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Stop making sense
Mar. 11th, 2004 09:11 pmToday I had one of those weird days where I felt as if I were on an emotional rollercoaster that was seriously in danger of losing connection to the tracks and sailing off into the atmo. It started with going downtown to meet my former colleague, my fellow copyeditor who took the voluntary layoff last February, for lunch. I wanted to find out how he tapped into the large network of ex-employees from my firm and got some freelance copyediting and proofing work at agencies around town, and when we were heading to lunch, we ran into another ex employee, who's working full time at the same agency my colleague is as a freelancer. I wanted to hug the life out of him -- he was one of my favorite co-workers, and seeing him brought back this flood of memories of how good things were at the agency the first two years I was there. I alternate, lately, between feeling a blind panic that leaves me sleepless and paralyzed about my prospects for the future, and a kind of zen acceptance that it'll work out okay, that somehow it has to.
Then I went looking for some interview clothes in case I'm lucky enough to get one, and I found a kicky Garfield & Marks skirt for $45 at the Nordstrom Rack, which is a $200 savings, but then finding a top that wasn't overly stuffy (no suit jackets in my field, really) or overly daring was next to impossible. All the twinsets I saw had plunging summery necklines, and bleh. Trying on so much stuff, even in an XL, made me realize how lumpy and fat and blotchy and pale and yechy I look, and it was supremely depressing. It felt extra bad to be spending money, too, knowing how dire things are right now (nothing like getting your first unemployment check at the same time you get your two month bill for COBRA benefits, nearly three times the unemployment check).
Then, of course, I got a reminder of just how terrible things really are when I saw the newspaper headline -- the weird thing about my life right now is how isolated it's become, and I don't watch news or get a paper, so with the crappy dialup, I just don't often know what's happening anymore. I'd heard there was some kind of explosion in Spain, but I didn't realize just how terrible it was until I saw that, and I wanted to grab the newspaper out of the man's hands so I could read about it. I still remember the first time I went into a subway system, in London, on the Underground. I knew what to expect, but there's a part of me that still can't cope with underground things of any kind, and the idea of going under water in a tunnel is especially horrifying to me, so the first line I took that went under the Thames made me sweat bullets. Yet you get so used to it after you ride subways for a while, so complacent about the spaces and the tunnels and limited entrances and exits, and so much of Europe feels so safe, so... sensible compared to the chaos of the US. It just doesn't compute, even for a person who was raised during the terrorism of the '70s. I couldn't stop thinking of those poor people, and my heart just breaks for them.
Then when I was waiting for the bus, this homeless guy came and stood on the other side of a big concrete planter. I'm not the most sensitive person about the homeless creeps in downtown; after working in the Pioneer Square area, where a woman I know was murdered by a homeless guy who'd been on work release from jail and there were 162 registered sex offenders living on the streets in that six block radius alone, I've become the cranky, hostile person I always disliked when I was a bleeding-heart kid. Suddenly I was thinking to myself, what is that awful smell? And I realized the guy was taking a shit next to the planter. At a fairly decent bus stop (not great, but not horrid, either), where there are tons of tourists with kids, and people coming off the monorail. I moved away as fast as I could, but I just could not believe what I had seen. Criminy, even dogs get their crap scooped up, but not homeless guys! And instantly I forgot about the tragedy in Spain, until I got home.
Then there was the wonderful news that jodyorjen is safe, and found, and all feels right with the world, even though I know it isn't, not by a long chalk. But somehow that little bit of news seemed to set it right, and that's all we really need, isn't it? I worry so much about the job thing, about the state of the world and all, but... in the long run, it's knowing people in our communities are okay that matters. It's all about community, baby.
Then I went looking for some interview clothes in case I'm lucky enough to get one, and I found a kicky Garfield & Marks skirt for $45 at the Nordstrom Rack, which is a $200 savings, but then finding a top that wasn't overly stuffy (no suit jackets in my field, really) or overly daring was next to impossible. All the twinsets I saw had plunging summery necklines, and bleh. Trying on so much stuff, even in an XL, made me realize how lumpy and fat and blotchy and pale and yechy I look, and it was supremely depressing. It felt extra bad to be spending money, too, knowing how dire things are right now (nothing like getting your first unemployment check at the same time you get your two month bill for COBRA benefits, nearly three times the unemployment check).
Then, of course, I got a reminder of just how terrible things really are when I saw the newspaper headline -- the weird thing about my life right now is how isolated it's become, and I don't watch news or get a paper, so with the crappy dialup, I just don't often know what's happening anymore. I'd heard there was some kind of explosion in Spain, but I didn't realize just how terrible it was until I saw that, and I wanted to grab the newspaper out of the man's hands so I could read about it. I still remember the first time I went into a subway system, in London, on the Underground. I knew what to expect, but there's a part of me that still can't cope with underground things of any kind, and the idea of going under water in a tunnel is especially horrifying to me, so the first line I took that went under the Thames made me sweat bullets. Yet you get so used to it after you ride subways for a while, so complacent about the spaces and the tunnels and limited entrances and exits, and so much of Europe feels so safe, so... sensible compared to the chaos of the US. It just doesn't compute, even for a person who was raised during the terrorism of the '70s. I couldn't stop thinking of those poor people, and my heart just breaks for them.
Then when I was waiting for the bus, this homeless guy came and stood on the other side of a big concrete planter. I'm not the most sensitive person about the homeless creeps in downtown; after working in the Pioneer Square area, where a woman I know was murdered by a homeless guy who'd been on work release from jail and there were 162 registered sex offenders living on the streets in that six block radius alone, I've become the cranky, hostile person I always disliked when I was a bleeding-heart kid. Suddenly I was thinking to myself, what is that awful smell? And I realized the guy was taking a shit next to the planter. At a fairly decent bus stop (not great, but not horrid, either), where there are tons of tourists with kids, and people coming off the monorail. I moved away as fast as I could, but I just could not believe what I had seen. Criminy, even dogs get their crap scooped up, but not homeless guys! And instantly I forgot about the tragedy in Spain, until I got home.
Then there was the wonderful news that jodyorjen is safe, and found, and all feels right with the world, even though I know it isn't, not by a long chalk. But somehow that little bit of news seemed to set it right, and that's all we really need, isn't it? I worry so much about the job thing, about the state of the world and all, but... in the long run, it's knowing people in our communities are okay that matters. It's all about community, baby.
