I've spent the weekend catching up on reading about someone else's mistakes, which, incidentally, were being made at the same time I was busy making my own--methinks I could have gained some perspective, had I discovered this wealth of wisdom some time ago. But oh well. I guess each person has to make his/her own mistakes. No amount of someone else's experiences, no matter how "relatable-to" can really help. But this binge reading, among other things, has me somewhat depressed.
And on a wholly unrelated note. . . I'm wondering if I have an inflated view of myself, i.e. think that I am better, and deserve better, than I am actually am/do. And, hand in hand with that, if I am entirely too judgemental, and too shallowly judgemental at that, when it comes to other people's failings. Both are quite possible, I'm afraid. And, I have also discovered, to quote a line from Grey's Anatomy: "There is a land called passive-aggressiva, and I am their queen."
Sigh. I wonder what other unpleasant realizations await me this week.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Thursday, October 26, 2006
A gmail message
I have relatively rare bursts of productivity and ambition, during which I do and plan things that I never follow up on. One of these things is signing up for listservs and news alerts that I never read once the drive wears out--which happens pretty soon after. Usually, I confine these alerts to a psuedo-junk email address, and occasionally glance through them, opening them only if the subject line hints at some sort of earth-shattering news. But, as a loyal subscriber to The Wall Street Journal, I thought it only fitting that the emails from this particular paper should be sent to my second-tier email address--not my sacrosanct personal one, but one step above my pseudo-junk email; the one in which I receive Columbia, job-related and other fairly serious emails.
But of course, my level of motivation when it comes to reading these is no higher than it is for reading my other pseudo-junk mail; with the result being that my second-tier Gmail inbox is now at 201 (I know, Caveboy, horror of horrors). Because, being the packrat that I am, I can't throw anything away; which in the virtual world translates into not deleting anything, at least until I've opened it.
So I was quite surprised--tickled, actually--when my Gmail account decided to take matters into its own hands and start designating my precious WSJ emails to the spam folder. I discovered two in the spam folder today. And I've no doubt more are headed that way. I believe the Gmail gods are sending me a message. Start reading your WSJ alerts, or we will throw them away.
Now I just wish someone would do the same thing to the weeks' worth of newspapers littering my apartment.
But of course, my level of motivation when it comes to reading these is no higher than it is for reading my other pseudo-junk mail; with the result being that my second-tier Gmail inbox is now at 201 (I know, Caveboy, horror of horrors). Because, being the packrat that I am, I can't throw anything away; which in the virtual world translates into not deleting anything, at least until I've opened it.
So I was quite surprised--tickled, actually--when my Gmail account decided to take matters into its own hands and start designating my precious WSJ emails to the spam folder. I discovered two in the spam folder today. And I've no doubt more are headed that way. I believe the Gmail gods are sending me a message. Start reading your WSJ alerts, or we will throw them away.
Now I just wish someone would do the same thing to the weeks' worth of newspapers littering my apartment.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
How much longer?
Yesterday, my ed, the Rock, asked me to show the reporter who just came back from maternity leave (for whom I was supposedly subbing, thus extending my internship) how to do a weekly newsletter that has been my domain for the past 4.5 months (OMG, I've been here 4.5 months--there should be a law stating that if you've been at a workplace for over three months, and no one's asked you to leave, you become a permanent employee, with all the honors, rights, privileges and responsibilities appertaining thereto).
But I digress. I believe I'm being phased out. Yes, indeed I am. And the Rock, who is too nice to kick me out on my butt when I have no other prospects, may be hoping that I will be magnanimous enough to spare him the awkwardness and offer to leave of my own volition. I, on the other hand, have planted my flag and am still here--with my books in the overhead cabinets, my lunchboxes littering my desk, and my notebooks and papers scattered all over my cubicle--hoping that the powers that be won't notice my lingering presence. Then again, maybe they've just chosen to remain "unaware" of the fact that I'm still here--after all, if they kick me out, they'll have to evict my mess first. And who dares do that?!?!?
Update: We just had a wine and cheese tasting extravaganza. SEE?!?! THIS why they just might have to drag me out kicking and screaming.
But I digress. I believe I'm being phased out. Yes, indeed I am. And the Rock, who is too nice to kick me out on my butt when I have no other prospects, may be hoping that I will be magnanimous enough to spare him the awkwardness and offer to leave of my own volition. I, on the other hand, have planted my flag and am still here--with my books in the overhead cabinets, my lunchboxes littering my desk, and my notebooks and papers scattered all over my cubicle--hoping that the powers that be won't notice my lingering presence. Then again, maybe they've just chosen to remain "unaware" of the fact that I'm still here--after all, if they kick me out, they'll have to evict my mess first. And who dares do that?!?!?
