Nerve-wracked
Had dinner last night with the parents. They expressed concern over my switching to full-time. Primarily, they're worried that I am biting off a big chunk - possibly more than I can chew. My Mom's biggest worry, of course, is whether I'll have enough to eat. My father's worried about the debt load. And me? Well, the list of things I'm not worried about is much shorter than the list of what I am worried about. I'm worried about taking a huge risk that might not pay off. I'm worried that, in my effort to give myself more time to dedicate to school, I'll find that I'm still stressed out over time. I'm worried about moving yet again - this time into the city. I'm worried about where the hell I'm going to store the motorcycle. I'm worried about having enough money. I'm worried about being able to find a part-time job. I worry about how much the COBRA insurance is going to cost. I worry about whether the school's health insurance will cover me in the summer next year, or if I have to sweat out an entire summer without insurance. The list goes on.
In the front of my mind, I tell myself there's no reward without risk. I tell myself that it will all work out, that I'll get a job, and be successful. I tell myself that I have my CPA and MBA to fall back on, that if worse comes to worse, I can go back to what I do now.
Despite my best efforts, this is going to be a long week.
I went to school today to pick up some materials for my paper. Donna was there, studying in the student lounge. At first I didn't notice her, she was so quiet. We talked for a bit, until I remembered that I'd only put fifty cents in the meter, good for half an hour, and that time had almost expired. Fortunately, no ticket. And Donna offered to help me find a place when I get back from Rome. I told Donna I was absolutely terrified of what I'd planned to do. She suggested I give notice on Monday, or first thing on Friday morning, but I want to do it privately, so I had planned on waiting until Friday afternoon. Let me tell you - Friday is going to be the most stressful day of my life so far. I told Donna that at this point, it would be much easier to get married. And despite the fact that I've never been close, I pretty much meant it. Of course, Donna would be a perfect wife, which is probably why her husband married her......
Saturday, April 19, 2003
Wednesday, April 16, 2003
Frustrated......
(I wanted to quote the song by The Knack here, but I'm too tired to get up, pull out the album (yes, I have Get the Knack on vinyl), and play it to refresh my memory on the lyrics. C'est la vie.)
We are now fully into Easter Break. But still, I don't get anything done that I should. The best laid plans....
So the nurse has fallen off the end of the earth. I called her last night, and left a message, but no return call. She was nice, but truthfully, I don't think there was long term potential there. Too many 'odd' things about her. I won't go into them, but suffice to say, I wasn't totally comfortable. Plus, our schedules never meshed. I was available, she was busy. She was available, I was busy. But usually the former. And the warning flag was 'plans' last weekend, even though she had just come back from a week in Mexico. Maybe, I'll be surprised, but I doubt it.
So ladies, I am once again available for dating. Oh, wait, I was never "off" the market. Well, anyway, we here at Chez Greg are again accepting applications for potential girlfriends. Don't delay - this offer is guaranteed not to last long! Applicants must be able to tolerate fact that I will be gone for two months this summer, and will be unemployed (partially, at least) for much of the next two years. On the other hand.....I will have a nice job, hopefully.
I tried to book the flight to London tonight, but no luck. I had hurriedly signed up with Student Universe a while back, and foolishly forgot to write down my ID and password. Now I'm in a holding pattern, waiting for them to answer me back.
Had a conference with the Legal Writing instructor. Went well. She complimented me, which boosted my confidence. It had been lagging after writing this brief, but I feel better now.
The real issue is how tired I am right now. I am just SO not motivated. I could have slept all day, for what it was worth. And I spent most of the day at work screwing around aimlessly. I think the real issue is burnout, which I need to fight through and overcome. Otherwise, I'll get bounced before I fly away. Not a good thing. S told me she hasn't heard anything from the IBABY people either. Wonder what's taking them so long to do this background check.
Oh.
My.
God.
The couple on Blind Date is seeing a psychic. Pathetic. But then, I'm (partially) watching it, so what does it say about me? That there's nothing good on TV? yeah, that's it....
Ok, I'm having verklempt. Miracle Whip is neither a miracle, nor whipped. Discuss amongst yourselves. I'm going to bed.
(I wanted to quote the song by The Knack here, but I'm too tired to get up, pull out the album (yes, I have Get the Knack on vinyl), and play it to refresh my memory on the lyrics. C'est la vie.)
We are now fully into Easter Break. But still, I don't get anything done that I should. The best laid plans....
So the nurse has fallen off the end of the earth. I called her last night, and left a message, but no return call. She was nice, but truthfully, I don't think there was long term potential there. Too many 'odd' things about her. I won't go into them, but suffice to say, I wasn't totally comfortable. Plus, our schedules never meshed. I was available, she was busy. She was available, I was busy. But usually the former. And the warning flag was 'plans' last weekend, even though she had just come back from a week in Mexico. Maybe, I'll be surprised, but I doubt it.
So ladies, I am once again available for dating. Oh, wait, I was never "off" the market. Well, anyway, we here at Chez Greg are again accepting applications for potential girlfriends. Don't delay - this offer is guaranteed not to last long! Applicants must be able to tolerate fact that I will be gone for two months this summer, and will be unemployed (partially, at least) for much of the next two years. On the other hand.....I will have a nice job, hopefully.
I tried to book the flight to London tonight, but no luck. I had hurriedly signed up with Student Universe a while back, and foolishly forgot to write down my ID and password. Now I'm in a holding pattern, waiting for them to answer me back.
Had a conference with the Legal Writing instructor. Went well. She complimented me, which boosted my confidence. It had been lagging after writing this brief, but I feel better now.
