he support the family single-handedly, and I don't expect myself to do it either (I am technically now, but by the skin of our teeth--but then, if we were permanently going to live on just my salary we'd be making some lifestyle changes). Some went back to our one big issue: where we're going to live. We talked, and as usual didn't get much resolved, but he seemed a little heartened that I wasn't disappointed in him for not having a job yet. I was put in mind of how I felt in early 2006, when I was living in my Toledo apartment, jobless and despairing and playing way too much World of Warcraft.

And instead of quilting, I spent the evening gardening and cooking. (Eric was at his weekly gaming session.) I planted some peppers and cotton and sunflowers and cantaloupe, and swatted mosquitos, and picked some spinach in the hopes it won't bolt so quickly this year. At least I've been able to enjoy some. And then I made marinated spinach salad, and chai ice cream, and brownies for the chocolate chocolate chocolate nut ice cream we're making at Eric's dad's request for our party this weekend. Other flavors we've made for the party: pineapple and lemon. Other flavors planned: strawberry (by popular demand), root beer, and apple cinnamon. We're very much enjoying the experimental part of this hobby.

I think I'm going to have to revisit my idea last year of cutting off hobbies until I get my writing tasks and ideas in order. Ice cream doesn't take much time. Neither does bread baking. But the non-food crafts do. I need to keep up the garden, and I really do need to finish these two quilts; but otherwise I may want to place a moratorium on non-literary creativity until further notice. Though that'll be hard...I want to knit some reusable grocery bags from the cotton I have that I won't use otherwise, and there's a bunch of spinning fiber I want to get to, and I wanted to make Christmas stockings this year, and I have the perfect baby sweater picked out and C will love it.

Why, and why not?

My head hurts. Wherefore the hurting? Specifically, it's my eyes that hurt, and in the way that usually comes from a day of staring at the computer without actually engaging in it (i.e., it happens when I'm bored at work and go Web-surfing, but not when I'm working all day or when I'm on to write). However, I've spent almost no time on the computer today. We slept late, I talked to Dad (he was fishing), we went shopping, I watched my coworker and her sister and brother-in-law dig out our lilac tree (I think they killed it, but it's their problem now), I worked in the garden, I read. I repeat, wherefore the hurting?

Anyway, I shall leave the computer momentarily, but first I wanted to note this: I was doing some research for my neurofinance blogging gig, looking through my old textbooks and doing a PubMed search and writing down notes, and writing up a draft, and I realized: I love this. I was truly having a fantastic time reading about science and writing about it. Why did I give up the science writer idea? It is now officially back on the table.

The question is, do I need to go back to school for it? If I want to go to the program in Santa Cruz, for example, I need to decide fairly soon so that we can change our plans for next year (assuming I got in) and get used to the idea of 250% the amount of student debt we currently have. I already know there's a series of classes at UW on science writing but no program. On the other hand, Catherine Shaffer got into it on the strength of a science background, writing skill, and determination to do it. I've been feeling myself slowly come around to a more writing-friendly, writing-focused perspective lately. I don't know what's doing it, since I've been trying and failing to get here for quite a while. But I'm coming around. Now, where do I go from here?

Happy us

I've been married for a year now. Good grief. It hasn't been the rocky year people say the first year is--at least, not for marriage reasons. We went out to the park where the wedding was, and the bookstore where we spend our time before dinner (the first anniversary is paper!), on Sunday, and out to the restaurant we ate dinner at a year ago this evening. We're good with doing this marriage thing for another year. Happy anniversary to us.

Ah, griping.

We're considering going on strike at work. My department--Technical Services--consists of five people plus the boss, and we are a hub of expertise, client contact, and general figuring-out-how-to-do-things...ness. We are not actually going to strike, but we are irritated, and we are more and more frequently gathering in a knot between MH's cubicle and mine to gripe.

A is our chemistry specialist; not only does she do her job, but she's more or less a supervisor of the actual chemistry department, which is not her responsibility except that the technicians come to her because (a) she knows more and (b) she is more responsive than the chemistry supervisors. MH and I do toxicology. K tends to most projects coming in and checks them for paperwork, to make sure we can do the work, etc. J came to us from the prep room, which is a subdepartment more or less belonging to us, and was meant to be a sort of junior specialist (assistant, working her way up to full specialist) but, since the other prep person is completely unwilling to entertain a partner other than J and has actually chased off a previous employee, and can't handle the work alone, J has been sent back to fill in for prep until we find someone the other prep person can tolerate (or our boss bites the bullet and yells at her to knock it off).