Update: We just had a wine and cheese tasting extravaganza. SEE?!?! THIS why they just might have to drag me out kicking and screaming.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Bare necessities
Predictability, simplicity and good ol' peace and quiet are highly underrated. 'Coz when you think about it, all you really need to be happy in your earthly life is a home to come back to at the end of the day (a kitten whose day is made the minute you walk in the door is a plus for some); to do something you love for a living; to enjoy decent health, the occasional cold notwithstanding (health insurance would be nice, I suppose); to have just enough money to meet your daily needs, and a bit more for occasional treats; and a handful of people in your life whom you love, and who love you (for many, God doesn't fall into this category; for me, He does). That, and knowing--for the most part--what the next minute, hour, day, week, month will bring. Almost everything else is superfluous. It's so simple, really. Maybe that's why we take these basic things so much for granted--until, that is, we face the threat of losing them.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Life is so unfair
I settled down in front of the TV on Thursday night and flicked through my cable-less channels. Nothing caught my fancy. I finally settled on the The Biggest Loser*--hoping to get a few pointers for myself, maybe.
The participants were preparing for one of their tasks. They two teams, red and blue, were instructed to get onto an escalator going downhill and climb. The winning team--the one with the last person still climbing--would get $10,000 to divide equally between the team members.
The team members took their places on two escalators, one for each team. The clock started ticking, and the five members of each team started climbing. The first two on each team didn't even seem to try. The first gave up in a little over a minute, and before two minutes were up, the second two also let the escalators carry them down. The third from each team tried harder, but also stopped soon after. The last two continued, trudging up, step by step, sweat pouring off them, huffing and puffing. The second-to-last member of the red team even came close to giving up but forced herself to keep going. Finally, it was down to the last person from each team. Neither would give up. Finally, the blue team's remaining member, a teacher desperate for the money, panted out his apology and stopped climbing. The remaining woman from the red team finally collapsed, and had to be dragged off the escalator when it reached the bottom.
The red team was ecstatic, no doubt about the money they would get to split between them. It seemed so unfair. Two of them didn't even try, and got to walk away with $2,000 each, thanks to the efforts of their other team members. Sure there's no "I" in team and they cheered the rest of the team on, but come on! I guess, in a way, that team was representative of all groups -- there are the slackers, the ones who do just enough and the ones who do their share plus the slackers' share. But it bothered me. The money should have been divided in proportion to the amount of time they spent on the escalator. At least that way, everyone would have been motivated to do their best instead of some of them leaving it up to the rest of team to do all the work.
Ah well, not much in life is fair, is it? And it's not like anyone's giving me $2,000 for climbing an escalator!
*The Biggest Loser is a show in which people who are significantly overweight compete to lose the weight. The winner is decided (I think) based on which team loses the most weight and one member of the team that loses less weight each week is voted off.
The participants were preparing for one of their tasks. They two teams, red and blue, were instructed to get onto an escalator going downhill and climb. The winning team--the one with the last person still climbing--would get $10,000 to divide equally between the team members.
The team members took their places on two escalators, one for each team. The clock started ticking, and the five members of each team started climbing. The first two on each team didn't even seem to try. The first gave up in a little over a minute, and before two minutes were up, the second two also let the escalators carry them down. The third from each team tried harder, but also stopped soon after. The last two continued, trudging up, step by step, sweat pouring off them, huffing and puffing. The second-to-last member of the red team even came close to giving up but forced herself to keep going. Finally, it was down to the last person from each team. Neither would give up. Finally, the blue team's remaining member, a teacher desperate for the money, panted out his apology and stopped climbing. The remaining woman from the red team finally collapsed, and had to be dragged off the escalator when it reached the bottom.
The red team was ecstatic, no doubt about the money they would get to split between them. It seemed so unfair. Two of them didn't even try, and got to walk away with $2,000 each, thanks to the efforts of their other team members. Sure there's no "I" in team and they cheered the rest of the team on, but come on! I guess, in a way, that team was representative of all groups -- there are the slackers, the ones who do just enough and the ones who do their share plus the slackers' share. But it bothered me. The money should have been divided in proportion to the amount of time they spent on the escalator. At least that way, everyone would have been motivated to do their best instead of some of them leaving it up to the rest of team to do all the work.
Ah well, not much in life is fair, is it? And it's not like anyone's giving me $2,000 for climbing an escalator!
*The Biggest Loser is a show in which people who are significantly overweight compete to lose the weight. The winner is decided (I think) based on which team loses the most weight and one member of the team that loses less weight each week is voted off.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Confession
For the past few weeks, I've strayed. I took a conscious step off the narrow path towards God, and chose the wide, free road, away from Him. Not that I did anything drastic or acted any differently. But on the inside, something changed. I told Him, "Goodbye God. I don't need you. You go your way, I'll go mine."
I did it because I wanted--demanded--results, changes in my life. And He wasn't giving me any. So one day, I decided I'd had enough. I stormed into my apartment, took down crucifixes, packed up Bibles and dumped them into a box inside my closet. I deleted the part about my being a Christian from my blog profile. I stopped going to church. The elimination was quick and systematic.
And it was easy. Boy, was it easy. In the past few weeks, I've felt no guilt, no worry that I was hurting Him, no pang that I would have felt before when I was lazy about talking to Him, reading His word, or doing anything I knew was against His will. I realized that the further I got from Him, the easier it became to ignore Him, and to do my own thing.
