I may have understated something on dinner with ex, below. I am still sad for each relationship that didn't work out in my life. From each one, I took a lesson and tucked it under my belt and moved on. But for each little piece I got, I also lost a little bit. That's the part that still hurts. I would not trade any of those experiences to get a piece back. That's the real risk you take in a relationship -- are you each becoming a better person regardless of the outcome? If the answer is yes, then you're doing fine.
He was only ten minutes late. When he arrived, I didn't bother getting up. We had casual conversation for over an hour, and I think I only insulted him once -- when I mentioned my parents' computer and how their spellcheck mysteriously stopped working after he upgraded their OS.
But now that I think about it, I suppose the ring was an insult. And the way I tend to cover it up since I was accused of wagging it. And the casual use of the third-person we.
Last year he was sick on Valentine's Day, and later, he dumped me on my birthday.
I'm so happy these days, and yet when I got back in the car there were a couple of tears on my face. I'm a different person than I was a year ago. I'm stronger, I'm saner, I'm smarter, and I have shorter hair. But I'm not sure he noticed any of that.
That may be the last time I see him, and I do feel some sadness for the two years that will go mostly unreferenced for the rest of our lives, but that's the risk you take when you enter into a relationship. Mostly I am indifferent. Lately I feel at once both over- and underwhelmed, preparing for the chaos of the next six weeks with more sleep at night and deeper breaths.
Some people use css; some people use xml. Me, I throw up a cheap comments utility and I still get hardly any validation. And by talking about it, I've just made myself that much more uncool.
I forgot to put out my Generic Grad Student tip of the day: Stop talking about Grad School. Seriously. Nobody cares. Keep talking, and I'll turn that Ph.D. into a Ph.Don't.
This tip also applies to near and recent doctors of anything, as well as undergraduates and pretty much anyone affiliated in any way with the so-called Ivy League.
Of course, there are exceptions. Like entire tables-full of grad students. Note the distinct requirement for all present at the table to be in on the joke.
It occurs to me now that with Erik leaving, there's nobody to help jack up my car when I change my oil.
Erik! Don't go!
Or, if you must, draw me a diagram of my chassis!
My prevailing mood today, as I continue to be stomped upon? So the hell what.
thanks, t.
To have worked this hard and still be told that it wasn't quite enough is just about the last thing I want to hear right now, with two weeks left and two projects that they really want me to finish. Hey, guess what... burned bridges don't work in either direction, folks.
I've added a bunch of reads over there in preparation for the impending loss of my bookmarks file here at work, and I couldn't help but notice that I am drawn to the soft warm glow of primarily orange weblogs. Pretty much a surefire way to get a link outta me.
50 dental mirrors, individually wrapped for my protection. That boy is the best.
With apologies for biting the flow of Mardi Gras, Chinese New Year, Abe Lincoln's 193rd birthday, Peter Cooper's 211th birthday, and Goon turning 30:
I'm sitting on the edge of a grey office chair right now and I'm leaning over the desk of my superior, the man whose voice has inspired fear, drowsiness, genius, guilt and stupidity on a daily basis for nearly five years. In my outstretched hand is a white envelope which contains 1 (one) meticulously crafted and innocuously proper letter of resignation (rewritten approximately seven times since last Tuesday to be ultimately sealed with a late night bout of hysteria).
As of March 1st, 2002, two and a half generous weeks from today, I will be officially unemployed, to my own delight, my future spouse's delight, and to the chagrin of my parents, for whom housewifing and novel-writing are not acceptable reasons to leave a perfectly well-paying and benefits-endowed job in the midst of an economic downturn.
There's a bit more to it of course, as they say, and as there always is. Lately the ever-diminishing stock price has ceased being a joke, and has become justification for simple meanness. Low morale has become high indifference, and I've been stretching work so as to appear useful. I simply cannot do this anymore.
There is also the aforementioned possibility of a move to Singapore which currently remains but a possibility but which continues looming in the ever-nearing future, and I'd really rather not dump two households' worth of shit into storage at the hefty rate we're likely to pay in NYC. So Marc and I decided it's a wise idea to start spending a fair amount of time consolidating and streamlining we two into one now, rather than in a year when we return.
As of right now the official word is that we'll be in the Bronx until June, at least, and then who knows? So the timeline goes like this:
1. I'll move NJ -> NY by St. Patrick's Day,
2. Wedding, April 6th,
3. honeymoon, gratuitous important married-people stuff through the end of April,
4. May... who knows? Hopefully MayNoWriMo, among other distractions (and continued gratuitous married-people stuff...).
5. June... I'll come back to this later.
I'm far busier than I should be (but what else is new?) and just writing this weblog entry was tough to fit in. I'm posting here just before my scheduled meeting with Seth, just in case there's anyone from work lurking. I've already been to Human Resources, and so I spent most of the day in quitting purgatory.
When I started working here I was 21, and I'm still the most recent Engineering hire. I'm proud to be walking away with dignity.
But it was not without trepidation that I made this decision. In the process of tearing out my hair while breaking out in a cold sweat for the last two weeks, I've come to a few realizations. First, finally setting up someplace with Marc again and staying there forever this time is going to be great. The contract-based aspect of his job (which will now be supporting two) is going to put that off for a little while, but still, it's something to anticipate. Second, I'm the panicking one in the relationship. Big time. Conversations generally have been going something like this:
Marc: Hello?
Kate: Hey, what's shakin'?
Marc: Hey babe.
Kate: AAAAAARGH! Where will we put my desk? And my socks? And my pots and pans? And my shoes? There's no room for any of my stuff!??!?
Marc: Um... I'm going to clean out some areas for you.
Kate: That would be great. AAAAAAARRRGH! Where will we put my desk? ...
And thus the great simplification of 2002 begins. I plan to reduce inventory by at least half... everything must Go! Go! Go!
Volkswagen's got a new ad running, not yet linked here, featuring VW Engineers and Designers working on cars through the automotive age. So, um... where are the women?
A new fun Friday game.
1. Are you employed? Happily?
2. Do you receive an annual raise? When?
3. Do you receive a bonus of any type?
The wedding rings arrived on Wednesday. They are absolutely great. The box was delivered to work and I wasn't allowed to open it until Marc got here. I picked him up at the train station and we didn't even make it out of the parking lot before he ripped the box open.
So, oh yeah. I designed them. I'm not so big on revealing these sickening personal details here, but the design is based on rings that we bought at the flea market near Tower Records in 1994. One of the times we "broke up" (this statement has now thoroughly earned its punctuation), my ring split along the seam. Tragic. That seam is now a relic of a former design, so to speak. I don't have a picture of the final products yet, but you can see the design and a prototype if you follow that link. The actual rings look a lot like the prototype, but the texturing on the cut surfaces is a lot smoother (though still somewhat matte-looking).
Things are just overwhelmingly good lately. The invitations are done. I had major headpiece inspiration late Tuesday night after hitting bead stores in the Garment District last Friday... oh, and there's the head-over-heels-in-love thing, too. The rushing-off-to-the-Bronx-again thing. The thirty-one-lovey-dovey-e-mails-a-day thing. The... never mind. You get it, right?
If I spoke to you earlier this week and I mentioned that I was going to do something drastic today, well, I'm not. Not yet. Stay tuned.
With Comcast somewhat recovered (and my half of the apartment account back in place), expect more photos soon. You can start with these, from The Mirror Project.
new.
new.
(old.)
Long time readers will not be surprised to learn that this latest absence has been brought to you by the letter V... V is for vomit, volume, and volcanic.
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