We've recently been asked to (a) start writing special protocols, (b) check certain types of projects coming in for completeness and follow up with clients, and (c) follow up with clients after we've dispensed our expertise to them. None of this is in our job description, and the last one is permanent (so fine, except that I don't like it) but the other two we were told would be temporary, but there are indications that the boss's boss considers us permanent. We also field questions from the labs and from clients' clients and regulatory bodies, help another department with their trainees, collect information, do work for the sales reps that they ought to be doing, and generally fill in a lot of little jobs that nobody else will take responsibility for. Plus with J gone, we're doing all the little things she would otherwise be responsible for (and would in fact prefer to the prep room).

The sales reps get bonuses based on the work we get from their various territories. My department gets none. This actually means that when we help our clients and net big projects, we're supplying the sales reps' bonuses. It's especially hard on MH because he used to be a sales rep. He seems to feel that not being on the road half the time is worth the pay cut, but he, like the rest of us, would like to think that when we're supplying clients with information and telling them exactly what they need to do, explaining how and why, and helping them through the process of getting their stuff in to us, we're not just doing it to enrich the people who keep sending us e-mail saying "I'm out of town, need you to do this. Send paperwork too" and "I got behind, is there anyway (sic) you can handle this?" and "I don't know what this client wants, can you find out?"

Plus I would have had to stay in Baltimore.

I was just looking at the Association for Psychological Science website and found that the current issue of their periodical is on the links between psychology and neuroscience. I took a class from one of the authors of one of the articles. It made me regret leaving grad school for a moment. I thought--and I still think--that these problems are really interesting, even important. I had wanted to do something about it.

But I don't regret leaving really. Staying wouldn't have made me happy. It might have gotten me a tiny corner in this area, if I'd stayed in the program and if I'd gotten a postdoc in something I actually wanted to do, rather than something that sounded vaguely interesting and was the only place I felt I could go. But it wouldn't have given me the wider understanding of the general problem, which is what I really wanted, I think. And I know I wasn't what a graduate school wants out of a grad student: 110% dedicated, willing to put up with politics and late nights and demeaning jobs, willing to put my head down and delve into a tiny niche and never come back up for air. I still don't know what I want entirely, but I really do think I'm happier reading such a publication than contributing to it.

The next subgenre: geek romance

Eric and I talked about whether there would ever be a market for geek romance novels. Our verdict was no, but only once we got past some prejudices about what the term "romance novel" really means, beyond "trashy cover, awful words for sex, plot revolving around fake misunderstandings and sex scenes," and what "book with strong focus on non-romantic relationship" would be called (mainstream, we suppose). The market would probably be mainly geek women, which is sadly too small a slice of the population to be commercially feasible. Eric says it might also garner a following in teen fiction, but I thought it would make more sense in adult, since more people will admit to geekery in adulthood than teendom.

But we decided the subgenre could spawn some awesome book covers. Picture a man in a labcoat, baring his white chest, hints of a calculator peeking from behind the edge of the coat, and Star Trek boxers.

Life is good.

I am currently feeling excellent. The tax thing got taken care of, by the way; I called up the guy I called before and he kind of laughed about it, noted in passing that I was listed under a completely wrong SSN in their system, and removed the charge. Today work was short because of a dentist appointment, which went very well, and after the appointment I went to Bassett's to buy wheat berries, rye berries, and oat bran for bread. I came home and spent a couple of hours in the yard, in the sunny not-too-warm weather, planting corn and echinacea and more parsnips and parsley. Then we made pizza for dinner (calculating along the way that homemade pizza costs us approximately $3 a pizza, which is $0.75 per meal) and now I'm alternately reading and working on my garden records. Soon I will write. I want more pizza but no, maybe I'll have one of the leftover killer brownies.