But I also felt a sense of emptiness. Even during my self-imposed isolation, I caught myself a couple of times, telling Him: "Jesus, I miss you." But I was captivated with the ease of life without God, without accountability to Him, without the need or desire to do Someone else's will.
Until the emptiness overcame me this week -- just like that. Nothing happened. It just occurred to me that, no matter what, my life wasn't much without Him. So, I'm slowly retracing my steps. It's tough going, back uphill to the narrow road. Knowing that I won't be able to brush off straying as easily as I have over the past few weeks. But I also know that, while I was on my own on the wide and easy road, Someone will go with me on the narrow one.
I prayed last night for the first time in weeks. It wasn't terribly heartfelt or eloquent. I was sitting on the bus home, looking out the window, and quietly said I was sorry and asked him to come back to me. It wasn't a desperate longing -- yet. That will come. What I felt was the first hazy rays of what I know will become a much stronger need.
So the "Christian" part of my profile is back up, and the crucifixes and Bibles come out tonight. Pray for me.
I did it because I wanted--demanded--results, changes in my life. And He wasn't giving me any. So one day, I decided I'd had enough. I stormed into my apartment, took down crucifixes, packed up Bibles and dumped them into a box inside my closet. I deleted the part about my being a Christian from my blog profile. I stopped going to church. The elimination was quick and systematic.
And it was easy. Boy, was it easy. In the past few weeks, I've felt no guilt, no worry that I was hurting Him, no pang that I would have felt before when I was lazy about talking to Him, reading His word, or doing anything I knew was against His will. I realized that the further I got from Him, the easier it became to ignore Him, and to do my own thing.
But I also felt a sense of emptiness. Even during my self-imposed isolation, I caught myself a couple of times, telling Him: "Jesus, I miss you." But I was captivated with the ease of life without God, without accountability to Him, without the need or desire to do Someone else's will.
Until the emptiness overcame me this week -- just like that. Nothing happened. It just occurred to me that, no matter what, my life wasn't much without Him. So, I'm slowly retracing my steps. It's tough going, back uphill to the narrow road. Knowing that I won't be able to brush off straying as easily as I have over the past few weeks. But I also know that, while I was on my own on the wide and easy road, Someone will go with me on the narrow one.
I prayed last night for the first time in weeks. It wasn't terribly heartfelt or eloquent. I was sitting on the bus home, looking out the window, and quietly said I was sorry and asked him to come back to me. It wasn't a desperate longing -- yet. That will come. What I felt was the first hazy rays of what I know will become a much stronger need.
So the "Christian" part of my profile is back up, and the crucifixes and Bibles come out tonight. Pray for me.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Paid torture
On Saturday morning, I woke up bright and early (relatively, anyway), showered, changed and took myself off to Jackson Heights for a session of torture. Cost: $8 plus tip.
I walked in and took a seat against the wall, opened up my newspaper and prepared to wait my turn. It was unusually busy -- usually, I never have to wait. People are developing a taste for torture, apparently.
I settled myself in the leather chair when my number came up, and leaned my head back. The woman, armed with her weapon, approached. As the thread, one end attached to her fingers, and the other held ominously between her bared teeth closed in on my upper lip, I squeezed my eyes shut, clutched the arm of the chair, and braced myself.
She did her thing with the thread, and a few minutes, several tears and many deep breaths later, the first torture session was over. The result--a clean, bare upper lip. After a few seconds of respite--during which she took in the state of my eyebrows, shook her head disapprovingly and muttered, "Tsk. You haven't come in for a long time"--she attacked the area above my eyes.
More tears, many gulps of air, and much intense pain, and the ordeal was finally over. I paid, got my loyalty card dutifully stamped, and left, my eyebrows and upperlip still red and smarting.
Until my next torture session, that is, which comes with a free upperlip thread. Yaay!
Funny how life evolves--pulling out bodily hair used to be a form of torture. Now, we travel halfway across the city, wait patiently, and gladly dish out money for it. What is the world coming to?
I walked in and took a seat against the wall, opened up my newspaper and prepared to wait my turn. It was unusually busy -- usually, I never have to wait. People are developing a taste for torture, apparently.
I settled myself in the leather chair when my number came up, and leaned my head back. The woman, armed with her weapon, approached. As the thread, one end attached to her fingers, and the other held ominously between her bared teeth closed in on my upper lip, I squeezed my eyes shut, clutched the arm of the chair, and braced myself.
She did her thing with the thread, and a few minutes, several tears and many deep breaths later, the first torture session was over. The result--a clean, bare upper lip. After a few seconds of respite--during which she took in the state of my eyebrows, shook her head disapprovingly and muttered, "Tsk. You haven't come in for a long time"--she attacked the area above my eyes.
More tears, many gulps of air, and much intense pain, and the ordeal was finally over. I paid, got my loyalty card dutifully stamped, and left, my eyebrows and upperlip still red and smarting.
Until my next torture session, that is, which comes with a free upperlip thread. Yaay!
Funny how life evolves--pulling out bodily hair used to be a form of torture. Now, we travel halfway across the city, wait patiently, and gladly dish out money for it. What is the world coming to?
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