The real issue is how tired I am right now. I am just SO not motivated. I could have slept all day, for what it was worth. And I spent most of the day at work screwing around aimlessly. I think the real issue is burnout, which I need to fight through and overcome. Otherwise, I'll get bounced before I fly away. Not a good thing. S told me she hasn't heard anything from the IBABY people either. Wonder what's taking them so long to do this background check.
Oh.
My.
God.
The couple on Blind Date is seeing a psychic. Pathetic. But then, I'm (partially) watching it, so what does it say about me? That there's nothing good on TV? yeah, that's it....
Ok, I'm having verklempt. Miracle Whip is neither a miracle, nor whipped. Discuss amongst yourselves. I'm going to bed.
Tuesday, April 15, 2003
A tax day story...
The scene wasn't an unfamiliar one. He was single, he lived alone. She, too, was single, lived alone. They differed in age by only a few years, and in height by only a few inches. They weren't in love, but good friends. She knew she could trust him, knew he'd look out for her, knew he'd do his best to help her out.
The ex hadn't been kind; there'd been words, volleys of hate which had signalled the death of the relationship in a violent, verbal spasm. It hadn't involved physical abuse, just a growing apart of two individuals who never grew together.
But the transition wasn't easy. He had done some things naturally, and she others. That which he did, she could do, but she could never understand them like he could, and he didn't understand them well himself. So they lingered. For years. First she promised she'd tackle them herself, then she swore she'd get them done, but all the while they lingered while time slipped quietly by.
Then she met him. And they became friends, occasionally sharing a drink, but more often an email, a phone call. Hi how are you, she'd ask, knowing that this time of year the question would be greated with a scoff, as he'd complain about the long hours, the stupid clients, and the tyrannical boss so evil, the staff ran an annual pool to see how long the front desk girl would last. This year, he'd told her he'd added law school to his to do list - a way of forgetting by punishment the woman who'd hurt him. And this year she'd needed him more than ever; her time was running out, and she needed the money.
She had called him and asked of his precious time. She only needed a night, she said, and she'd cook him dinner. Like any single guy who lived alone, the prospect of a home-cooked meal by anyone other than himself, some good company, and companionship for an evening was enough to entice him to make the hour-long drive to see her. He came over after eight, after a long day of work (even if it was Saturday), and greeted her with a smile. She started by informing him she didn't have any salad, or any bread, or any parmesean cheese. Good egg that he was (and how the women in his class described him), he offered to drive her to the store.
When they came back, she got serious about the dinner. She made sure the sauce, simmering all day, was just right - not too blah, not too spicy. She threw the angel hair pasta into the boiling water. She buttered the bread - sticking her tongue out at him when he asked how many cows she planned to kill to butter two sides of french bread. And when it was ready, she opened the oven, now thoroughly preheated, and went to toss in the bread to bake.
But she'd forgotten about the baking pans. And the knife. The wooden knife, now smoking as it had begun to singe. He laughed heartily, the laugh of someone who was under tremendous stress and hadn't had an outlet in weeks. She laughed in reaction, and tried to hide her embarrassment. But he wasn't embarrassed, he found it charming, her attempt to step out of character and be Susie Homemaker. Fortunately, the rest of dinner went well, and a few days later, he sent her a lovely present - her tax return, complete with refund. And she promised to make him steak next year. Without the knife.
Happy April 15th!!!!
The scene wasn't an unfamiliar one. He was single, he lived alone. She, too, was single, lived alone. They differed in age by only a few years, and in height by only a few inches. They weren't in love, but good friends. She knew she could trust him, knew he'd look out for her, knew he'd do his best to help her out.
The ex hadn't been kind; there'd been words, volleys of hate which had signalled the death of the relationship in a violent, verbal spasm. It hadn't involved physical abuse, just a growing apart of two individuals who never grew together.
But the transition wasn't easy. He had done some things naturally, and she others. That which he did, she could do, but she could never understand them like he could, and he didn't understand them well himself. So they lingered. For years. First she promised she'd tackle them herself, then she swore she'd get them done, but all the while they lingered while time slipped quietly by.
Then she met him. And they became friends, occasionally sharing a drink, but more often an email, a phone call. Hi how are you, she'd ask, knowing that this time of year the question would be greated with a scoff, as he'd complain about the long hours, the stupid clients, and the tyrannical boss so evil, the staff ran an annual pool to see how long the front desk girl would last. This year, he'd told her he'd added law school to his to do list - a way of forgetting by punishment the woman who'd hurt him. And this year she'd needed him more than ever; her time was running out, and she needed the money.
She had called him and asked of his precious time. She only needed a night, she said, and she'd cook him dinner. Like any single guy who lived alone, the prospect of a home-cooked meal by anyone other than himself, some good company, and companionship for an evening was enough to entice him to make the hour-long drive to see her. He came over after eight, after a long day of work (even if it was Saturday), and greeted her with a smile. She started by informing him she didn't have any salad, or any bread, or any parmesean cheese. Good egg that he was (and how the women in his class described him), he offered to drive her to the store.
When they came back, she got serious about the dinner. She made sure the sauce, simmering all day, was just right - not too blah, not too spicy. She threw the angel hair pasta into the boiling water. She buttered the bread - sticking her tongue out at him when he asked how many cows she planned to kill to butter two sides of french bread. And when it was ready, she opened the oven, now thoroughly preheated, and went to toss in the bread to bake.
But she'd forgotten about the baking pans. And the knife. The wooden knife, now smoking as it had begun to singe. He laughed heartily, the laugh of someone who was under tremendous stress and hadn't had an outlet in weeks. She laughed in reaction, and tried to hide her embarrassment. But he wasn't embarrassed, he found it charming, her attempt to step out of character and be Susie Homemaker. Fortunately, the rest of dinner went well, and a few days later, he sent her a lovely present - her tax return, complete with refund. And she promised to make him steak next year. Without the knife.
Happy April 15th!!!!
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