Bedtime countdown

It is 11:17 (though that will have changed by the time I get done writing--there, it already has) and I am contemplating working on Shoelace in the 13 (now 12) minutes left before bed. Not that we always go to bed at 11:30. In fact, rarely. But last week we were mostly in bed at around midnight, and I was tired as heck--tireder than Eric, in fact, since (a) he got Monday off because his back was spasming and got several hours more sleep and (b) he gets off earlier and naps before I come home. Which is not to say I couldn't nap when I get home...but it hardly ever seems like the right time of day to do so.

Anyway, sleep in 11 minutes now. If I just keep writing there will be no time for Shoelace. Which is okay, despite my not having gotten quite to 50k yet. I've been doing a paid blogging gig, which excites me no end, and I should have had a post up today, but inspiration has not come. It doesn't help that we spent most of the day over at the mothers' for Mother's Day. The mothers seemed pleased with the day, despite rain and gloom destroying their plans for a cookout and an outdoor meal (or at least the outdoor meal; they still used the grill under a huge umbrella). Eric's sister was unhappy with her husband, we think because he didn't get her anything for Mother's Day (or rather their daughter didn't--but since she's fourteen months old, the onus falls on her father) and I was a bit withdrawn overall. But the time passed reasonably pleasantly, and I got some silicone baking sheets for my birthday (which was April 5. My brother-in-law also got the same sheets in a different color. His birthday was in March. The mothers have had these since March, they say, but didn't give them to us because the projected birthday dinner never materialized), and our ice cream (strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate brownie) was a hit.

Now I'm home and I feel like I didn't get enough weekend. Yesterday we spent making ice cream, buying groceries and Mother's Day gifts and jalapeño pepper plants since mine didn't come up (we wanted poblanos too, but every poblano plant we looked at was infested with aphids, so we didn't buy any and informed customer service before we left), and going to the symphony. This week should be relatively slow; Eric's student teaching is coming to an end, and aside from a dentist appointment we should have time to do things we didn't, like clean the house. I want more time. But that's hardly unusual.

And now it is bedtime. Good night!

Not just my wages but also my patience

I got a notice in the mail from the Toledo tax department, saying I owed taxes plus penalties and interest, which about doubled the tax amount. I owed this, the notice said, for 2005.

I moved here in November of 2005, right after leaving my job. I didn't get another one until May of 2006. I don't owe them tax. I told them this several months ago, when they sent out the initial notices saying "We're out of money and so we went back over our records to see what we could squeeze out of people," or rather, "We have conducted an audit, blah blah blah," and told me I owed tax. I didn't owe it for 2005 then and I don't now. (I did owe for 2006, because my current company isn't in Toledo proper and doesn't withhold tax for other cities.) I called up the principal tax auditor conducting this thing and he said, "Yeah, I thought it was unlikely when we sent them out," and told me to send in my old W2s and that should take care of it. Evidently it didn't, or perhaps nobody opened the envelope. I am unamused. I am also uninclined to pay my quarterly taxes since they'll surely just lose the check.

Books books books

My Amazon order came! I got a gift certificate for participating in a blog-related market research interview, you see. Then Eric wanted to use up most of it for his Edition Four D&D books, and I said if he got to spend that much money I was spending an equal amount, and he said okay. So I got Local Breads and Seed to Seed and an Ingrid Michaelson CD recommended by a coworker. Local Breads is looking awesome. It concentrates on local specialties in Europe, mainly sourdoughs and whole-grain recipes, and has two and a half chapters on rye; all of which are completely awesome and exactly what I would like to work on with the baking. (Well, aside from making a decent sandwich bread. I made up a recipe I like except I can't get any oven spring so the loaf is too dense and small. I'm still working on it.) And Seed to Seed promises to be very useful. Haven't listened to the CD yet, but I will. I think it's interesting I didn't get any fiction. Granting that I have plenty unread in the library, it's still a change of reading taste for me.

I'm having busy days--another week of crazy clients (four weeks after the last one, and the same week as the full moon--hmm) while people are gone, and lots to do yard-wise. Eric's final project is finished, which relieves us both mightily. Now he's just got PRAXIS this weekend. He starts studying tomorrow. We bought him a book, and looking through the practice tests I think I could do well on the multiple-choice without having looked through the review sections, though probably not on the constructed-answer questions.

I've been working on a nonfiction thing, and I find it's been way too long since I worked on Shoelace. I shall rectify that tomorrow if possible. Also Eric mentioned the other day that he still has to read PV and get me comments and query letter help. I found it charming that he remembered; it's been a while since I asked and he's been very busy since. In the meantime, though, I'm happy letting it lie and working on other things.

A weekend like all other weekends.

I am down. I was finally recovering from last weekend; this weekend is nothing big, just a finance charge on the credit card for having accidentally selected the wrong bank account with which to pay my bill (does that sound like $40' worth of hassle to you?) and money anxiety in general. I suppose paying taxes doesn't help (though we did get back more than we paid overall, the federal refund was last month and the state/city stuff was last week, so they have more impact). Eric is also behind on his big semester project, which doesn't help either--plus it made us miss Penguicon, which I was looking forward too.

But my seeds are up and I found a pot for my poor cactus for not too much money, and I'm finally finishing two craft projects that have been around a while: a baby dress for Eric's sort-of-sister's baby and Summer Sunrise. I decided I'm going to take down the craft blog; I'm not that interested in devoting time to write about my projects anymore. They're just projects. But the baby dress is cute and has taken a while, and will go off in a box tomorrow, along with low-fat recipes and books in a separate box for James (not that he needs to diet; his doctor suggested it for his cholesterol and also, I'm gathering, because fat in his diet may be causing some of his problems).

And I finally took Summer Sunrise out to finish off (it needs the back done, which I did today, and the quilting and binding) because it's finally gotten warm enough for us to put the down comforter away, and our only alternatives are two twin-size quilts. Last night we pulled out the one, but around 4 AM I got tired of waking up cold and having to wrest it away from Eric and took out the other for me. Summer Sunrise is queen-sized.

I also made cookies and bread and Swiffered and read a lot, and it's been a pretty good weekend really. Anxiety or no. Now if only I can be inspired for this one writing-related thing I have to do. I'd say "or for work," but that's too much to ask. For my birthday my coworkers got me a card that said, "Happy birthday from the smartest people you know," and on the inside, "...You need to get out more." My coworkers are (mostly) very nice people but I felt the inside of the card had an awful lot of truth to it.

Aftermath

When I got home last night, I noticed that the half of the driveway trench closest to our neighbors was filled in with dirt. When I got out of my car, one of them was in the back, grilling. We chatted a while, and I asked him about the dirt. "Yes, I did that," he said.

"I'm sorry," I said. "We really do mean to do it, and I know we took a long time--"

"It was great, I have this pile of dirt in the back from when we redid the backyard, and you guys gave me a chance to use it," he said, kindly.

"Well, we'll put grass seed down at least," I said.

"Got that already," he said. "I also had a half a bag left over, so I got to use that as well."

I went inside and teared up. I'm honestly not sure whether I was happy they were so pleasant and understanding or guilty that we had driven them to such efforts.

Later I snapped at Eric for one of his annoying pleasantries, which turned out to be due to his mishearing what I had said (though I don't doubt he would have said something similar no matter what) and started crying uncontrollably. It had to happen. I'm doing better today. Also, I'm looking up places to find dirt.

Ironically, resenting one's mother-in-law is extremely conventional.

When I'm at work--or generally with people who are not my close friends--I tend to pretend that I'm more conventional than I am: that I care about cars, makeup, celebrity gossip (I do care about work gossip). I smile, I make small talk, I laugh at dumb jokes, I stay quiet about my true thoughts and interests. I was thinking last week that perhaps that time had come to stop doing that, and start being more fearlessly myself.

But perhaps I was wrong. Yesterday Eric and I went over to his mom's so that we could visit and he could work on a video he has to do for school which isn't working on anybody's computer but his mom's. When we arrived, she was complaining about something that was wrong with her computer, so Eric naturally said he would take a look at it before starting on his work. Time went on, and his mom said something about it; he said, "I don't want to be working on this, I want to be doing my homework!" and went back to trying to figure it out. She went away. Not long after, she came back and said, "I didn't ask you to work on my problem. You shouldn't have offered if you were going to be that way about it. I didn't like your tone, and I'm tired of your rudeness."

He was surprised, since he hadn't directed it at her specifically, just meant to vent some irritation at the problem itself. He apologized, and she said again that he had been rude. Eventually she wandered away and fell asleep on the couch; he sat at the computer, upset and unable to work, and we decided to go home.

At home, he threw himself on the bed and I tried to talk to him about this, telling him that he shouldn't take it personally, that his mom had been having frustrations all day (she'd told us about them) and she was just blowing off steam. In the middle of the conversation, she called him. She started out asking why he had gone home, and whether he had finished his video. When he answered, she started a long monologue. I couldn't hear most of her words, just her tone; but in the middle she got louder and Eric sat up, and I could hear her say, "You know what it is? It's your haughty, arrogant, holier-than-thou attitude. The two of you think that you're perfect and the rest of us are constantly wrong. You criticize how Addie's being brought up, you criticize me for watching TV and getting text messaging, nobody can do anything right except for you two. It's not just me who thinks so, but I'm the only one who will say anything about it, and I'm sick of it."

She went on and on, Eric trying to interrupt, trying to say "I'm sorry," and being overriden. Finally she told him he should come over and finish his homework, and hung up.

"I guess it wasn't just her letting off steam," Eric said, and started crying.

He didn't know what she meant by most of the things she said, and neither did I--except that I know that we both (Eric especially) certainly do have opinions on things the mothers do, as well as everything else in the world, and we talk about them. So do the mothers. Essentially, Eric said, the rest of the conversation was saying that he was an arrogant, worthless human being, and the time had come for her to tell him so.

He sank into a depressive stupor. He's been clinically depressed before, and we've been thinking it's probably coming on again, especially with the stress of the past several months. Some things he said, then and later, confirmed it: that while in this catatonia he was thinking of different ways to kill himself, that if he were going to kill himself for being worthless--and since his own mother had told him he was, it must be true--he would have to hurt me too ("Sure," I said, "Otherwise, I wouldn't let you go through with it," but he said that wasn't it, it was:) just in case I happened to be carrying his child because he wouldn't want his genes passed on. That he would never actually do it because whenever he was low enough to think of it he never had the energy to carry it out.* One of my tasks today is to find a psychiatrist on our insurance plan. Eventually I got him to sleep.

*(This is why suicidal people first taking antidepressants have to be watched. The drugs give them energy before they lighten the depression itself. Finally, my psych degree comes in handy.)

Two hours later he woke, still wildly unhappy but at least able to move and talk; we had dinner and talked about what we were going to do about his mother. We toyed with the idea of never talking to her again (which had its appeal), of pretending it never happened (which didn't), of asking Edith for any suggestions, since we didn't know how serious Brenda was about what she had said or what she wanted us to do. Finally we decided we would stay away for the next couple of days, then ask Edith what she thought would be best.

(My God, this has gotten long. It's going to be much longer. Well, this is what happens when I no longer use my notebook as a regular journal.)

Not long after, of course, Brenda called. She wanted to come over. Eric agreed. She sobbed in the entryway that she didn't want to fight, though Eric hadn't been fighting and I hadn't entered the issue at all except as accused by her; then she complained that she wanted to sit but didn't want to take her shoes off (as is our rule in the house), so I told her just to walk into the living room in her shoes. "Yeah, but I just walked over in the mud," she said as she crossed the carpeted floor.

She said she knew she was overly sensitive sometimes, but we were so arrogant and cynical, and she was bothered by it. I asked what she wanted us to do differently, and she said she didn't. She and Eric discussed it, and went on a great number of tangents, and it emerged that she didn't exactly want us to change our behavior, she just wanted to tell us that she didn't like it. She couldn't explain what made us so arrogant except that we didn’t seem to like the same things she did, that most people do: that whenever we say we do things differently, that means we think we're better than her. The Addie thing was completely made up, as was the "it's not just me but I'm the only one who will say anything" bit.

"What can we do to prevent this from happening again in another six months?" I asked her, when she asked what I thought and why I was being so quiet.

"Nothing," she said.

She dragged me over for a hug, and joked at me, and asked why I gave her an inscrutable look sometimes and complained that it unnerved her. The inscrutable look is what I wear when I'm annoyed by her (or whomever) but don't want to say so. I will continue to use it. I will try not to spend much time with her. As a friend of mine (to whom I ranted about this this morning) said, I wouldn't want to be arrogant and critical. I will try to be less myself around her.

And until Eric gets sufficient help, I will try to get him to be less himself around her, too. She knows he's had problems with depression before and that he's under a lot of stress now. She doesn't believe in psychiatrists, though he's seen one in the past with excellent results; he mentioned I was going to find one for him, and she didn't actually tell him it would be useless but expounded on how there was no such thing as a good psychiatrist. (She knows I was a psych major too.)

He's feeling much better, now that they've talked. He says that when it happens next, Edith and I are to simply force them into a room together until they talk. We both know it will probably happen again. If she felt justified in attacking him this time, she'll surely feel justified in doing it some other time. He's going over today to work on his video, but I think this soon after this incident they'll be safe.

Now that he's feeling better, I'm free to feel worse, and I am. The I'd-have-to-hurt-you-too thing didn't faze me at the time, but I'm disturbed by it now. (Not that I don't think I could take him. As he frequently points out, I've taken kickboxing and fencing and I stretch daily and exercise semi-regularly, and his exercise consists of pacing in front of a blackboard all day.) I don't want to go through this again. I probably will, sometime in our lives; but I'd prefer it be for a different reason. And I still don't know how much truth there was to her accusations. Maybe I do need to continue keeping myself to myself.

Not even a year and already I'm psychoanalyzing him.

I did a bunch of work in the yard this weekend. I feel better for it, even though my back was twinging a bit last night. Apparently I really did get older; that never happened before.

Mom sent me two outfits--both rather lower-cut than I'm comfortable with--and a big black handbag, which is, she said, to replace the dreadfully old and out-of-fashion one I own. Said old and out-of-fashion purse is as sturdy and useful as ever, and considerably more reasonable-sized than the new one, at least until I become a mom, so it's not getting thrown out but I will use the new one. Eric didn't get me anything. "Your present from me isn't here yet," he said. "It's on its way?" I said, brightening because I hadn't expected him to have ordered anything. "Well, no," he said.

I then explained that while I don't necessarily need more stuff--an offer to cook dinner or vacuum (which is my job) would have been just as much or more appreciated than a book or a CD--it would have been nice to believe that he thought about me when I was not immediately before him. I would say, "Not even a year of marriage and already he's forgetting my birthday," but the thing is, he didn't forget; he just didn't do anything about it, even though he knew he ought to and voiced an intention to. He had a rough weekend, though, so I didn't push it as much as I would have liked to. There's also the question of whether his overall mood and outlook these days--i.e., possible depression or possible overmedication--is affecting his ability to get things done. He's been sliding on his homework, but then he always does that, so I don't know.

The next few days may bring that to a test, as I'm going to Pennsylvania for a training class. I'm using my new handbag to take on the plane with me. I'm in my usual "What did I forget to pack?" mode, which is normal and therefore not worrisome. This will not exactly be a vacation, but woohoo for something different!

Spoiled

Now the crazy clients have brought in the lawyers. "It's not technically breaking confidentiality if you send this information to a third party..."

Also the coworkers have got the fever. My one coworker asked me to do a couple of routine things for a client this morning. Fine; I did them, sent them to the client who had requested them, and copied the coworker to let him know it was done. "That won't work," wrote Mr. Coworker. "Here, look at this instead." Attached was a file that explained clearly what he wanted--which was nonroutine, though certainly not undoable, and which I had had no indication of before. Here's a hint, Mr. Coworker: you get faster results from me if you tell me what you want BEFORE I do it. With this revolutionary method which may not have occurred to you, not only do I get it right the first time, but there's no delay before I start my second attempt because I'm ignoring your message most of the day in order to get a grip on my temper.

I got home later than I liked because of this do-over, and spoiled my dinner with oranges and chocolate-chip cookies. I've got cinnamon roll dough rising in the kitchen--my yeast came, and my precious 3 lb. of organic pumpernickel flour, though that's not in this batch of dough--for my birthday breakfast. This weekend I shall garden and bake and write and goof off--and turn twenty-eight.

Insert generic quasibelievable story here.

I hate April Fool's Day. I hate going around for an entire day being unable to trust what anyone says. This must be what paranoid schizophrenics feel like.